go to
WordArt Preserve
go to
Holy Days WordArt

Made in the USA by American citizen/taxpayers

Misty Blue Cave Art Cafe' WordArt

(click on "reload" below to randomize background wrap)

[see lineup page end]



Rudy burst onto the porch and through the back door to find Ellen again washing diapers by hand as her mother and grandmother had back in the old country.

"The day's perfect," he gloated. "Get Tim in his stroller quick before the sun sets."

"He hasn't had his bath yet," Elle protested.

"No one'll notice or care."

"Not you," she rejoined, wincing at the thought of fresh clean clothes on play-crusted skin.

"Do it," Rudy demanded, impatient of green freedom at the end run of his office day.

"poi ka jo thanp eee," Tim babbled in surprise remonstration as shorts climbed onto clinging sand from helping mama in the rows of oregano and basil.

"iu ya gu hil isss," he reminded her as sandals slid onto his crunchy soles.

"I know, baby," Ellen empathized. "It ain't fair. And it ain't right, but daddy's gotta have seawinds of the night to hold him through another week in the cage."

"naaaa muuu," Tim hummed from deep in his chest for consoling dada roo.

Casey's crimson locks jounced from out the dormer window.

"Hey, what about me? Wait up."

Breathless, she skipped down the gravel walk to the street.

"The clan's all here," Rudy summarized from the warmth in his breast.

Streudel bounced down the stairs, yelping.

"It is," Casey agreed, kneeling to give Streudel a lift to the quay in her knapsack. Struedel curled into the vibe of her spine.

Rudy hoisted Tim onto his knee so the toddler could see barges plying their gifts toward wayfaring roamers drawn to distant Darbyville Wharf for fishing and drink along with quohogs slit fresh from the salty mud.

Ellen, Casey and Streudel settled onto rock gales heaved toward the edge of the sea, arranged studiously for benches by tent trawlers camped in the saw-toothed reeds.

"Come here, Tim. You can wash in sprays of the waves!"

Rudy pulled the sandals off Tim's impatient feet that cruised soon toward sis, Elle, and the lapping croons of Sebastian Harbor. Gulls screeched welcome and warning of the deep.

"Home are the sailors, home to the sea," Rudy answered silently, "and this hunter home from the hill."

(~360 words 2064 characters)

Historic Jobo 'Christmas Hearts

c. Jeannette Harris and ACRInc, Jonesborough TN. April 2015.

Extry Goodies

nytimes fashion-intersection Channel

newyorker art-click-the-new-whitney

denniscallan Tour Videos Channel


AT states

Appalachian Trail Conservancy