Quince flowers on a bare stick of a tree, blooming in the dead of winter. Coral colored buds against brown bark, two elements, earth and water.
The blue aired sky, the fire orange sun. Air and sky and weft and warp. The dogs sense a reckoning. They raise their ears in a unified front with the four elements.
They yowl into song like actors in a musical. At times like these, when winter seems eternal, when spirits flag, when fear threatens to extinguish the elements of life, we need a rousing score. A yellow brick road. A little dog, too.
Monica lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two foster dogs. She taught parents how to raise their toddlers for twenty-five years before retiring in 2015 to write. The secret to toddlers is to make sure you get enough sleep. Monica hasn't found the secret to writing, yet, but is diligently working at it. See links to her on-line stories on the publications page.
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