What happens when the Trees fight Back? Part One


What Happens When the Trees Fight Back?  Part One

Have you ever wandered through a peaceful glen bordered on a few sides by towering trees?  Did you shrink back in fear at what they might do to you?  Did you hesitate in step before entering their hallowed grounds?

What might happen to man if – the trees could fight back!

We’re not supposing a few thrown acorns or a slight rustle of leaves to scare one away.  Not even the stinging whip of a weeping willow.  What could the trees use in response to decades of treacherous harm to them by the men of dark reach?  That is the problem confronted by Cre – lo – Way and Song as they contemplated an advance into a thousand acres of forbidding forest.

The question wasn’t always presented this way.  As fable is told, men and tree at one time lived in mutual respect with each adding his strength to the other.  As time marched on, men forgot the old ways of trust and providence.  Instead men entered the forest to take for their needs without regard to the age old warning.

Then it happened.  Man entered the regal forest to within a short space of the aging middle forest, stepping without care upon ancient root, cutting as they went without regard to the shaking branches of warning or the closed shakes of lethal branches.  Those of the line of Foun del’ Guille crossed a sacred line as they hacked their way to that forbidden middle ground.  Without further warning, branches wrapped their lethal arrows into funnels of return hate, bending first up in wide spread of declaration of intent.  Man heeded not as cluster after cluster pulled away from them in strict warning.

The oldest tree in the entire forest of Quinn shuddered as it lowered cluster after cluster of lethal branches toward the unwelcome visitors in swift attack.  Each cluster loosened its one lethal arrow into the running fright of men.  Each arrow in turn struck home with deadly intent, killing in one blow each and every man that had entered the forest of Quinn on that fateful afternoon.  All except one very frightened scout, who knew of these woods and respected what the others did not.  It was this scout then, who ran for his life, back to the castle of Guille to spread the news.

Riders were immediately sent to verify his story, but those never returned.  More men were sent, this time not as scouts but as men of war to assemble and see which sort of mayhem stood before them.  None of these returned in whole, for hardly had they approached when lethal arrows flew through their ranks, cutting them down as a hot knife might cut through butter.  As a group, they turned if fright and ran for their lives.  That is the legend of the Forest of Quinn.

No man or woman to the time of the return of Cre – lo – Way and Song had dared attempt a forward posture to the Forest of Quinn.  Instead war raged for a thousand years between the forces of darkness of the house of Gulle and the Forest of Quinn.  A thousand years for man to cut off the nurturing streams that fed the forest below.  A thousand years for man to plug and divert any spring of nature that dared to spring anew for the sake of the forest.  It was also a thousand years for the forest to shoot down those wild beasts of prey so closely guarded by the forces of evil.  A thousand years to divide the continent apart from one part of mankind and another.  Not until the ancient words were spoken by Cre – lo – Way as he lay in discovery of the glowing new singing tiles of the courtyard in front of those astonished gatherers.  Song was the one who felt those same words claim her throat, opening her voice in song of strange words, few of which made any sense to mankind.  But all of nature knew those words.  Wind carried her notes past the guard of evil man and snarling beasts, lifting perfectly formed verse into the very heart of the Forest of Quinn.

The oldest roots, almost dry of age and lack of nourishment, suddenly heaved tired aching branches in herald of a new dawn.  Other roots felt her delight as an anthem of thanksgiving revived old roots and crackling branches.  Lo knew and understood, opening fountains of nurturing waters throughout the sick forest.  Blooms of new growth found purchase where no turn of vine had proceeded for those dry thousand years.

That was the fragrance that caught upon the wind, blowing from the heights above the castle of Tor del’ Gulle, past the grim fortress walls and into his inner chamber.  He snarled of defiance as the truth of the revived Forest of Quinn dawned upon him.  He raised his battle flag in protest.  “No!  Not while I live shall the Forest of Quinn reunite with the last fragment of man!”

Meanwhile, Song turned in quiet reflection from her unknown words.  What was it that proceeded from me?  I knew not those words, but they came to me from ancient script.  Of that I am assured.  She looked up in wonder of earth and sky for inside of her, she knew of their ploy and direction of carry of her verse.  But of the Forest of Quinn, she knew not, nor of her entitled place as queen among those lethal shoots or how she and her guard would carry the lethal arrows of the Forest of Quinn into battle.  Nor did she know the prophecy of her own fall in that last battle, when mankind of evil intent would fight against those who stood for the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Now the story of Song and the Forest of Quinn starts with a new chapter.  Are you ready?  Settle into your place of reading with delightful closure to all else.  Turn the light so full reading might carry you into the wee early hours, for this night, the Forest of Quinn accepts its queen and…

First we must let our heroes find the way by way of explanation.  Follow these words from Chronicles of Orm, book one, Legend of Cre – lo – Way.

Orm found voice in whisper of quiet of grim intent.  “We must go of morrow to Forest of Quinn.  A time of testing, to know those pure of heart.  Many are those who tried for singing arrows of Quinn and found to their death, that singing arrows of Quinn are not taken, but given…  And now you three must stand for turn of test…”

Orm leaned toward Song, hoping for her as pure of heart before all others.  “This is of new situation, for Forest, well, you don’t know.  Do you?”

Song returned look of question.

Orm continued as if he asked not question of her.  Forest of Quinn is of old…  Too old, their song of ailment almost gone after fighting dark reach for over one thousand years.”  His eyes lit up of sudden as he turned his gaze back on her.  “Then you fed them of your Song, of many times you gave song over courtyard or out to sea, tile sent your song for feeding, from tree to tree, knowing of desperate plea of Quinn, knowing of fact…  That survival might come of you…    For these, it was like dew drops of honey spun song, bringing life where old limb was gone.  So again of lore and space renewed, Forest of Quinn is revived of more.  But still…”

His look turned back to grim habit of wonder, anxious for his bride of love.  “So morrow will be of tell.  Bring Burenna and Firenna for they too must know of origin of singing arrows of Quinn…  To find acceptance as few of all time could ever do…  Or not?”

Morrow showed early for girls and Orm, letting steaming pots provide hot tea and morning consideration.  Orm sat off to one side on benches not unlike that of Cre Point, high of back and covered with rich cloth with backing.  Three girls yawned as awake found them, finding Orm’ version of tea as welcome as others tried.  Orm swirled his tea for effect.  These leaves grow in abundance for us along mountain’ steep slopes.  Couldn’t ask for better.”  He set his cup down and closed his eyes as Word called.

Girls felt of same, setting cup down as Word announced before them of go and welcome from Forest of Quinn.

Orm smiled his chuckle as girls sighed in relief of knowing.  “It is for good that Word calls with note, for others have tried and failed when coming to Forest of Quinn.  This is no small thing!”

Lo carried solemn procession to north of Orm Place, following rough edge of Flint Mountains as if by guide, not letting dark reach see or know.  Finally lo lowered by choice where wide valley filled with peculiar trees stood in wait.  Long slender branches hung down from lofty perch.  Murmuring brook meandered for plenty of water, letting roots gain for drink.  Orm pointed to brook as he nodded with delight.  “Brook Thrung – ein’-Muir!”  Famous in these parts for supply never failed during long years of fighting with dark reach.  Unknown of source to all but lo.  Hmmm, but our approach is known…”

Branches stiffened in rattle of warning at their approach as they did for every person whether of merit or not.

Song stepped ahead for her place as branches rattled again for gather, as if newness of purpose staggered position of them of knowing her.  All held for moment of assay, as Song held her breath of know, willing that these should be of know as well.

Time of silence became deafening, holding still of honor as generations of wait met and joined with that of new.

One small branch lifted of salute, ringing out in tiny vibration in pitch of note.  Hesitation held that one as all waited of short breath…

Another small branch from way inside of forest joined first in vibration of song, not of hesitate but in pronounced decision…

In symphony of cascade, ten more lifted in salute, ringing begin of anthem to her, followed by eight hundred in thundering ovation of honor.

Song stood in receiving, tears flowing in free as love flowed once again for healing and as friend once more of forest and mankind…

Anthem awakened in thunderous applause as all other trees added notes of praise of highest regard, together in symphony of song of tribute for her alone.

Her lips received as such and opened of return, sending her step of lo gliding up and through welcoming branches which dipped in salute as she wove among them of song of feeding anew.

“Oh – oh – oh – oh – of – aye.

To be among you is to belong

In answer of promise told ago so long…

That you held in defiance is tribute of you

Now feed and grow again, of what is given you…”

Orm, Firenna, and Burenna stood back in turn of waiting, consumed in awe of her weave among that of hurtling death, barely able to draw breath for tell of glow from her.

Trees that she brushed against in song found new strength ripple from her to them, spreading from branch to root and around as if glow of health recovered in Forest of Quinn for first of a thousand years…

Miles away dark reach shuddered for fear and despair in defeat of thousand year battle, pulling tendrils of evil back from many plans, knowing her song as terror of terrors.  Beasts shook head in terror as song seized upon them.  Marching hordes of evil knew desperation of despair as song whipped over them, as if dancing horror upon each one, to flicker of Truth to next.

Song let lo circle back toward her place of start, thinking again of Orm and other girls.  She raised her hands to forest in glad salute, then turned in point to first Firenna, then Burenna, as if her blessing of them would be shared…

Tears of gratitude flooded each girls eyes as they realized too of tribute.  Gingerly at first, then knowing opening in forest for each, they weaved as Song through branches of mercy, letting lo help make them known among such as these.

All three met in point back at place of start, beaming full in tribute.

Orm nodded to each, then in plain view of all, handing them each an intricately woven basket, long of column but not of round.  Each held basket as young girl might with toy at first, then in firm delight as purpose made sense upon them.

One step at a time, each moved ahead with empty basket held in front not knowing procedure or how to tell of ask.

One cluster of older branches gathered in tight grip of final around central branch, changing tone of singing vibration to sorrow of passing.  Together cluster lowered toward Song, who stood gingerly facing hundreds of deadly shafts pointing at her.  Then, with a willful click, sharp end of center branch separated from others, dropping as perfect singing arrow of Quinn into her basket.

Firenna wept as with Song as cluster lowered toward her repeating as Song found, allowing final song of sorrow of passing, then drop of perfect singing arrow of Quinn into her basket.  Burenna closed her eyes as if in faint as cluster reached for her as well, closing first in final tribute, then in click of surrender to purpose for her into basket.

Girls followed ahead as forest opened Way for each, moving in slow procession as no one else in a thousand years dared to accomplish.

Each old cluster repeated procedure in gallant attitude of giving of self for cause still unknown.

Orm knew of such from ancient script, maintaining grim assessment as girls moved out of view of him.  He knew of their progress as forest moved in sweeping motion where each collected jewels of harvest.

Moments of silence of giving followed each new burst of singing arrows until train curved back to again join Orm.

Question filled her eyes as Song stepped beside Orm, basket filled with gift of death for all who stood in her path of bow.

Other girls joined her in slower step. Still under awe of passage for them, unable to speak for tremble of lip and tuck of chin.

Orm waved in majesty of effort as he stepped on lo for passing of blessing.  Facing Forest of Quinn, he murmured at first, letting Word swell within him.

“Man will pass this day in honor to you, making legend of giving life among them forever after.  Know of our debt of gratitude and this one thing more…”

He hesitated, knowing his fingers to close as fist of battle call, becoming new feeling for him, not of him, but of these, who held out for so long in hope of Song.  Raising his fist toward east to dark reach he flung his arm up as if throwing arrow.  “May each of what you gave find target to death of dark reach!”

Placid forest changed before them as battle call sounded again of man and woods.

What then?  What happens when Song and her escort use the famous singing arrows of Quinn in battle.  Stand by next time for the answer.  Clean your finger tips carefully before you pick up the next episode for reason you’ll soon be called to know…

Contact Terry Palmer at fictionbypalmer@gmail.com., with your questions and comments.

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Superhero Serenade


Superhero Serenade

Ironman I, II, and III.  Superman, Wolverine, and the Avengers.  It seems like those comic book characters from my youth have taken over the theatre.  While high adventure reigns on the screen, not much mention is made of the ‘real lives’ of these super heroes.

How about their girl friends?  Have you thought about what it must be like to be the girlfriend of any of the above mentioned?  Would that relationship be scary or wonderful beyond your dreams?  Behind the scenes, when the superheroes aren’t baffling bad guys, or duping dumb crooks, what are they really like?  Sort of like asking about the man behind the mask.  Theatre would make it seem like a wonderful expression of love at every turn, but…  Those wonder guys are supposed to be human too.  Human and full of angst, worry, and concern for you and your needs, or maybe their own human frailness.

That is the setting that Song finds herself in, in Chronicles of Orm, Legend of Cre –lo – Way.  Her man can do all things.  He can move mountains for her, literally, with the eager help of the earth, sea, and sky, nothing is beyond his reach within the realm of Light that he offers to all who believe.  She believes in him, his awesome powers, and in him as the plain, shy man that she knows as Orm.  But, she wonders, as most women might, is she truly in love with him, as Orm the man or she simply swept away by his awesome powers.

At length, her ache of question comes to the surface in her poem/song of loves question.  Can you sing with her?  Will you cry out in angst with her as she rises above the assembly in torment of question – Is she in love with a statue?  Or a man…

Follow our story as the courtyard tile explodes around her in over wrapping bands of peach colored bands of light and serenade of love.

Tile played refrain for her thoughts, gently blowing rich peach colors of tumble around her, helping her to stand before all others…

–Orchestration of tile—

“Who am I to wonder

What have I to dread

Why am I downhearted

Or maybe…  Just sick inside my head

Oh…  When he holds me

He takes my breath away

I’ll fly with him forever

Wherever he goes?  I’ll stay – aye  –  aye.

Oh  –  oh  –  ah  –  aye.

Yet part of me has question

Help me understand?

Am I in love with a statue…  Or a man…?

–      -Orchestration of tile changes to broader theme with bright strokes of green and crimson for him –

When he takes off on adventure

I’ll fly away with him

Help him through each moment

Whether happiness or grim…

Oh…  Someday they’ll take his name

Create a statue for his fame

Will I then be counted

Or be left outside in shame

Oh  –  oh  –  ah  –  aye

Yet part of me has question

Help me understand?

Am I in love with a statue…  Or a man…?

–Orchestration tones down blending rose red with that of peach  —

Some say love lasts forever

Will it be true for me

I’ll always love him…  No matter what

Will our love forever be?

Oh  –  oh  –  ah  –  aye

Oh…  Part of me has question

Help me understand…

Am I in love with a statue…  Or a man…?”

Tile pulsed with rose and peach colored fountains of light, bugling her question to courtyard and beyond.

Those in assembly gasped at her display of love, nodding of agreement of her.

Once again silence reigned, broken only by her quiet sobs and soon those of others.

Could her story play in your heart?  Do you understand her plight before mankind and the earth, sea, and sky?

Song continues in the story to become not just his love but a power of light in her way.  She sings her way to the relief of the wonderful Forest of Quinn, which no man or woman dares to approach upon pain of death, but…  Song, in her unique way, breaks through the thousand year stand of dismay and becomes queen of the forest.  That story is due next week…  Stay sharp as an arrow and – stay tuned.

Fictionbypalmer@gmail.com.

Another way to write that may be just as marketable


Imagery Within The Environment

Imagery within the environment

Sometimes the way you write is just as marketable as what you write.  In Chronicles of Orm, Legend of Cre – lo – Way, the writer uses Imagery to bring the environment into each scene as an active third of fourth character.  In some cases the main characters need to step back and let the earth, sea, and sky take charge of a scene as the main characters.

Imagine if you will that you have two scenes side by side.  The first has the earth, sea, and sky as inactive landscape, used by the main characters as a simple backdrop for what they are doing or saying.  Some writers seek to embellish this with long descriptive narrative, placing the action somewhere else in the script.

Imagine in the second scene as the earth, sea, and sky become not just active participants, but lead characters in what they accomplish for the plight of mankind.  The following example is pulled from chapter twenty six as the evil horde try to swarm our heroes last stand.  In human terms, this is where the cavalry might come charging out of a draw in heroic rescue.  In Imagery terms, the earth, sea, and sky take over.  Read below and see what we mean.

Lo surged under them in preparation of knowing.  Tile murmured under hiding, as if time approached for fullness of reveal to those waiting on beach.

Wind held its strength for time approaching, taking care to let rustle of leaves tell of horde.

Men and women stood side by side for brave stand in half circle of beach, letting Word of Way go before them, taking sense from tremble of leaf and rise of stench of hordes of filthy bodies.

Wind caught of same, growing in rapid advance of dark swirl of cloud, forcing vapor of storm and sea to ascend of high estate, to return as sharpened stones of wrath of hail, then again on high to repeat until weight of size compelled tearing fall of destruction.

Lightning flared upon hiding places of horde, who chose this moment to crowd together in hiding just beyond sight of those in half circle on beach.

Sharp hail struck with stunning force of nature only upon either side of mankind on beach.  Streaming hail stripped leaf and limb from protective overhang letting mankind see and understand way of horde, stunning and eroding death upon those who lurked in shame of hiding.

Men and women of stand hushed together in line, long swords drawn for battle, gleaming from each flare of lightning.

Lo shook ground behind horde, urging them to destruction by taking huge trunks of trees in slap of ground, crushing those too slow or bunched to move.  Boulders hurled in sequence sending crashing of more upon horde.

Horde filled air with scream of battle lust, pouring forth in dense wave of attack, programmed from birth to overcome by weight of numbers.  Hundreds fell as hail and lightning followed step of charge.  More stinking horde collapsed in ravine as lo opened under them, swallowing in crush of earth by hundred counts at each trembling crack.

Tile of new position chose this moment to cast off cover of lo, shooting brilliant beams in thunderous roar into those hordes that poured over ground in reinforcement of those in attack.

Still horde came on without flinch for they knew no other way, straight toward quivering prey of mankind.

Other scenes repeat the wrath of nature on the evil hordes for the sake of mankind, using whirlwind of tornado, fountains of the deep, hurl of boulder, and sudden fall of earth under stamp of wild beast.  In this manner the earth, sea, and sky reflect Imagery.  Imagery can indeed make the way you write just as marketable as what you write.

The next time you write, try to use a sense of Imagery, to see what it can do for you.  Contact Fictionbypalmer@gmail.com., with your questions, comments, and more amazing possibilities with Imagery.

Can the way you write be as marketable as what you write?


Imagery: An Explanation

Sometimes the way you write is just as marketable as what you write.  In Chronicles of Orm, Legend of Cre – lo – Way, the writer uses Imagery to bring light, color, and symphony to each scene.

Imagine if you will that you have two hexagon paving tiles, commonly used in a backyard patio.  One is plain gray with no distinguishing characteristics other than being heavy to hold.  The other begins in the story in the same manner, but…  As Cre – lo – Way gives his decree, that simple tile becomes a wonder of transformation.  From its humble beginning, your tile is now translucent, capable of shooting brilliant rays of light hundreds of feet into the air in either white or any color combination the scene may require.  In addition, the color and light show comes complete with throbbing symphony of sound.  Add an ability to key into the arrival or departure of key characters or play into a mood change and you have the characteristics of Imagery.  In this manner the force of Imagery becomes a third or fourth character in any scene, capable of detailing mood and atmosphere to any plot.

An example of Imagery is given below so that you might get a better idea of how Imagery can be used to highlight a poem/song.  In this example, our heroine, Song, brings out her question – Am I in love with a statue or a man?  This key setting in our story tells of our star female character as she wonders – am I in love with a statue – an image of how great her boy friend is – or him as a man.

One could read this as a simple poem and that would be one thing, but as you might tell from the example, by introducing Imagery, it makes the poem/song quite something different.  Remember that translucent tile that you’re still holding…

“How then, may I…  May I help him if so little in known of my dear, dear, Cre – lo – Way…”

No man knew of an answer, but all held silent for her.  She twisted her hands of angst, chin of tremble, word forming again from the depth of her heart.

Tile played refrain for her thoughts, gently blowing rich peach colors in tumble around her, helping her to stand before all others…

-Orchestration of tile-

“Who am I to wonder

What have I to dread

Why am I downhearted

Or maybe…  Just sick inside my head

Oh…  When he holds me

He takes my breath away

I’ll fly with him forever

Wherever he goes?  I’ll stay – aye – aye – aye

Oh – oh – ah – aye

Yet part of me has question

Help me understand

Am I in love with a statue…Or a man?”

-Orchestration of tile changes to a broader theme with bright strokes of emerald and crimson for him-

“When he takes off on adventure

I’ll fly away with him

Help him through each moment

Whether happiness or grim…

Oh…  Someday they’ll take his name

Create a statue for his fame

Will I then be counted

Or be left outside in shame

Oh – oh – ah – and aye

Yet part of has question

Help me understand…

Am I in love with a statue…Or a man?

Tile pulsed with rose and peach colored fountains of light, bugling her question to courtyard and beyond.

Do you understand Imagery from definition and example?  Does light, color, and symphony mean more to you now that Imagery is expressed in these terms?  If so, then go ahead and play with the concept in your next turn at an article or verse.  See what Imagery do for you.

Contact Fictionbypalmer@gmail.com., for more amazing possibilities with Imagery.

How long has it been since your company invested in a business white paper?


A real way to earn your business – by writing white papers.

Of honor and wisdom of understanding before our Lord.  10-21-13

Remember King David as he ran from threat after threat, how in the middle of very difficult circumstances chose to remember God’s promises.  By reflecting instead on God and His Blessings, King David could rise above that which pursued him by not becoming as they were, full of evil intent at every step.  He chose to honor God and seek His face, to forge his plans around understanding of the Lord.  He knew the lesson of Proverbs 19: 20+21 along with 20:5.

‘Listen to counsel and accept discipline, that you may be wise the rest of your days.

Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but the counsel of the Lord, it will stand.

A plan in the heart of a man is like deep water, but a man of understanding draws it out.

To write from my own experience is one thing.  To thoroughly research a difficult topic leading to new business ventures and then write about them is quite another thing.  That is my situation, finding a way to parlay my experience in management and sales to match those requirements in writing business white papers.

Much like my years of business to business presentations, writing white papers takes a highly developed sense of drawing out of a business a number of researchable items.  These include deciphering the real objectives, not those that declare for false attention.  Then, one must dig further to discover a true needs assessment with clear definitions. 

Next, a systematic approach to develop a workable outline and discussion of the facts.  This occurs over time with key interviews from those who know from experience or teaching what the correct values have to offer.

Do you know how to write a hook that will stand on its own as a lure you might use in fishing?  That is the challenge for a writer:  to snare a title so compelling that the ideal reader will have to continue! 

Similarly, a first page written correctly will make or break a white paper, very similar to my twenty years of experience on farm after farm.  I had to learn the hard way to fashion my initial proposal to fit his/her understanding in order to gain their interest and earn an allotment of time. 

My next goal was to go fishing;  to discern what priorities are of key importance, what points are acceptable to pursue against those which only scream for panic of time but really aren’t of true nature.  In this manner, my text might flow of strength of real definition of solutions, rather than deal with shallow interests.

What follows next is a series of benefits, with obvious examples for clarity, that a reader might find in the right solution to their stated problems.  Leading this progression to a sensible conclusion, the author wants to place his ideal solution in such a way that the benefits of what he is about to propose will answer every noted question in a way that would make that solution desirable to purchase.

Sometimes a diversion to an example from history might add weight to a certain point, helping the ideal reader to ‘see’ a point with greater clarity or to add value to the statements you are making.  Similar in use is a graph or two with specific points of interest or quotes from known experts about the subject.

At last is the answer: your idea, product, or service that fits the bill, that will put the ideal readers hands on your solution such as on a landing page or to call the number listed within a certain time or a direct purchase.  Your company, products or services should become the only source of interest as a solution for the problems outlined at the start.  

In this manner you hope to accomplish one of two things in marketing:  To lead a prospect to consider your company in a new light of understanding, whether that be as a thought leader or as offering the real solution they are seeking, turning that prospect at length into a cherished customer.  The next would be to solidify your position with existing customers so that they purchase additional products from you and put you at the top of their respective ‘go-to’ lists.  Rarely, but not impossible, both might be accomplished within the same proposal.

So what does writing white papers and using my experience have to do with King David and his attitude adjustments?  Simply this: To honor God in all that I do!

I place my gift of writing and my interest in this new business before His throne, before I go ahead on my own in rash eagerness of pursuit.  I especially like Proverbs 20:5, where the writer of Proverbs stakes his claim, for I intend to wade those deep waters in His strength of guidance, that His source of understanding will also be my source of understanding, that my writing will be of purpose and use to further His work among men, to indeed, shed the Light of His Salvation on all who might believe. 

Will you stand with me?  Will you pray for me, that I might not be distracted by the common lures of man.  That what benefits I may write in business will parlay into finances to bring my novels into the light of mainstream readers lost in darkness – for His names sake!

Thank you for your interest in Imagery by Palmer, Fictionbypalmer@gmail.com.,  and Chronicles of Orm.

                                                         

 

                                                                   Author Terry Palmer 

Making memory Chili


Do you remember?  Do you have that one or two special memories that flash back, ( in a good way,) to a day from your youth.  You see, I found that large set of cooking pots, the ones my mom used when we were just little boys.  Just holding those pots took me back, coming in from playing outside in the cold northern Wisconsin winterscape and walking into our kitchen and there it was…  That large metal pot was more than just bare metal, no, no.  This was a pot of memories.  You see, when a young boy as full of rascal and wonder as I was walked into our kitchen, I didn’t mildly speculate about a certain item.  No, no, I was stand on tip toes and peek in curious.  Wonderful aromas of an all afternoon cooking chili made our little tummies yearn for that which would fill along with her homemade bread or rolls. When I held that empty bowl that is what crashed my mind.  That little rascal of a boy in me made a plan.  By that afternoon chili ingredients blended together, making a hot sizzle excite my taste buds and longing for that same filling experience we witnessed as kids.  But I knew that patience in the kitchen brought great rewards so I let it cook… and cook… and cook.  Mmmmm, the entire house seemed to get in on the act.  Flavors lifted through our home, twitching memory after memory as that precious dinner cooked to culinary perfection.  It even spoiled a late afternoon nap that usually found me in my favorite chair along with old faithful dog at my side.  Before the game of the week started I held that precious bowl of sizzling chili, complete with sprinkle of grated cheese, slices of warm buttered bread, and tall glass of cold milk.  I looked at that assembly which made me think how fortunate I was and still am for a God fearing mother who loved us boys, toiled this much for our little tummies, and gave us a rich treasure of memories this good. A second bowl later, with the game going great, ( yeah, come on Packers ), I did think again of those treasures of days gone by but relived by a simple metal pot. 

Making memory Chili


Do you remember?  Do you have that one or two special memories that flash back, ( in a good way,) to a day from your youth.  You see, I found that large set of cooking pots, the ones my mom used when we were just little boys.  Just holding those pots took me back, coming in from playing outside in the cold northern Wisconsin winterscape and walking into our kitchen and there it was…  That large metal pot was more than just bare metal, no, no.  This was a pot of memories.  You see, when a young boy as full of rascal and wonder as I was walked into our kitchen, I didn’t mildly speculate about a certain item.  No, no, I was stand on tip toes and peek in curious.  Wonderful aromas of an all afternoon cooking chili made our little tummies yearn for that which would fill along with her homemade bread or rolls.

When I held that empty bowl that is what crashed my mind.  That little rascal of a boy in me made a plan.  By that afternoon chili ingredients blended together, making a hot sizzle excite my taste buds and longing for that same filling experience we witnessed as kids.  But I knew that patience in the kitchen brought great rewards so I let it cook… and cook… and cook.  Mmmmm, the entire house seemed to get in on the act.  Flavors lifted through our home, twitching memory after memory as that precious dinner cooked to culinary perfection.  It even spoiled a late afternoon nap that usually found me in my favorite chair along with old faithful dog at my side.  Before the game of the week started I held that precious bowl of sizzling chili, complete with sprinkle of grated cheese, slices of warm buttered bread, and tall glass of cold milk.  I looked at that assembly which made me think how fortunate I was and still am for a God fearing mother who loved us boys, toiled this much for our little tummies, and gave us a rich treasure of memories this good.

A second bowl later, with the game going great, ( yeah, come on Packers ), I did think again of those treasures of days gone by but relived by a simple metal pot.