Bucephalus swatted the persistent flies away with his unkempt, wild-looking tail. He was a chestnut stallion with a messy mane and tail that where chocolate brown. No one dared brush him, for he was more wild then the wind and as untamed as the open ocean.
But why was he like this? Why did he throw anyone who dared saddle him?
He did this because he was a wise horse. Although he was young, he had a second sense, as most animals do. He could somehow sense that there would, someday, be a human that would need him. This human would be his human, Bucephalus’s human. They would be equals, friends. They would have joyrides together, human and horse as one, with the wind laughing merrily in their ears.
Bucephalus was sure of this, although he didn’t exactly know how or why. He just....knew.
But he did know what he would do in the meantime. He would wait for this human, the one that would be of importance to him. Bucephalus wouldn’t allow any other human to ride him. No, he would only let one ride him. The one that he was waiting for....
*****
“Hey!” said a loud and obnoxious voice from outside of the stables.
The voice woke Bucephalus. He let out an annoyed snort and shook his messy mane. Pesky horseflies bit his hindquarters and gnats buzzed persistently in his soft and sensitive ears. He whipped his dirty, tangled tail in an exasperated way, in attempt to swat them away. Bucephalus’s ears flattened. What were the annoying humans doing now?
“You got a challenge for me, stableboy?” shouted the voice in a loathsome, important tone.
“Well,” muttered a second voice, a voice that belonged to the stableboy, in a thoughtful, dejected tone, “I think that the only horse that you haven’t rode is Bucephalus. But no one can ride him. He throws anyone who dares embark on his back. Why don’t you ride Zeus? He’s tame....”
“A horse not allow me to ride him? Phooey! I could ride the wind itself,” snorted the arrogant voice of the first boy.
“If that is what you want,” the stableboy murmured. “But you have to saddle him yourself. I’m not going near him. I would like to live today.”
“Whatever, softie,” the first voice snarled.
Bucephalus whipped his tail more quickly and pawed at the ground in anticipation. O-o-oh this was gonna be good.
The snotty boy came over, holding the hated lather saddle in his arms.
Why would I want to schlepp a cadaverous cow on my back? Bucephalus whinnied, enraged. But the rude little boy ignored the great horse’s appeal.
The disgusting human saddled Bucephalus up and led him out of his stable. Bucephalus, pretending to be a laid-back bovine who was timid and tame, followed at a smooth, gentle pace.
“See?” RudeBoy said to the stableboy, who stood watching aghast as he cleaned another horse’s stable. “I have tamed him and I haven’t even mounted him yet! Ha!”
The stableboy didn’t reply as they clopped wordlessly out of the stables and int the open, where RudeBoy was to ride Bucephalus.
Other people had gathered, for they knew that RudeBoy was an excellent jokey, abut cruel. Bucephalus allowed RudeBoy to climb onto his back and ride him in a circle. As RudeBoy started the second circle, Bucephalus broke into a cater and then a gallop.
Bucephalus rose onto his hind hooves held position there for a moment, RudeBoy, red faced, screaming commands to stop all the while. And slammed his front feet onto the packed dirt, his hindquarters high in the air as if he were dong a handstand. RudeBoy, in all his arrogance, was thrown.
You are nothing but a pig with a whip, you rancid human slug! Bucephalus snorted in diffidence.
Bucephalus trotted braggingly in a teasing circle around RudeBoy. But as he did this, someone caught his eye. One of the people in the crowd. It was the smiling face of a boy. There was something about that boy....
As the embarrassed RudeBoy departed, Bucephalus, who had stopped trotting, held the youth’s gaze. He could not make himself look away. The young boy held Bucephalus’s gaze, too.
The boy stood.
“I will ride you,” he said, addressing Bucephalus, oblivious to the many pairs of eyes watching him in awe.
The boy was treating Bucephalus as his equal. He was a boy of importance....
The boy walked over to Bucephalus, unafraid. “My name is Alexander,” the boy whispered in the horse’s ear. “Will you let me ride you?”
Yes! Bucephalus whinnied eagerly. Yes, yes, yes!
But, for once, Bucephalus was not eager because he wanted to tease the ‘pig with a whip’ and throw the ‘human slug’. No, he was eager to find out more about this fascinating Alexander. He was not ardent about throwing him, but about riding with this wonderful by on his back.
Alexander mounted Bucephalus. He had taken the whip from the ground. With his bare hands, in a godlike fashion, he snapped the whip in half and threw them on the ground. “Let’s ride, Bucephalus,” he whispered. “Take me where you wish.”
Bucephalus flicked his ear in ecstasy. He was liking this Alexander character. Let’s go! he cried gleefully.
Bucephalus reared impalpably as that Alexander didn’t fall off. With that, Bucephalus cantered off.
As Bucephalus ran through thickets of brambles and leapt over rushing rivers and shallow creeks, Alexander whooping joyously on his back, he felt something that he had never felt before. When Alexander’s things flexed in preparation to squeeze the horse’s flanks (urging Bucephalus to quicken his canter into a flying pace), Bucephalus followed the command before it was even executed. Alexander and Bucephalus where one....
....human and horse where one....
*****
When Bucephalus, who was exhausted at this point, finally stopped, the two comrades had arrived at a peaceful little meadow.
The meadow was well-peppered with wildflowers of all colors; red-violet, deep-indigo, coal-black, sunshine-yellow, kumquat-orange, ivory-white, chocolate-brown, bittersweet-crimson and countless others. These awe inspiring blossoms were half-hidden behind ivy-green stalks of waving grasses, some only an inch high and others a foot.
A gentle breeze stirred cornelian cherry tree. Bright lemony-yellow blossoms that would become cherries waved in a delicate way. The tree’s silvery-brown bark was covered in these tiny flowers. several other trees looking identical to this waves welcomingly to the boy and stallion that had arrived.
“Wow,” murmured Alexander cynically, unable to believe that this place that seemed to have leapt out of a dream was real.
This place is stupefying! Bucephalus, who, too, had never been to this place before, whinnied in agreement.
“Thank you, Bucephalus,” Alexander whispered into the horse’s ear, even though there was no one to hear. “Thank you for taking me here.”
There was a comfortable silence as Bucephalus rubbed his muzzle affectionately against Alexander’s torso.
“Will you be my horse?” Alexander wondered, as if knowing that Bucephalus knew what he was saying.
Bucephalus let out a great neigh of ecstasy.
“You will?” Alexander cried in astonished glee. “Thank you, Bucephalus, thank you!”
*****
Alexander, seated on his war-horse, Bucephalus, many years later, charged into battle. It was a bloody one. Many a warrior died. The battle, which took place in what is now modern Pakistan, was called the Battle of Hydaspes.
Bucephalus broke the enemy’s ranks with his owner, Alexander the Great, mounted high on the powerful horse’s back. They, as they had been on that joyride to the beautiful meadow, were one. They fought as if their minds were connected. They rode as if they were a single animal, not to separate. They loved each other with a love fierce as flame.
Bucephalus, I sorrowfully say, died fighting by Alexander the Great. Alexander shed many grievous tears over Bucephalus, his loved horse.
But Bucephalus was not to be forgotten.
Alexander the Great named the place where the bloody battle had taken place after his beloved horse.
There are many books written on Bucephalus, and he is arguably the most famous horse in world history.
Alexander the Great died when he was around the age that Bucephalus was when he laid down his life. Bucephalus died when he was thirty, which is old for even modern horses. Alexander died at thirty-two.
And now they ride through the sky, leaping over breaks in the clouds and flying on white-feathered wings.
Human and horse are one....
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
The First Robin
Rising sun,
Melting sparkling blanket of frost,
Falling snow reseeds,
Cold north wind retreats,
Radiant coral glow of the morning sun as she casts her warmth and light over the earth.
In this peace and rapture of the sounds muffled by the melting snow,
Stands a small robin,
The first robin of spring.
With the remains of snowflakes on her silky chocolate feathers,
And a cherry-colored chest,
And a brilliant beak of burnt orange,
She is truly a sight to behold,
To remember.
Clouds drift away from the sun as if in fleet above her head,
And the sun rising in all of her glory,
She stands out in the white of sparkling snow,
Like a blossom of scarlet,
Like a crimson velvet,
Like a summer sunset,
Like an ice cream cherry,
With playful eyes like the stary, midnight sky,
With soft feathers like sweet hot cocoa,
With radiant chest like the fireplace alight with warm, leaping flames,
She is the first robin of spring.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Melting sparkling blanket of frost,
Falling snow reseeds,
Cold north wind retreats,
Radiant coral glow of the morning sun as she casts her warmth and light over the earth.
In this peace and rapture of the sounds muffled by the melting snow,
Stands a small robin,
The first robin of spring.
With the remains of snowflakes on her silky chocolate feathers,
And a cherry-colored chest,
And a brilliant beak of burnt orange,
She is truly a sight to behold,
To remember.
Clouds drift away from the sun as if in fleet above her head,
And the sun rising in all of her glory,
She stands out in the white of sparkling snow,
Like a blossom of scarlet,
Like a crimson velvet,
Like a summer sunset,
Like an ice cream cherry,
With playful eyes like the stary, midnight sky,
With soft feathers like sweet hot cocoa,
With radiant chest like the fireplace alight with warm, leaping flames,
She is the first robin of spring.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Mushrooms, Toxic and Edible
TODAY I am writing about mushrooms. I want to supply people lists and facts on both edible and inedible, poisonous and beneficial, mushrooms.
First, I will talk about the bad stuff. :)
Poisonous and Harmful Mushrooms
Okay, so this segment is about the abominable mushrooms, the accursed. Firstly, I will supply a list, along will fact files, about these monstrous mushrooms:
• Toadstools: Toadstools, widely known for their red-capped-with-white-spots appearance, are not, in fact, mushrooms. They are highly poisonous, which could be warned by their bright coloring. Its spore color is ruddy, almost orange, shade of brown.
• Green-spored Lepiota: The cap is a creamy, yellowish white color and is usually fairly flat, more or less. Their stems are normally darker, and more yellow with a fleshy ring around it, close to the cap. It is about three to ten inches in height and half an inch in width. As its name suggests, it has green spores, although you won’t be able to tell this from its fair gills. The only way you can test this is by making a spore print. It is highly poisonous, and you will start experiencing the symptoms about half an hour or one and a half hours after eating it. These include abnormal cramping, diarrhea, nausea and vomiting. Suffering can last as long as two days.
• Death Cap Mushroom : The death cap mushroom can be identified by the remnants of a sack near its gills and at its base. They have dull white stems and more or less darker caps. This mushroom is responsible for the most poisonings in the world. This is probably because it looks so much alike to many edible mushrooms; the brownish cap and dirty white steam. It likes to collaborate with deciduous trees, particularly silver birch and oak. When you consume it, it poisons you kidneys and liver. Its spore color is a chocolate brown.
How to Make a Mushroom Spore Print
Here is a step-by-step guide on how to make a mushroom spore print. I have listed the spore color of all of the mushrooms, and an online search can also tell you the spore color of poisonous and edible mushrooms. I hope that this helps.
1) Take a fresh mushroom cap.
2) Press it, gill-side down, onto a light and dark piece of paper.
3) Cover the cap with a bowl or jar as that wind currents don’t disturb the spore print.
4) Leave it to set over night.
5) Lift the bowl or jar off of the mushroom cap and carefully remove the mushroom cap.
6) Presto! You have made your very own mushroom print! What color is it?
Edible and Beneficial Mushrooms
So now that you know a bit more about the harmful mushrooms, let’s discus the edible ones. These delectable fungi are loved and enjoyed in a great diversity of dishes, from soups to casseroles, by people around the world. Just as I have done with the inedible mushrooms above, I have made a list (along with some facts and spore colors and such) of some delicious, edible mushrooms:
• Blue Foot : The blue foot, also known as the blewit, has a awe inspiringly and shockingly violet or blue hued stem and cap. This beautiful and vibrant tinge of color tends to fade over time. This delicious mushroom has an earthly flavor and must never be eaten raw. It is commonly mistaken for its deadly cousin, the silver violet cortinarius. One of the only differences between the two mushrooms is the spore color. This silver violet cortinarius has brown spores, while the blue foot has pink.
• Pom-Poms : Also lions mane mushroom, the pom-pom has a shaggy, almost furry white cap. It is indeed edible, and is widely enjoyed steamed, boiled, roasted, stewed, or fried. They have a strangely, unexpected meaty taste and can be used as substitutes for meat. This mushroom adduces no steam. The pom-pom has white spore prints, so if you are trying to make a pom-pom spore stamp, I suggest using a dark piece of paper.
• Shiitake : The shiitake mushroom is a wide-capped mushroom that usually grows out from tree bark, particularly dead Asian oak and beeches. It has a brown cap and a white steam and gills. This mushroom has a rich, buttery, meaty flavor. When dried, this flavor changes into a smokey taste. The shiitake, like the pom-pom, has white spores.
More About Mushroom Spores
So, what is a spore? you might be wondering. A spore is like a fungi’s seed. In mushrooms, it is located in the gills. This is why the gills are pressed downwards to reveal the color of the spore print. This can be any shade orange, pink, brown, green, white, and that is just to name a few.
When the mushroom releases its spores, the dust-like ‘seeds’ may either land around it or blow away and find some other place to land. Where a spore lands, a mushroom will grow.
More on Mushrooms
Edible mushrooms are often a wonderful substitute for meat and make wonderful and delicious dishes in many different presentations. These fungi are a wonderful and healthy treat that I, personally, have grown to love. You should try them! But be sure to get them store-bought, and not from the wild. Appearances of deadly and tasty mushrooms can be frighteningly alike.
~Thank You and Farewell~
Thank you for reading this post, and for viewing my blog. I think that I will do another factual post on a type of fungi some other time, sometime soon. I hope that you have enjoyed Mushrooms, Toxic and Edible and that you will find as much happiness reading my posts as I find when writing them. So, farewell, my friends. I will see you soon.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Mushrooms, Toxic and Edible -Part I, Toxic-
TODAY I am writing about mushrooms. I want to supply people lists and facts on both edible and inedible, poisonous and beneficial, mushrooms.
First, I will talk about the bad stuff. :)
Poisonous and Harmful Mushrooms:
Okay, so this segment is about the abominable mushrooms, the accursed. Firstly, I will supply a list, along will fact files, about these monstrous mushrooms:
• Toadstools: Toadstools, widely known for their red-capped-with-white-spots appearance, are not, in fact, mushrooms. They are highly poisonous, which could be warned by their bright coloring. Its spore color is ruddy, almost orange, shade of brown.
• Green-spored Lepiota: The cap is a creamy, yellowish white color and is usually fairly flat, more or less. Their stems are normally darker, and more yellow with a fleshy ring around it, close to the cap. It is about three to ten inches in height and half an inch in width. As its name suggests, it has green spores, although you won’t be able to tell this from its fair gills. The only way you can test this is by making a spore print. It is highly poisonous, and you will start experiencing the symptoms about half an hour or one and a half hours after eating it. These include abnormal cramping, diarrhea, nausea and vomiting. Suffering can last as long as two days.
• Death Cap Mushroom : The death cap mushroom can be identified by the remnants of a sack near its gills and at its base. They have dull white stems and more or less darker caps. This mushroom is responsible for the most poisonings in the world. This is probably because it looks so much alike to many edible mushrooms; the brownish cap and dirty white steam. It likes to collaborate with deciduous trees, particularly silver birch and oak. When you consume it, it poisons you kidneys and liver. Its spore color is a chocolate brown.
How to Make a Mushroom Spore Print:
Here is a step-by-step guide on how to make a mushroom spore print. I have listed the spore color of all of the mushrooms, and an online search can also tell you the spore color of poisonous and edible mushrooms. I hope that this helps.
1) Take a fresh mushroom cap.
2) Press it, gill-side down, onto a light and dark piece of paper.
3) Cover the cap with a bowl or jar as that wind currents don’t disturb the spore print.
4) Leave it to set over night.
5) Lift the bowl or jar off of the mushroom cap and carefully remove the mushroom cap.
5) Presto! You have made your very own mushroom print! What color is it?
-KittyLover8
© 2012
First, I will talk about the bad stuff. :)
Poisonous and Harmful Mushrooms:
Okay, so this segment is about the abominable mushrooms, the accursed. Firstly, I will supply a list, along will fact files, about these monstrous mushrooms:
• Toadstools: Toadstools, widely known for their red-capped-with-white-spots appearance, are not, in fact, mushrooms. They are highly poisonous, which could be warned by their bright coloring. Its spore color is ruddy, almost orange, shade of brown.
• Green-spored Lepiota: The cap is a creamy, yellowish white color and is usually fairly flat, more or less. Their stems are normally darker, and more yellow with a fleshy ring around it, close to the cap. It is about three to ten inches in height and half an inch in width. As its name suggests, it has green spores, although you won’t be able to tell this from its fair gills. The only way you can test this is by making a spore print. It is highly poisonous, and you will start experiencing the symptoms about half an hour or one and a half hours after eating it. These include abnormal cramping, diarrhea, nausea and vomiting. Suffering can last as long as two days.
• Death Cap Mushroom : The death cap mushroom can be identified by the remnants of a sack near its gills and at its base. They have dull white stems and more or less darker caps. This mushroom is responsible for the most poisonings in the world. This is probably because it looks so much alike to many edible mushrooms; the brownish cap and dirty white steam. It likes to collaborate with deciduous trees, particularly silver birch and oak. When you consume it, it poisons you kidneys and liver. Its spore color is a chocolate brown.
How to Make a Mushroom Spore Print:
Here is a step-by-step guide on how to make a mushroom spore print. I have listed the spore color of all of the mushrooms, and an online search can also tell you the spore color of poisonous and edible mushrooms. I hope that this helps.
1) Take a fresh mushroom cap.
2) Press it, gill-side down, onto a light and dark piece of paper.
3) Cover the cap with a bowl or jar as that wind currents don’t disturb the spore print.
4) Leave it to set over night.
5) Lift the bowl or jar off of the mushroom cap and carefully remove the mushroom cap.
5) Presto! You have made your very own mushroom print! What color is it?
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Sparta, the Ancient City-State ~Meg~ -Part II-
Hi.
My name is Meg.
You might have heard of my....lively best friend, Vivia. She gets overexcited about everything and is always happy. You could say that she is my exact opposite.
I like to stay in the background, while she likes to smile and make people happy. I like the wrestling and she likes gymnastics. I have black hair, she has red. I have blue eyes, she has brown. I have no freckles, she’s peppered with them. But, let me tell you one thing. She and I are both gaunt figures who hate boxing and running.
Although I may look like I have no muscles whatsoever, I’m pretty strong. I’m good at sneaking up on people, although that isn’t usually appreciated. I’m also kind o resourceful, like when I’m in a tight spot, I might use my head, or legs, or maybe my back, or arms, or something. I hate to be trapped. I love cats, and so does Vivia, but we both can’t have one. I can tap into my flexibility in my arms and back, but I have very little flaccidity in my legs.
Anyway, that’s me.
Vivia, who can’t keep a secret and talks a lot (whereas I’m shy and hate talking to strangers--or anybody for that matter), has probably told you about where the story takes place--Sparta--and about the Spartan lifestyle.
Yep. Thought so.
So, that’s it. I think that we can get on with the story. We’re set. Now.
Okay, so, right now, I’m doing my favorite thing in the Spartan Women Training Program; wrestling!
And, even better, I’m wrestling Spitfire: a brute of a girl who is a known calumniator to all of the girls in the program. I hate her.
Meg leans downwards and flexes her skimpy muscles, which only become slight protuberances in reply. Although there aren’t many shadows, Meg finds some and travels through them, almost as if she is a shadow herself....
“Bring it on,” she hissed, serpant-like.
Spitfire bellowed and flung herself at the shadows.
But all Spitfire’s hands teared at was air.
All the sudden, out of no where, Meg flung herself out of the shadows and onto Spitfire’s back, which was wet and sticky with perspiration.
Spitfire screamed in fury and bucked like an untamed bronco.
“If I had known you were this difficult to ride,” Meg murmured in that erie whisper of hers. “I would have found another horse.”
This enraged Spitfire more still. She then flopped over onto her back so that Meg was squashed in between the floor and Spitfire.
Spitfire laughed coldly. “Har har har,” she managed between gasps for air. “Look at little Meg, all--”
Meg, as mentioned before, was a resourceful girl. And she hated to lose. So, in desperation, Meg bit Spitfire’s back.
With a tremendous YOW! , Spitfire jumped three feet into the air (Meg used this time to dart swiftly into the shadows), and landed flat on her bum. Before she could recover from this, Meg jumped onto Spitfire’s back and slammed the girl on the ground. Meg’s powerful hands squeezing the bigger girl’s wrists.
“How do you like it?” Meg hissed vengefully. Her mouth still tasted salty and sweaty from biting Spitfire’s back.
After the match, Meg stalked into the shadows, seemingly become one herself. When she finally found Vivia, the two had to leave the boisterous and rowdy crowds as that they could hear each other properly.
“Spitfire tastes fowl,” was the first thing Meg said, tongue hanging out of her mouth and eyebrows lowered.
Vivia laughed. “Well,” she giggled, “at least you won.”
“Yeah,” Meg shrugged. “I still say you had a better match. Believe me, she tastes like a hunk of blubber marinated in sweat.”
“Ew,” Vivia said, still with laughing eyes and a gleeful smile, with a shiver.
“Yeah? You think that that was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted?” Meg inquired, raising her eyebrows.
“You would think,” Vivia shrugged.
Meg laughed. “This is far worse.”
“What is it?” Vivia wondered, big brown eyes wide, eager to find out. “Please tell me, Meg.”
“It is,” Meg pause for effect, “the chief’s cooking!”
The two friends broke into a fit of laughter. They were jubilant from Meg’s victory and from just....being together.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
My name is Meg.
You might have heard of my....lively best friend, Vivia. She gets overexcited about everything and is always happy. You could say that she is my exact opposite.
I like to stay in the background, while she likes to smile and make people happy. I like the wrestling and she likes gymnastics. I have black hair, she has red. I have blue eyes, she has brown. I have no freckles, she’s peppered with them. But, let me tell you one thing. She and I are both gaunt figures who hate boxing and running.
Although I may look like I have no muscles whatsoever, I’m pretty strong. I’m good at sneaking up on people, although that isn’t usually appreciated. I’m also kind o resourceful, like when I’m in a tight spot, I might use my head, or legs, or maybe my back, or arms, or something. I hate to be trapped. I love cats, and so does Vivia, but we both can’t have one. I can tap into my flexibility in my arms and back, but I have very little flaccidity in my legs.
Anyway, that’s me.
Vivia, who can’t keep a secret and talks a lot (whereas I’m shy and hate talking to strangers--or anybody for that matter), has probably told you about where the story takes place--Sparta--and about the Spartan lifestyle.
Yep. Thought so.
So, that’s it. I think that we can get on with the story. We’re set. Now.
Okay, so, right now, I’m doing my favorite thing in the Spartan Women Training Program; wrestling!
And, even better, I’m wrestling Spitfire: a brute of a girl who is a known calumniator to all of the girls in the program. I hate her.
Meg leans downwards and flexes her skimpy muscles, which only become slight protuberances in reply. Although there aren’t many shadows, Meg finds some and travels through them, almost as if she is a shadow herself....
“Bring it on,” she hissed, serpant-like.
Spitfire bellowed and flung herself at the shadows.
But all Spitfire’s hands teared at was air.
All the sudden, out of no where, Meg flung herself out of the shadows and onto Spitfire’s back, which was wet and sticky with perspiration.
Spitfire screamed in fury and bucked like an untamed bronco.
“If I had known you were this difficult to ride,” Meg murmured in that erie whisper of hers. “I would have found another horse.”
This enraged Spitfire more still. She then flopped over onto her back so that Meg was squashed in between the floor and Spitfire.
Spitfire laughed coldly. “Har har har,” she managed between gasps for air. “Look at little Meg, all--”
Meg, as mentioned before, was a resourceful girl. And she hated to lose. So, in desperation, Meg bit Spitfire’s back.
With a tremendous YOW! , Spitfire jumped three feet into the air (Meg used this time to dart swiftly into the shadows), and landed flat on her bum. Before she could recover from this, Meg jumped onto Spitfire’s back and slammed the girl on the ground. Meg’s powerful hands squeezing the bigger girl’s wrists.
“How do you like it?” Meg hissed vengefully. Her mouth still tasted salty and sweaty from biting Spitfire’s back.
After the match, Meg stalked into the shadows, seemingly become one herself. When she finally found Vivia, the two had to leave the boisterous and rowdy crowds as that they could hear each other properly.
“Spitfire tastes fowl,” was the first thing Meg said, tongue hanging out of her mouth and eyebrows lowered.
Vivia laughed. “Well,” she giggled, “at least you won.”
“Yeah,” Meg shrugged. “I still say you had a better match. Believe me, she tastes like a hunk of blubber marinated in sweat.”
“Ew,” Vivia said, still with laughing eyes and a gleeful smile, with a shiver.
“Yeah? You think that that was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted?” Meg inquired, raising her eyebrows.
“You would think,” Vivia shrugged.
Meg laughed. “This is far worse.”
“What is it?” Vivia wondered, big brown eyes wide, eager to find out. “Please tell me, Meg.”
“It is,” Meg pause for effect, “the chief’s cooking!”
The two friends broke into a fit of laughter. They were jubilant from Meg’s victory and from just....being together.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Sparta, the Ancient City-State ~Vivia~ -Part I-
Hello!
My name is Vivia, short for vivacious--meaning lively and spirited. I guess that you could say that the name fits me.
I am a newish member of the Spartan training program, in which a take part in a number of things. These include wrestling, running, boxing, and gymnastics (my favorite).
I have red hair, freckles, and brown eyes. I have arms and legs like strings of spaghetti, and a torso not much thicker. All in all, I’m a skimpy, smiley girl that most o the adults and kids find too chatty.
My very best friend, Meg (meaning tomboy), is the complete and total opposite of me. She’s kinda dark and likes to wrestle. She doesn’t exactly paint the picture of a stay-at-home mom living with way to many children. That, by the way, is what us Spartan women are supposed to become from the moment we are induced to merry at age twenty to the day we die.
Now, that might seem a little unfair, that we have to train from seven to twenty and from there, have a bunch of kids for her husband, but you should take a look at how the Athenian women have to live. They can’t go outdoors, are forced to merry at age fourteen or fifteen, and can’t go to any household celebrations. There job, too, is to bare many children to their husbands.
I am not, of course, saying that I think that the Spartan lifestyle is fair.
Both me and Meg hate the fact that we will have to merry and bare many strong babies. An we both wish that our lives were different. But, hey, I can feel a little bit more advantageously when we look at the Athenian women.
Anyway, right now I’m talking about the present. And in the present, I’m doing one of my least favorite things; wrestling.
My opponent is Spitfire, a nasty brute of a girl with well-muscled arms and legs and wild eyes that look as though they belong to a particularly nasty, charging boar. She has a single sining gold hoop earring that make her resemble a pirate. She isn’t the nicest of people, either, resulting to not many of the public liking her.
Now, mind you (as so that you don’t get to awestruck), Vivia is not all that good at wrestling. And Spitfire, well, she’s tied for the best at it.
And who is she tied with?
Well, none other then Meg and Gamine, two other very tough girls.
Vivia, on the other hand, was one of the worst at wrestling. And that is one of the biggest understatements I’ve ever made.
Okay, so back to the story.
Spitfire and Vivia had just engaged. Vivia, who was quite good at gymnastics, leapt onto Spitfire’s back and used this leverage to do a summersault off of the larger girl’s back and land lightly on her feet behind Spitfire.
At first, Spitfire merely blinked in surprise. Then she bellowed in rage and blindly flung herself at the little redhead standing behind her. Vivia, who was throughly enjoying herself, twisted herself in an unreally flexible way. Into a perfect ring. Around the revoltingly pudgy arm of Spitfire.
In repulsed awe, Spitfire pulled her arm away. Instantly, Vivia broke the circle she had made and landed with a perfect floor roll.
Spitfire did not appreciate the wonderful gymnastic moves being executed before her very eyes. Instead, she growled in a low, menacing rumble and launched herself at the small girl leaping about her massive thighs.
This time, Vivia unfurled her ribbon that she used to practice her ribbon dancing and rand around Spitfire, tangling the rope-like ribbon around the large girl’s legs. When Spitfire attempted to pounce on the “small, annoying redhead”, she fell flat on her face.
Abut, to no avail, for this merriment, unfortunately, did not last. Spitfire shrieked in rage and kicked off her bounds. She then promptly sat on poor Vivia.
Vivia wriggled a bit, but she had already been aquatinted with defeat, and knew it well. For, this was the longest she had ever lasted in wrestling, and all that had bought her time was her gymnastic skills.
Once Vivia was off of the ring, Spitfire grunting obligingly behind her to the people giving her encouraging slaps on her sweaty back, she immediately started searching through the crowds for Meg.
“Meg!” Vivia called, cupping her hands over her mouth to amplify the sound. “Meg! Where are you?”
“Vivia?” a voice called back from the far left of the crowds. “Is that you, Vivia?”
“Meg!” Vivia cried gleefully, parting her way through chatty masses of girls.
And the two friends found each other, pushing their way through the people until they met in a joyful embrace.
“Vivia, you did so well in the match!” Meg said with an encouraging smile playing on her lips. Then she broke into a laugh, “Spitfire never knew what hit her!”
“Yeah,” Vivia said with a smile. “I bet you could beat her faster then she could blink, though! You’re awesome, Meg.” Meg was kind of like Vivia’s idol, her role model.
Meg rolled her eyes, cheeks rosy red and an embarrassed smile on her face. “Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically.
“Well, you’d better,” Vivia said with a teasing smile, “because you’re up next!”
Meg gave her an evil look and melted into the shadows.
“Bye,” Vivia murmured with a wave.
Was it her imagination or did she hear someone reply? “Farewell,” it whispered, horse and cracked.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
My name is Vivia, short for vivacious--meaning lively and spirited. I guess that you could say that the name fits me.
I am a newish member of the Spartan training program, in which a take part in a number of things. These include wrestling, running, boxing, and gymnastics (my favorite).
I have red hair, freckles, and brown eyes. I have arms and legs like strings of spaghetti, and a torso not much thicker. All in all, I’m a skimpy, smiley girl that most o the adults and kids find too chatty.
My very best friend, Meg (meaning tomboy), is the complete and total opposite of me. She’s kinda dark and likes to wrestle. She doesn’t exactly paint the picture of a stay-at-home mom living with way to many children. That, by the way, is what us Spartan women are supposed to become from the moment we are induced to merry at age twenty to the day we die.
Now, that might seem a little unfair, that we have to train from seven to twenty and from there, have a bunch of kids for her husband, but you should take a look at how the Athenian women have to live. They can’t go outdoors, are forced to merry at age fourteen or fifteen, and can’t go to any household celebrations. There job, too, is to bare many children to their husbands.
I am not, of course, saying that I think that the Spartan lifestyle is fair.
Both me and Meg hate the fact that we will have to merry and bare many strong babies. An we both wish that our lives were different. But, hey, I can feel a little bit more advantageously when we look at the Athenian women.
Anyway, right now I’m talking about the present. And in the present, I’m doing one of my least favorite things; wrestling.
My opponent is Spitfire, a nasty brute of a girl with well-muscled arms and legs and wild eyes that look as though they belong to a particularly nasty, charging boar. She has a single sining gold hoop earring that make her resemble a pirate. She isn’t the nicest of people, either, resulting to not many of the public liking her.
Now, mind you (as so that you don’t get to awestruck), Vivia is not all that good at wrestling. And Spitfire, well, she’s tied for the best at it.
And who is she tied with?
Well, none other then Meg and Gamine, two other very tough girls.
Vivia, on the other hand, was one of the worst at wrestling. And that is one of the biggest understatements I’ve ever made.
Okay, so back to the story.
Spitfire and Vivia had just engaged. Vivia, who was quite good at gymnastics, leapt onto Spitfire’s back and used this leverage to do a summersault off of the larger girl’s back and land lightly on her feet behind Spitfire.
At first, Spitfire merely blinked in surprise. Then she bellowed in rage and blindly flung herself at the little redhead standing behind her. Vivia, who was throughly enjoying herself, twisted herself in an unreally flexible way. Into a perfect ring. Around the revoltingly pudgy arm of Spitfire.
In repulsed awe, Spitfire pulled her arm away. Instantly, Vivia broke the circle she had made and landed with a perfect floor roll.
Spitfire did not appreciate the wonderful gymnastic moves being executed before her very eyes. Instead, she growled in a low, menacing rumble and launched herself at the small girl leaping about her massive thighs.
This time, Vivia unfurled her ribbon that she used to practice her ribbon dancing and rand around Spitfire, tangling the rope-like ribbon around the large girl’s legs. When Spitfire attempted to pounce on the “small, annoying redhead”, she fell flat on her face.
Abut, to no avail, for this merriment, unfortunately, did not last. Spitfire shrieked in rage and kicked off her bounds. She then promptly sat on poor Vivia.
Vivia wriggled a bit, but she had already been aquatinted with defeat, and knew it well. For, this was the longest she had ever lasted in wrestling, and all that had bought her time was her gymnastic skills.
Once Vivia was off of the ring, Spitfire grunting obligingly behind her to the people giving her encouraging slaps on her sweaty back, she immediately started searching through the crowds for Meg.
“Meg!” Vivia called, cupping her hands over her mouth to amplify the sound. “Meg! Where are you?”
“Vivia?” a voice called back from the far left of the crowds. “Is that you, Vivia?”
“Meg!” Vivia cried gleefully, parting her way through chatty masses of girls.
And the two friends found each other, pushing their way through the people until they met in a joyful embrace.
“Vivia, you did so well in the match!” Meg said with an encouraging smile playing on her lips. Then she broke into a laugh, “Spitfire never knew what hit her!”
“Yeah,” Vivia said with a smile. “I bet you could beat her faster then she could blink, though! You’re awesome, Meg.” Meg was kind of like Vivia’s idol, her role model.
Meg rolled her eyes, cheeks rosy red and an embarrassed smile on her face. “Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically.
“Well, you’d better,” Vivia said with a teasing smile, “because you’re up next!”
Meg gave her an evil look and melted into the shadows.
“Bye,” Vivia murmured with a wave.
Was it her imagination or did she hear someone reply? “Farewell,” it whispered, horse and cracked.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
The Driving Cat
Once upon a time, on a fairytale highway....
....There was a cat.
This cat, whose name was Twix, was driving a car. On a highway. The car was going at about 267 mph. The speed limit was 50 mph. Did Twix care? No.
So, going 217 miles per hour over the limit, how do you think Twix was feeling? She was having the time of her life. She sat, calm and collected in the speeding vehicle, with her paws on the faux black leather wheel, purring louder then the roaring engine. Her is a picture of her looking, with much disgust (and a vague smile), at the driver just ahead of her, going sluggishly at 55 mph:*
And where had Twix come from? Whose cat was she? Why was she driving a car? Where had she learned how to drive?
We will never know.
At that moment, Twix's car smashed into his--and she kept on going. He managed to jump clear just in time, for now his car was a forlorn puddle of melted medal.
Cats make careless drivers.
The other car, though, had made her car trundle aimlessly off of the road and out of harm's way (harm to the other drivers, of course). She then, of course, smashed into a tree....
....and plowed its great roots out of the earth....
....and kept, uncaring, right on driving in a 267, swerving fashion.
A least Twix had her seat belt on.
She then plowed into a railing enclosing another road. Almost instantly, for this highway's speed limit was 65 mph (and she was over by 202), a cop began to pursuit her. Abut, the policeman's vehicle was a bit (I mean a lot) slower then the speedy cat's car. So, out of pure politeness, Twix drove in a lightning fast reverse to meet the cop.
Twix drove a little too quickly, and and added a long scratch to the officer's vehicle. With that she spun, knocked another person's car onto its back, ran onto a strip of grass, plowed into a large bush, drove off of the grass, ran over a trash can (for, unbeknownst to her, she had entered a small town, crashed her trunk into a store, and demolished the bike of someone who had rushed off to help.
Cats, you see, make careless drivers.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
*I did not take this picture. It is something that I found online.
....There was a cat.
This cat, whose name was Twix, was driving a car. On a highway. The car was going at about 267 mph. The speed limit was 50 mph. Did Twix care? No.
So, going 217 miles per hour over the limit, how do you think Twix was feeling? She was having the time of her life. She sat, calm and collected in the speeding vehicle, with her paws on the faux black leather wheel, purring louder then the roaring engine. Her is a picture of her looking, with much disgust (and a vague smile), at the driver just ahead of her, going sluggishly at 55 mph:*
And where had Twix come from? Whose cat was she? Why was she driving a car? Where had she learned how to drive?
We will never know.
At that moment, Twix's car smashed into his--and she kept on going. He managed to jump clear just in time, for now his car was a forlorn puddle of melted medal.
Cats make careless drivers.
The other car, though, had made her car trundle aimlessly off of the road and out of harm's way (harm to the other drivers, of course). She then, of course, smashed into a tree....
....and plowed its great roots out of the earth....
....and kept, uncaring, right on driving in a 267, swerving fashion.
A least Twix had her seat belt on.
She then plowed into a railing enclosing another road. Almost instantly, for this highway's speed limit was 65 mph (and she was over by 202), a cop began to pursuit her. Abut, the policeman's vehicle was a bit (I mean a lot) slower then the speedy cat's car. So, out of pure politeness, Twix drove in a lightning fast reverse to meet the cop.
Twix drove a little too quickly, and and added a long scratch to the officer's vehicle. With that she spun, knocked another person's car onto its back, ran onto a strip of grass, plowed into a large bush, drove off of the grass, ran over a trash can (for, unbeknownst to her, she had entered a small town, crashed her trunk into a store, and demolished the bike of someone who had rushed off to help.
Cats, you see, make careless drivers.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
*I did not take this picture. It is something that I found online.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Word of the Week -Week I-
This week's word is....
Boisterous
Defination:
• Mischievous, loud •
Thesaurus:
• Rough, noisy, rowdy, disorderly, clamorous, unlawful •
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Boisterous
Defination:
• Mischievous, loud •
Thesaurus:
• Rough, noisy, rowdy, disorderly, clamorous, unlawful •
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Word of the Week
Welcome to Word of the Week! Once a week--as the title suggests--I will post the definition and some thesauruses of a chosen word. Thanks for viewing--and reading! I hope that you enjoy reading Word of the Week!
-KittyLover8
© 2012
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. Bue Betta in a Fishbowl
This is a blue betta fish inside of a fishbowl that I have made for Ragdoll17. It is peeking its head out of some kelp in between two 'wooden' poles. The sand is white with some gray grains.
Colors used:
Greenish blue, brick red, white, dark green, and dark blue.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Obstructa -Chapter I-
In the dark of the night, a slender, stealthy figure, crept into a dark, dank cave. Her paws slipped silent as cotton over ice. The only sound was the drip, drip, drip of dirty water falling from an unknown place on the cave ceiling....
....And the soft snoring from a larger cave to the small cave’s right, unknown to the weary she-cat.
*****
Clementine and Spark, a pair of demon cat twins, yawned and stretched, waking up with the sun.
Spark was a male demon cat with a mellow, tender personality. He was a gray long hair peppered with white-rimed, orange explosions with a white belly. His paws were white, and his tail was ringed with colors of flame; white on the very tip, then yellow, then orange, and lastly red. He had bright yellow, laughing eyes. A lightning insignia looked alive on his left hind leg.
All demon cats have an insignia on their left hind leg. This symbol tells them what their names--and powers--will be. Some demon cats have powers that are in some relevant relation to their name. Spark’s power was to conjure a lightning storm.
Clementine was female demon cat. She was a orange tabby short hair with white paws. She had dark brown eyes. Her insignia was of an orange with a single green leaf. Her power was to grow plants at will.
They lived in a small forest. In the clearing--or as much of a clearing as there was in that forest--that they lived in was a large cave, where they slept. Next to that cave was a smaller one, which Spark and Clementine didn’t bother with. Although, unbeknownst to the twin demon cats, it was presently inhabited by uninvited--and unwanted--company.
Spark jumped playfully onto a large tree stump only a yard away from the small cave. The other demon cat in the cave was awakening. She blinked open her eyes, two dazzling blue lights shining in Spark’s direction.
Spark was quickly joined by his twin sister, Clementine. The two wrestled on the tree stump for a while. Just then, Spark saw something. The two eyes of another demon cat.
“Who’s there?” Spark asked with friendly curiosity.
The demon cat felt threatened. Her growl emanated from the cave in reply to Spark’s question.
Clementine snarled, which probably wasn’t the best idea. The other demon cat sprang from the cave, hissing in a terrifying, feral way.
Clementine and Spark jumped back, but Clementine was a bit to slow and became ensnared in the other demon cat’s claws.
“That,” Clementine hissed, arching her back and silting her eyes, “was a bad idea. On your part, of course.”
Spark shifted nervously as the other demon cat mirrored Clementine and they began to make the terrible sounds that demon cats make, circling each other. “Stop,” he pleaded uselessly.
The two ignored him.
Now, Clementine and spark finally had a good look at the opposing demon cat. She was a female. She had long hair that was silver. Tabby stripes along with leopard-like spots were peppered along her flanks. She had white paws, and a white muzzle, chest, and belly. An infinity insignia bordered each paw where silver met white. On her forehead was a sign like a figure eight made with two diamonds. The sign was black and was flanked by two dark dots.
And then there was the sign on her hind leg. It was made up of beautifully chipped gemstones that caught the light as if they were real. They came in four colors; red, blue, yellow, and pink. They came in all shapes and sizes; some diamond-shaped, others hearts, several triangles, and many more.
But now was no time to admire each other’s designs. The two she-cats were snarling at the other, unsheathing their claws and raking the ground.
“Hey!” Spark shouted above the clamor of the snarling she-cats, deciding to take matters into his own paws. “Stop it! There is no need for fighting.”
Clementine glared at her brother. “Fine,” she sighed. She jumped down from the stump, a sign of surrender.
Seeing Clementine retreat, the opposing demon cat sheathed her claws. She, too, leapt down to the ground. She sat and washed her pads, showing that she was no threat. She then paused and watched the other two demon cats intently.
“Hello,” she greeted in a steely tone.
“Hi!” Spark smiled warmly. “I’m Spark--”
“And I’m Clementine,” Clementine added coldly.
“What’s your name?” Spark inquired, tilting his head slightly to one side. He still smiled, and the expression was obviously genuine.
The demon cat decided that she might as well return Spark’s friendly antics. “Thank you, for being so welcoming,” the cat smiled. “And, well, I really don’t know what my name is yet.”
“Oh,” Clementine meowed understandingly. “I see....”
“We could help you find out!” Spark volunteered, always extremely friendly. “We’d love to help, right Clementine?”
“Well,” Clementine grumbled into her brother’s ear, sure not to let the other demon cat hear her, shifting her paws nervously. “we hardly know this demon cat. How are we supposed to go on a whole mission with her?”
“Come on!” Spark retorted in a whisper, disappointed that his sister didn’t agree. “This’ll be easy! It’ll probably be something like ‘Gem’ of ‘Jewel’. Besides, we got help to figure out what our names were.”
“Fine,” Clementine meowed grudgingly, this time raising her voice slightly to a normal tone. “We will help her.”
“You--you will?” the demon cat squeaked gleefully, aghast and awe-struck. “You really and truly will?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” Spark cried eagerly, always being a very kind spirit.
The other demon cat’s joy vanished to leave concern. “You don’t have to,” she protested. “I mean, it will, you know, be really dangerous. I don’t want you to put yourselves at risk just to help me....”
“Of course we’ll help you!” Spark said, nodding. “Why not? We needed each other's help to find out what our names and powers were. It’s important to find that information out.”
Clementine’s resentment to the strange cat left a sudden as it had come. “Please let us help you,” she said in sugar-coated tone.
The stranger smiled and her eyes sparkled like stars. “Well, if you really want too....”
“Yes!” the siblings agreed simultaneously with enthusiasm.
“....then let’s start guessing!” the strange cat exclaimed joyously.
Immediately Spark chided, “Gem! Or maybe Jewel!”
“Or Gemstone!” Clementine suggested.
The demon cat sighed in a forlorn way. “Thank you, but I have tried all of those. I’m guessing that it must be--”
But the fire of a merciless rifle, maned by a heartless hunter, sounded, interrupting the demon cats’ conversation.
“What was that?” the atypical demon cat inquired in a fearful tone, ears back and eyes wide disks of apprehension and anxiety.
“That,” Spark panted as he ran for cover, “is the signal to run!”
The three demon cats shoved themselves in different hiding places; Clementine jammed herself into a tree hollow, Spark compressed himself in between two rocks (although he could hardly breathe in this makeshift refuge), and the stranger stuffed herself into the small cave of which she had met her unlikely comrades.
Another shot sounded.
The demon cats huddled further into their refuges, trembling with terror, as yet again the earsplitting blasts of gunfire rang out into the forest.
And that was just the beginning of it.
A green camouflage jeep containing two men, a driver and a shooter, thundered out of the undergrowth, crushing the homes of countless animals and destroying vegetation that many creatures depended on for food in the blink of an eye. The men were vehemently talking to each other in loud, boisterous tones. They had malevolent smirks on their faces and an arrogant, bragging glow in their cruel eyes.
The jeep lurched past the cowering demon cats’ hideouts, the rifleman releasing a volley of pricing iron bullets without a moment’s hesitation. With that, as sudden and traitorously as they had come, they drove past. Although, their shouts and gunfire could still be heard as they unleashed havoc into the forest.
The demon cats didn’t creep out of their hiding places until these sounds, too, faded away. When they did, what greeted them brought shivers crawling up their spines like a hundred black beetles.
The peace and rapture of the forest had been broken by the cruelty of the terrible musket and riflemen and the havoc they wreaked upon the forest and its inhabitants.
“What,” said the demon cat, aghast with horror, “was that?”
“That was a jeep with a pair of hunters,” Clementine growled in reply.
“I hate them!” Spark cried, and his eyes ignited with rage and abhorrence. “They’ll regret this!”
Poor Spark broke down in tears, the fire that he had harbored in his eyes extinguished, and his sister and his new friend curled around him in attempt to comfort him and stem his tears.
“It’s okay, Spark,” the strange demon cat murmured in a comforting tone.
Clementine rubbed against her brother’s cheek with an unbreakable affection. And for the next hour or so, the demon cats were silent, mourning for those who had suffered for the hunters’ fun.
______________________________________________________________________
-KittyLover8
© 2012
....And the soft snoring from a larger cave to the small cave’s right, unknown to the weary she-cat.
*****
Clementine and Spark, a pair of demon cat twins, yawned and stretched, waking up with the sun.
Spark was a male demon cat with a mellow, tender personality. He was a gray long hair peppered with white-rimed, orange explosions with a white belly. His paws were white, and his tail was ringed with colors of flame; white on the very tip, then yellow, then orange, and lastly red. He had bright yellow, laughing eyes. A lightning insignia looked alive on his left hind leg.
All demon cats have an insignia on their left hind leg. This symbol tells them what their names--and powers--will be. Some demon cats have powers that are in some relevant relation to their name. Spark’s power was to conjure a lightning storm.
Clementine was female demon cat. She was a orange tabby short hair with white paws. She had dark brown eyes. Her insignia was of an orange with a single green leaf. Her power was to grow plants at will.
They lived in a small forest. In the clearing--or as much of a clearing as there was in that forest--that they lived in was a large cave, where they slept. Next to that cave was a smaller one, which Spark and Clementine didn’t bother with. Although, unbeknownst to the twin demon cats, it was presently inhabited by uninvited--and unwanted--company.
Spark jumped playfully onto a large tree stump only a yard away from the small cave. The other demon cat in the cave was awakening. She blinked open her eyes, two dazzling blue lights shining in Spark’s direction.
Spark was quickly joined by his twin sister, Clementine. The two wrestled on the tree stump for a while. Just then, Spark saw something. The two eyes of another demon cat.
“Who’s there?” Spark asked with friendly curiosity.
The demon cat felt threatened. Her growl emanated from the cave in reply to Spark’s question.
Clementine snarled, which probably wasn’t the best idea. The other demon cat sprang from the cave, hissing in a terrifying, feral way.
Clementine and Spark jumped back, but Clementine was a bit to slow and became ensnared in the other demon cat’s claws.
“That,” Clementine hissed, arching her back and silting her eyes, “was a bad idea. On your part, of course.”
Spark shifted nervously as the other demon cat mirrored Clementine and they began to make the terrible sounds that demon cats make, circling each other. “Stop,” he pleaded uselessly.
The two ignored him.
Now, Clementine and spark finally had a good look at the opposing demon cat. She was a female. She had long hair that was silver. Tabby stripes along with leopard-like spots were peppered along her flanks. She had white paws, and a white muzzle, chest, and belly. An infinity insignia bordered each paw where silver met white. On her forehead was a sign like a figure eight made with two diamonds. The sign was black and was flanked by two dark dots.
And then there was the sign on her hind leg. It was made up of beautifully chipped gemstones that caught the light as if they were real. They came in four colors; red, blue, yellow, and pink. They came in all shapes and sizes; some diamond-shaped, others hearts, several triangles, and many more.
But now was no time to admire each other’s designs. The two she-cats were snarling at the other, unsheathing their claws and raking the ground.
“Hey!” Spark shouted above the clamor of the snarling she-cats, deciding to take matters into his own paws. “Stop it! There is no need for fighting.”
Clementine glared at her brother. “Fine,” she sighed. She jumped down from the stump, a sign of surrender.
Seeing Clementine retreat, the opposing demon cat sheathed her claws. She, too, leapt down to the ground. She sat and washed her pads, showing that she was no threat. She then paused and watched the other two demon cats intently.
“Hello,” she greeted in a steely tone.
“Hi!” Spark smiled warmly. “I’m Spark--”
“And I’m Clementine,” Clementine added coldly.
“What’s your name?” Spark inquired, tilting his head slightly to one side. He still smiled, and the expression was obviously genuine.
The demon cat decided that she might as well return Spark’s friendly antics. “Thank you, for being so welcoming,” the cat smiled. “And, well, I really don’t know what my name is yet.”
“Oh,” Clementine meowed understandingly. “I see....”
“We could help you find out!” Spark volunteered, always extremely friendly. “We’d love to help, right Clementine?”
“Well,” Clementine grumbled into her brother’s ear, sure not to let the other demon cat hear her, shifting her paws nervously. “we hardly know this demon cat. How are we supposed to go on a whole mission with her?”
“Come on!” Spark retorted in a whisper, disappointed that his sister didn’t agree. “This’ll be easy! It’ll probably be something like ‘Gem’ of ‘Jewel’. Besides, we got help to figure out what our names were.”
“Fine,” Clementine meowed grudgingly, this time raising her voice slightly to a normal tone. “We will help her.”
“You--you will?” the demon cat squeaked gleefully, aghast and awe-struck. “You really and truly will?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” Spark cried eagerly, always being a very kind spirit.
The other demon cat’s joy vanished to leave concern. “You don’t have to,” she protested. “I mean, it will, you know, be really dangerous. I don’t want you to put yourselves at risk just to help me....”
“Of course we’ll help you!” Spark said, nodding. “Why not? We needed each other's help to find out what our names and powers were. It’s important to find that information out.”
Clementine’s resentment to the strange cat left a sudden as it had come. “Please let us help you,” she said in sugar-coated tone.
The stranger smiled and her eyes sparkled like stars. “Well, if you really want too....”
“Yes!” the siblings agreed simultaneously with enthusiasm.
“....then let’s start guessing!” the strange cat exclaimed joyously.
Immediately Spark chided, “Gem! Or maybe Jewel!”
“Or Gemstone!” Clementine suggested.
The demon cat sighed in a forlorn way. “Thank you, but I have tried all of those. I’m guessing that it must be--”
But the fire of a merciless rifle, maned by a heartless hunter, sounded, interrupting the demon cats’ conversation.
“What was that?” the atypical demon cat inquired in a fearful tone, ears back and eyes wide disks of apprehension and anxiety.
“That,” Spark panted as he ran for cover, “is the signal to run!”
The three demon cats shoved themselves in different hiding places; Clementine jammed herself into a tree hollow, Spark compressed himself in between two rocks (although he could hardly breathe in this makeshift refuge), and the stranger stuffed herself into the small cave of which she had met her unlikely comrades.
Another shot sounded.
The demon cats huddled further into their refuges, trembling with terror, as yet again the earsplitting blasts of gunfire rang out into the forest.
And that was just the beginning of it.
A green camouflage jeep containing two men, a driver and a shooter, thundered out of the undergrowth, crushing the homes of countless animals and destroying vegetation that many creatures depended on for food in the blink of an eye. The men were vehemently talking to each other in loud, boisterous tones. They had malevolent smirks on their faces and an arrogant, bragging glow in their cruel eyes.
The jeep lurched past the cowering demon cats’ hideouts, the rifleman releasing a volley of pricing iron bullets without a moment’s hesitation. With that, as sudden and traitorously as they had come, they drove past. Although, their shouts and gunfire could still be heard as they unleashed havoc into the forest.
The demon cats didn’t creep out of their hiding places until these sounds, too, faded away. When they did, what greeted them brought shivers crawling up their spines like a hundred black beetles.
The peace and rapture of the forest had been broken by the cruelty of the terrible musket and riflemen and the havoc they wreaked upon the forest and its inhabitants.
“What,” said the demon cat, aghast with horror, “was that?”
“That was a jeep with a pair of hunters,” Clementine growled in reply.
“I hate them!” Spark cried, and his eyes ignited with rage and abhorrence. “They’ll regret this!”
Poor Spark broke down in tears, the fire that he had harbored in his eyes extinguished, and his sister and his new friend curled around him in attempt to comfort him and stem his tears.
“It’s okay, Spark,” the strange demon cat murmured in a comforting tone.
Clementine rubbed against her brother’s cheek with an unbreakable affection. And for the next hour or so, the demon cats were silent, mourning for those who had suffered for the hunters’ fun.
______________________________________________________________________
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Pumpkin Limerick
Pumpkin is sweet,
But shy,
He is commonly absent,
I wonder why.
(Pumpkin is a member of a little of five stray kittens that live in my neighborhood.)
-KittyLover8
© 2012
But shy,
He is commonly absent,
I wonder why.
(Pumpkin is a member of a little of five stray kittens that live in my neighborhood.)
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Sparkle Limerick
Sparkle on the sidewalk,
Trot, trot, trot,
Boy that little kitten,
Walks a lot.
(Sparkle is a member of a little of five stray kittens that live in my neighborhood.)
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Trot, trot, trot,
Boy that little kitten,
Walks a lot.
(Sparkle is a member of a little of five stray kittens that live in my neighborhood.)
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
Summer, ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος (Part II)
It was a warm, cheerful summer’s morning in ancient Greece. The birds sang beautiful, joyful songs in the olive groves, awakening the people of Athens and their sweet tunes pulling the dawn sun out of her rosy pillows beyond the tall, violet mountains.
From the glistening, dark green, and slender oval leaves drooped dew-covered olives of all colors; scarlet, black, and green with bright red pimentos. In the coral-colored sky was a single stratus cloud, breezily and lazily drifting through the morning sky. The soft breeze that was pushing the cloud, waving the grasses and stirring the tree leaves carried the warm radiance of the sun in the East. Dew dripped from blades of grass, shingles of roves, leaves of trees and bushes, from everything--cleansing the world to start the new day with a clean slate.
All was sweet as brown sugar and lovely as a candy heart. But, on that wonderful, picturesque day, the vile essence of pain and senseless violence rang out, braking the sweet, gentle tunes of the songbirds. For, late yesterday afternoon, a tiny baby girl had been born. It was her father’s decision if she would live happily in the family household or be abandoned to die alone in the world.
The girl’s father, as most ancient Greek fathers did, favored boys over girls and despised weaklings and runts. He chose for her to be abandoned. Solemnly her mother took a basket and placed her, rapped in a blanket, within it. The basket was gently set near a creek, for the mother hoped and prayed that the nymph of the creek would take pity on the small child and protect the girl.
But the mother, through her tears and grief, had precariously placed her baby to close to the water. The chill river water lapped at the little girl. She--who had been previously sleeping soundly--awoke burst into tears, crying loudly. By pure chance, in the nearest household, was a caring, gentle woman. She heard a baby crying. And--although most women would never dare what with it not being a celebration--she crept out of the house for a little investigating.
The woman, Iris, was saddened--yet not entirely surprised--to she a little baby girl bobbing in the waters of the creek. The creek very nearly pulled the girl away--and only the gods knew if the basket had buoyancy enough to keep the baby afloat--but Iris quickly snatched the baby up and pulled her away, clutching her tightly and protectively. She wasn’t a water nymph, but some might say that the girl’s mother’s prayers had been answered.
With that, Iris hurried back to the house to ask her husband if she could keep the girl, for the ancient Greek’s believed unjustly that men were the masters of the household.
After a short but heated argument between the two, they resolved--with mixed feelings between the both of them--that the girl would become a member of their twelve slaves, making them have thirteen.
Once the baby was deposited into the slaves’ courters, the slaves huddled around her. One, named Lydia, suggested ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος, or Summer, after the season in which the young blessing had been found. Everyone agreed and so, that was the baby girl’s name.
*****
Summer yawned sleepily, awakening early dawn twelve years later, on the first day of summer. She looked around blearily. She gasped, a sudden spark of urgency in her green eyes, and lunged for the window--which was covered by a plain wooden shudder--and threw it open. She saw that, to her great relief, the dawn sun was merely peeking above the horizon as a sliver smaller then last night’s moon--which had been a slender crescent.
Despite the fact that the morning was new, Summer rushed hurriedly to collect and put on her single pair of day clothing. It was a plain rectangular dress that stretched a little farther then her knees with holes for the head and shoulders. The dress was a clear, dreamy blue, much like the summer’s sky.
Straight after that, Summer rushed out of the slaves courters and into the men’s dinning area. All of the dirty dishes and plates of last night’s feast (free men only) still lay forlorn and abandoned with heaps of U.R.F., or Unidentifiable Remains of Food. Sighing, Summer hurried about collecting these distasteful dishes, which she deposited into the kitchen for another slave to clean.
Next she amassed several jugs for water and rushed off to the closest creek, which happened to be, ironically, the very creek where she had been left and found years before she could remember. Summer was just about to plunge the first into the water, when she paused.
She addressed the nymph of the creek, as she had been taught, “May I please take some of your water?”
Water lapped at the base of the jug which was being held over the creek, as if asking to come inside. Summer took this as, hopefully, the nymph of that creek giving her permission to collect the water. She then dipped them, one by one, into the cool waters. Once all three of them were full, she carried them--one on her head and one occupying each of her arms--back to the house.
Summer then set the trio of ruddy clay jugs down in the kitchen. Almost as soon as she had placed the third and final jug down, another slave whisked two away. Already the people of the house were demanding a breakfast of goat cheese, olives, and other foods.
She sighed, knowing that she had a long, long days’ work ahead of her.
*****
Summer reached high above her head and plucked a beautiful, ovular olive as black as midnight. Still-fresh dewdrops showered down on her from the glistening green leaves of the olive tree as she picked the wet olive. It made the olive look even more delectable....
She continued picking endless olives from olive trees of all colors; from every shade of green, to burgundy red, to shining black. Each looked more wonderful and awe-inspiring then the last.
Summer wished to pause and eat one--or two--but stopped herself. She had other tasks to tend to. Still, it took all of her will power not to taste one.
Her wicker basket full to the brim with juicy, colorful olives, she raced away from the olive groves, careful not to spill any of the treats she had collected, and back to home.
She set the olive baskets down and darted away again, this time with a milk pail in her hands. She was going to milk the goats.
*****
Once she was finished with the weary task of milking Saffron, a jumpy young goat who always wanted to play, Summer hurried back to the house, goat milk sloshing precariously in the pail.
She set the pail down in the kitchen. She was downright tired. She had first hurried to the creak to collect water, returning with heavy, filled to the brim jugs, then rushed around collecting olives from the groves, and lastly milked an antsy goat. Summer yearned for the days end, but Apollo’s chariot was only halfway through the sky, and she still had to retrieve firewood.
She knew that the day’s work had only just begun.
______________________________________________________________________
Summer sighed and settled into her uncomfortable bed. Most of the slaves treated her nice enough, and Iris was one of the sweetest people that Summer had ever known, but the ones that she saw the most were the free men. They thought that slaves were well underneath them, and didn’t treat the slaves or women with any respect whatsoever.
And, to Summer’s great dread, tomorrow night there would be a party. Only men were allowed there, and the men usually became very drunk in the first ten minutes of the party. Summer and most of the other slaves would serve the men delicacies like goat cheese, wine, and roasted beets. They would also have to serve (Summer shuddered at this) meats like fish.
So, Summer knew that tomorrow would be packed full of activities and that she would need to have a full night of sleep. But all she could think about was the wind, wild and free, going its own way and doing whatever it wanted. She wished that her life could be like that....
Soon, Summers eyelids became to weighed to stay open, and, with a heavy heart, she feel into a dreamless slumber.
*****
Summer’s eyelids snapped open. The pinkish light of the dawn sun streamed through the window. She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the crumbly packed dirt floor. She whipped her day dress on and rushed out of the room.
Instead of having her usual chore of gather water from the creek or the town fountain, she was immediately sent to the garden to gather some of the many vegetables and legumes that grew in the gardens. She was given two awkwardly large baskets to carry the things that she gathered within.
She hurriedly amassed a wide verity of vegetables in her baskets. These included leafy greens like cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, and cress, and other veggies like wild celery, garlic, carrots, artichokes, and fennel. That was all she could fit in the first two trips, but on the final ones Summer squeezed in bulbs, leeks, cucumbers, radishes, squash, and turnips. Also legumes like beans, lentils, chickpeas, and peas, green and yellow.
After collecting the legumes in the fourth and final trip, she plopped the last two wicker baskets on the stone-slab floor of the kitchen, which was very busy at the moment, for it was almost midday now.
Faster then an arrow in flight, Summer shot away with her duo of water jugs. Today, she was using the water from the town fountain. She shoved the jugs underneath the rims infinitely overflowing with sparkling, clear water. She loved the gentle trickling sound of the water spilling over the stone sides. But the soft sounds were drowned out by the noise of the Greek village’s busy streets.
Ignoring the many people wandering aimlessly or hurrying busily about, Summer rushed back home, water sloshing and dripping from the sun-dried clay jugs.
Once Summer entered the house, a round woman in a too-small violet dress shoved the two baskets of olives that Summer had collected yesterday.
As Summer set the water down, the woman explained, “You must take these to the olive press and have Delphinia,” (Delphinia was another slave and a good friend of Summer’s) “so that she can press them into olive oil. Understood?”
Summer nodded, eager to see her friend. “Understood,” she as she snatched away the baskets full of olives and whisked away.
Some time later, Summer bumped into Delphinia, who was standing splat bang in front of the pathway, right around a convenient turn. Almost all of the beautiful olives fell out of the baskets and fell on the floor, which was--luckily--clean. Summer fell on her bottom.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry,” Delphinia exclaimed apologetically, which was unlike her spunky, tomboy self.
Summer was surprised at Delphinia’s sudden politeness. She stood there, unsure what to say. “It no pro--” Summer started.
“Well?” Delphinia interrupted in a moody tone.
“I was just saying that it’s no problem at all,” Summer replied with a hint of a smile. Now that was how Delphinia acted.
“So what are you doing here anyway?” Delphinia asked as the two friends picked up the olives and set them back into the baskets. “I thought that Eva was coming.” Delphinia added hurriedly, but truthfully, “Not that I’m disappointed to see you, Summer. I was just wondering.”
“I understand,” said Summer with a soft smile. “Anyway, Eva and Frotini are being kept busy in the kitchens,” (Both Eva and Frotini were friends of Summer and Delphinia’s) “anyway, thanks for helping me pick up the olives, Delphinia.”
“No problem,” Delphinia said, shrugging and plucking three olives from the wooden floorboards.
The two friends picked up the rest of the olives in silence. That is, until Delphinia picked up the last olive and screamed gleefully,
“DDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”
Summer covered her ears during the long, loud cry of joy. “Yeah,” she agreed with a laugh. “done.”
With that the two hurried over to the olive press and got to work.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
From the glistening, dark green, and slender oval leaves drooped dew-covered olives of all colors; scarlet, black, and green with bright red pimentos. In the coral-colored sky was a single stratus cloud, breezily and lazily drifting through the morning sky. The soft breeze that was pushing the cloud, waving the grasses and stirring the tree leaves carried the warm radiance of the sun in the East. Dew dripped from blades of grass, shingles of roves, leaves of trees and bushes, from everything--cleansing the world to start the new day with a clean slate.
All was sweet as brown sugar and lovely as a candy heart. But, on that wonderful, picturesque day, the vile essence of pain and senseless violence rang out, braking the sweet, gentle tunes of the songbirds. For, late yesterday afternoon, a tiny baby girl had been born. It was her father’s decision if she would live happily in the family household or be abandoned to die alone in the world.
The girl’s father, as most ancient Greek fathers did, favored boys over girls and despised weaklings and runts. He chose for her to be abandoned. Solemnly her mother took a basket and placed her, rapped in a blanket, within it. The basket was gently set near a creek, for the mother hoped and prayed that the nymph of the creek would take pity on the small child and protect the girl.
But the mother, through her tears and grief, had precariously placed her baby to close to the water. The chill river water lapped at the little girl. She--who had been previously sleeping soundly--awoke burst into tears, crying loudly. By pure chance, in the nearest household, was a caring, gentle woman. She heard a baby crying. And--although most women would never dare what with it not being a celebration--she crept out of the house for a little investigating.
The woman, Iris, was saddened--yet not entirely surprised--to she a little baby girl bobbing in the waters of the creek. The creek very nearly pulled the girl away--and only the gods knew if the basket had buoyancy enough to keep the baby afloat--but Iris quickly snatched the baby up and pulled her away, clutching her tightly and protectively. She wasn’t a water nymph, but some might say that the girl’s mother’s prayers had been answered.
With that, Iris hurried back to the house to ask her husband if she could keep the girl, for the ancient Greek’s believed unjustly that men were the masters of the household.
After a short but heated argument between the two, they resolved--with mixed feelings between the both of them--that the girl would become a member of their twelve slaves, making them have thirteen.
Once the baby was deposited into the slaves’ courters, the slaves huddled around her. One, named Lydia, suggested ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος, or Summer, after the season in which the young blessing had been found. Everyone agreed and so, that was the baby girl’s name.
*****
Summer yawned sleepily, awakening early dawn twelve years later, on the first day of summer. She looked around blearily. She gasped, a sudden spark of urgency in her green eyes, and lunged for the window--which was covered by a plain wooden shudder--and threw it open. She saw that, to her great relief, the dawn sun was merely peeking above the horizon as a sliver smaller then last night’s moon--which had been a slender crescent.
Despite the fact that the morning was new, Summer rushed hurriedly to collect and put on her single pair of day clothing. It was a plain rectangular dress that stretched a little farther then her knees with holes for the head and shoulders. The dress was a clear, dreamy blue, much like the summer’s sky.
Straight after that, Summer rushed out of the slaves courters and into the men’s dinning area. All of the dirty dishes and plates of last night’s feast (free men only) still lay forlorn and abandoned with heaps of U.R.F., or Unidentifiable Remains of Food. Sighing, Summer hurried about collecting these distasteful dishes, which she deposited into the kitchen for another slave to clean.
Next she amassed several jugs for water and rushed off to the closest creek, which happened to be, ironically, the very creek where she had been left and found years before she could remember. Summer was just about to plunge the first into the water, when she paused.
She addressed the nymph of the creek, as she had been taught, “May I please take some of your water?”
Water lapped at the base of the jug which was being held over the creek, as if asking to come inside. Summer took this as, hopefully, the nymph of that creek giving her permission to collect the water. She then dipped them, one by one, into the cool waters. Once all three of them were full, she carried them--one on her head and one occupying each of her arms--back to the house.
Summer then set the trio of ruddy clay jugs down in the kitchen. Almost as soon as she had placed the third and final jug down, another slave whisked two away. Already the people of the house were demanding a breakfast of goat cheese, olives, and other foods.
She sighed, knowing that she had a long, long days’ work ahead of her.
*****
Summer reached high above her head and plucked a beautiful, ovular olive as black as midnight. Still-fresh dewdrops showered down on her from the glistening green leaves of the olive tree as she picked the wet olive. It made the olive look even more delectable....
She continued picking endless olives from olive trees of all colors; from every shade of green, to burgundy red, to shining black. Each looked more wonderful and awe-inspiring then the last.
Summer wished to pause and eat one--or two--but stopped herself. She had other tasks to tend to. Still, it took all of her will power not to taste one.
Her wicker basket full to the brim with juicy, colorful olives, she raced away from the olive groves, careful not to spill any of the treats she had collected, and back to home.
She set the olive baskets down and darted away again, this time with a milk pail in her hands. She was going to milk the goats.
*****
Once she was finished with the weary task of milking Saffron, a jumpy young goat who always wanted to play, Summer hurried back to the house, goat milk sloshing precariously in the pail.
She set the pail down in the kitchen. She was downright tired. She had first hurried to the creak to collect water, returning with heavy, filled to the brim jugs, then rushed around collecting olives from the groves, and lastly milked an antsy goat. Summer yearned for the days end, but Apollo’s chariot was only halfway through the sky, and she still had to retrieve firewood.
She knew that the day’s work had only just begun.
______________________________________________________________________
Summer sighed and settled into her uncomfortable bed. Most of the slaves treated her nice enough, and Iris was one of the sweetest people that Summer had ever known, but the ones that she saw the most were the free men. They thought that slaves were well underneath them, and didn’t treat the slaves or women with any respect whatsoever.
And, to Summer’s great dread, tomorrow night there would be a party. Only men were allowed there, and the men usually became very drunk in the first ten minutes of the party. Summer and most of the other slaves would serve the men delicacies like goat cheese, wine, and roasted beets. They would also have to serve (Summer shuddered at this) meats like fish.
So, Summer knew that tomorrow would be packed full of activities and that she would need to have a full night of sleep. But all she could think about was the wind, wild and free, going its own way and doing whatever it wanted. She wished that her life could be like that....
Soon, Summers eyelids became to weighed to stay open, and, with a heavy heart, she feel into a dreamless slumber.
*****
Summer’s eyelids snapped open. The pinkish light of the dawn sun streamed through the window. She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the crumbly packed dirt floor. She whipped her day dress on and rushed out of the room.
Instead of having her usual chore of gather water from the creek or the town fountain, she was immediately sent to the garden to gather some of the many vegetables and legumes that grew in the gardens. She was given two awkwardly large baskets to carry the things that she gathered within.
She hurriedly amassed a wide verity of vegetables in her baskets. These included leafy greens like cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, and cress, and other veggies like wild celery, garlic, carrots, artichokes, and fennel. That was all she could fit in the first two trips, but on the final ones Summer squeezed in bulbs, leeks, cucumbers, radishes, squash, and turnips. Also legumes like beans, lentils, chickpeas, and peas, green and yellow.
After collecting the legumes in the fourth and final trip, she plopped the last two wicker baskets on the stone-slab floor of the kitchen, which was very busy at the moment, for it was almost midday now.
Faster then an arrow in flight, Summer shot away with her duo of water jugs. Today, she was using the water from the town fountain. She shoved the jugs underneath the rims infinitely overflowing with sparkling, clear water. She loved the gentle trickling sound of the water spilling over the stone sides. But the soft sounds were drowned out by the noise of the Greek village’s busy streets.
Ignoring the many people wandering aimlessly or hurrying busily about, Summer rushed back home, water sloshing and dripping from the sun-dried clay jugs.
Once Summer entered the house, a round woman in a too-small violet dress shoved the two baskets of olives that Summer had collected yesterday.
As Summer set the water down, the woman explained, “You must take these to the olive press and have Delphinia,” (Delphinia was another slave and a good friend of Summer’s) “so that she can press them into olive oil. Understood?”
Summer nodded, eager to see her friend. “Understood,” she as she snatched away the baskets full of olives and whisked away.
Some time later, Summer bumped into Delphinia, who was standing splat bang in front of the pathway, right around a convenient turn. Almost all of the beautiful olives fell out of the baskets and fell on the floor, which was--luckily--clean. Summer fell on her bottom.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry,” Delphinia exclaimed apologetically, which was unlike her spunky, tomboy self.
Summer was surprised at Delphinia’s sudden politeness. She stood there, unsure what to say. “It no pro--” Summer started.
“Well?” Delphinia interrupted in a moody tone.
“I was just saying that it’s no problem at all,” Summer replied with a hint of a smile. Now that was how Delphinia acted.
“So what are you doing here anyway?” Delphinia asked as the two friends picked up the olives and set them back into the baskets. “I thought that Eva was coming.” Delphinia added hurriedly, but truthfully, “Not that I’m disappointed to see you, Summer. I was just wondering.”
“I understand,” said Summer with a soft smile. “Anyway, Eva and Frotini are being kept busy in the kitchens,” (Both Eva and Frotini were friends of Summer and Delphinia’s) “anyway, thanks for helping me pick up the olives, Delphinia.”
“No problem,” Delphinia said, shrugging and plucking three olives from the wooden floorboards.
The two friends picked up the rest of the olives in silence. That is, until Delphinia picked up the last olive and screamed gleefully,
“DDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”
Summer covered her ears during the long, loud cry of joy. “Yeah,” she agreed with a laugh. “done.”
With that the two hurried over to the olive press and got to work.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Summer, ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος (Part I)
It was a warm, cheerful summer’s morning in ancient Greece. The birds sang beautiful, joyful songs in the olive groves, awakening the people of Athens and their sweet tunes pulling the dawn sun out of her rosy pillows beyond the tall, violet mountains.
From the glistening, dark green, and slender oval leaves drooped dew-covered olives of all colors; scarlet, black, and green with bright red pimentos. In the coral-colored sky was a single stratus cloud, breezily and lazily drifting through the morning sky. The soft breeze that was pushing the cloud, waving the grasses and stirring the tree leaves carried the warm radiance of the sun in the East. Dew dripped from blades of grass, shingles of roves, leaves of trees and bushes, from everything--cleansing the world to start the new day with a clean slate.
All was sweet as brown sugar and lovely as a candy heart. But, on that wonderful, picturesque day, the vile essence of pain and senseless violence rang out, braking the sweet, gentle tunes of the songbirds. For, late yesterday afternoon, a tiny baby girl had been born. It was her father’s decision if she would live happily in the family household or be abandoned to die alone in the world.
The girl’s father, as most ancient Greek fathers did, favored boys over girls and despised weaklings and runts. He chose for her to be abandoned. Solemnly her mother took a basket and placed her, rapped in a blanket, within it. The basket was gently set near a creek, for the mother hoped and prayed that the nymph of the creek would take pity on the small child and protect the girl.
But the mother, through her tears and grief, had precariously placed her baby to close to the water. The chill river water lapped at the little girl. She--who had been previously sleeping soundly--awoke burst into tears, crying loudly. By pure chance, in the nearest household, was a caring, gentle woman. She heard a baby crying. And--although most women would never dare what with it not being a celebration--she crept out of the house for a little investigating.
The woman, Iris, was saddened--yet not entirely surprised--to she a little baby girl bobbing in the waters of the creek. The creek very nearly pulled the girl away--and only the gods knew if the basket had buoyancy enough to keep the baby afloat--but Iris quickly snatched the baby up and pulled her away, clutching her tightly and protectively. She wasn’t a water nymph, but some might say that the girl’s mother’s prayers had been answered.
With that, Iris hurried back to the house to ask her husband if she could keep the girl, for the ancient Greek’s believed unjustly that men were the masters of the household.
After a short but heated argument between the two, they resolved--with mixed feelings between the both of them--that the girl would become a member of their twelve slaves, making them have thirteen.
Once the baby was deposited into the slaves’ courters, the slaves huddled around her. One, named Lydia, suggested ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος, or Summer, after the season in which the young blessing had been found. Everyone agreed and so, that was the baby girl’s name.
*****
Summer yawned sleepily, awakening early dawn twelve years later, on the first day of summer. She looked around blearily. She gasped, a sudden spark of urgency in her green eyes, and lunged for the window--which was covered by a plain wooden shudder--and threw it open. She saw that, to her great relief, the dawn sun was merely peeking above the horizon as a sliver smaller then last night’s moon--which had been a slender crescent.
Despite the fact that the morning was new, Summer rushed hurriedly to collect and put on her single pair of day clothing. It was a rectangular dress that stretched a little farther then her knees with holes for the head and shoulders. The dress was a clear, dreamy blue, much like the summer’s sky.
Straight after that, Summer rushed out of the slaves courters and into the men’s dinning area. All of the dirty dishes and plates of last night’s feast (free men only) still lay forlorn and abandoned with heaps of U.R.F., or Unidentifiable Remains of Food. Sighing, Summer hurried about collecting these distasteful dishes, which she deposited into the kitchen for another slave to clean.
Next she amassed several jugs for water and rushed off to the closest creek, which happened to be, ironically, the very creek where she had been left and found years before she could remember. Summer was just about to plunge the first into the water, when she paused.
She addressed the nymph of the creek, as she had been taught, “May I please take some of your water?”
Water lapped at the base of the jug which was being held over the creek, as if asking to come inside. Summer took this as, hopefully, the nymph of that creek giving her permission to collect the water. She then dipped them, one by one, into the cool waters. Once all three of them were full, she carried them--one on her head and one occupying each of her arms--back to the house.
Summer then set the trio of ruddy clay jugs down in the kitchen. Almost as soon as she had placed the third and final jug down, another slave whisked two away. Already the people of the house were demanding a breakfast of goat cheese, olives, and other foods.
She sighed, knowing that she had a long, long days’ work ahead of her.
*****
Summer reached high above her head and plucked a beautiful, ovular olive as black as midnight. Still-fresh dewdrops showered down on her from the glistening green leaves of the olive tree as she picked the wet olive. It made the olive look even more delectable....
She continued picking endless olives from olive trees of all colors; from every shade of green, to burgundy red, to shining black. Each looked more wonderful and awe-inspiring then the last.
Summer wished to pause and eat one--or two--but stopped herself. She had other tasks to tend to. Still, it took all of her will power not to taste one.
Her wicker basket full to the brim with juicy, colorful olives, she raced away from the olive groves, careful not to spill any of the treats she had collected, and back to home.
She set the olive baskets down and darted away again, this time with a milk pail in her hands. She was going to milk the goats.
*****
Once she was finished with the weary task of milking Saffron, a jumpy young goat who always wanted to play, Summer hurried back to the house, goat milk sloshing precariously in the pail.
She set the pail down in the kitchen. She was downright tired. She had first hurried to the creak to collect water, returning with heavy, filled to the brim jugs, then rushed around collecting olives from the groves, and lastly milked an antsy goat. Summer yearned for the days end, but Apollo’s chariot was only halfway through the sky, and she still had to retrieve firewood.
She knew that the day’s work had only just begun.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
From the glistening, dark green, and slender oval leaves drooped dew-covered olives of all colors; scarlet, black, and green with bright red pimentos. In the coral-colored sky was a single stratus cloud, breezily and lazily drifting through the morning sky. The soft breeze that was pushing the cloud, waving the grasses and stirring the tree leaves carried the warm radiance of the sun in the East. Dew dripped from blades of grass, shingles of roves, leaves of trees and bushes, from everything--cleansing the world to start the new day with a clean slate.
All was sweet as brown sugar and lovely as a candy heart. But, on that wonderful, picturesque day, the vile essence of pain and senseless violence rang out, braking the sweet, gentle tunes of the songbirds. For, late yesterday afternoon, a tiny baby girl had been born. It was her father’s decision if she would live happily in the family household or be abandoned to die alone in the world.
The girl’s father, as most ancient Greek fathers did, favored boys over girls and despised weaklings and runts. He chose for her to be abandoned. Solemnly her mother took a basket and placed her, rapped in a blanket, within it. The basket was gently set near a creek, for the mother hoped and prayed that the nymph of the creek would take pity on the small child and protect the girl.
But the mother, through her tears and grief, had precariously placed her baby to close to the water. The chill river water lapped at the little girl. She--who had been previously sleeping soundly--awoke burst into tears, crying loudly. By pure chance, in the nearest household, was a caring, gentle woman. She heard a baby crying. And--although most women would never dare what with it not being a celebration--she crept out of the house for a little investigating.
The woman, Iris, was saddened--yet not entirely surprised--to she a little baby girl bobbing in the waters of the creek. The creek very nearly pulled the girl away--and only the gods knew if the basket had buoyancy enough to keep the baby afloat--but Iris quickly snatched the baby up and pulled her away, clutching her tightly and protectively. She wasn’t a water nymph, but some might say that the girl’s mother’s prayers had been answered.
With that, Iris hurried back to the house to ask her husband if she could keep the girl, for the ancient Greek’s believed unjustly that men were the masters of the household.
After a short but heated argument between the two, they resolved--with mixed feelings between the both of them--that the girl would become a member of their twelve slaves, making them have thirteen.
Once the baby was deposited into the slaves’ courters, the slaves huddled around her. One, named Lydia, suggested ουσ. καλοκαίρι, θέρος, or Summer, after the season in which the young blessing had been found. Everyone agreed and so, that was the baby girl’s name.
*****
Summer yawned sleepily, awakening early dawn twelve years later, on the first day of summer. She looked around blearily. She gasped, a sudden spark of urgency in her green eyes, and lunged for the window--which was covered by a plain wooden shudder--and threw it open. She saw that, to her great relief, the dawn sun was merely peeking above the horizon as a sliver smaller then last night’s moon--which had been a slender crescent.
Despite the fact that the morning was new, Summer rushed hurriedly to collect and put on her single pair of day clothing. It was a rectangular dress that stretched a little farther then her knees with holes for the head and shoulders. The dress was a clear, dreamy blue, much like the summer’s sky.
Straight after that, Summer rushed out of the slaves courters and into the men’s dinning area. All of the dirty dishes and plates of last night’s feast (free men only) still lay forlorn and abandoned with heaps of U.R.F., or Unidentifiable Remains of Food. Sighing, Summer hurried about collecting these distasteful dishes, which she deposited into the kitchen for another slave to clean.
Next she amassed several jugs for water and rushed off to the closest creek, which happened to be, ironically, the very creek where she had been left and found years before she could remember. Summer was just about to plunge the first into the water, when she paused.
She addressed the nymph of the creek, as she had been taught, “May I please take some of your water?”
Water lapped at the base of the jug which was being held over the creek, as if asking to come inside. Summer took this as, hopefully, the nymph of that creek giving her permission to collect the water. She then dipped them, one by one, into the cool waters. Once all three of them were full, she carried them--one on her head and one occupying each of her arms--back to the house.
Summer then set the trio of ruddy clay jugs down in the kitchen. Almost as soon as she had placed the third and final jug down, another slave whisked two away. Already the people of the house were demanding a breakfast of goat cheese, olives, and other foods.
She sighed, knowing that she had a long, long days’ work ahead of her.
*****
Summer reached high above her head and plucked a beautiful, ovular olive as black as midnight. Still-fresh dewdrops showered down on her from the glistening green leaves of the olive tree as she picked the wet olive. It made the olive look even more delectable....
She continued picking endless olives from olive trees of all colors; from every shade of green, to burgundy red, to shining black. Each looked more wonderful and awe-inspiring then the last.
Summer wished to pause and eat one--or two--but stopped herself. She had other tasks to tend to. Still, it took all of her will power not to taste one.
Her wicker basket full to the brim with juicy, colorful olives, she raced away from the olive groves, careful not to spill any of the treats she had collected, and back to home.
She set the olive baskets down and darted away again, this time with a milk pail in her hands. She was going to milk the goats.
*****
Once she was finished with the weary task of milking Saffron, a jumpy young goat who always wanted to play, Summer hurried back to the house, goat milk sloshing precariously in the pail.
She set the pail down in the kitchen. She was downright tired. She had first hurried to the creak to collect water, returning with heavy, filled to the brim jugs, then rushed around collecting olives from the groves, and lastly milked an antsy goat. Summer yearned for the days end, but Apollo’s chariot was only halfway through the sky, and she still had to retrieve firewood.
She knew that the day’s work had only just begun.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
The Festival of Bulls 1#
Jammie, Janet, and Flora were siblings. Janet and Jammie were twins and were three years older then Flora. In this story, you will be following thirteen-year-old Flora on her time-travel adventure in Crete. She is playing her part in the ancient Cretan tradition of the festival of bulls....
*****
Flora whipped around and cried, “Ready or not, here I come!”
You might be wondering why a thirteen-year-old and two sixteen-year-olds would be playing a game of tag. Well, Jammie had said that he was the fastest runner, and then Janet retorted that she was. This resulted to a heated argument, in which Flora was the monkey in the middle. She tried everything, and eventually the trio came up with the solution of a friendly--or not so friendly, with the extremely competitive twins playing--game of tag.
Flora hid behind the base,a towering oak tree,to wait for one--or both--of the twins to spring her trap. Charlotte, Flora’s cat, would always emerge out of the cat flap in the doorway and into the fenced-in yard at this time, and jump into the shrubs nearby. When the shrubs shook, Flora’s siblings would think that she was hiding in them--at least for a moment. And, in their moment of hesitation, Flora would leap from her hiding place and tag them.
Flora heard the sound of slippery, sodden, mud-covered grass slurping underneath Jammie and Janet’s sneakers. When they came into Flora’s view, she noted that they were pushing each other. Jammie was ahead by a hair, and Janet was making up for the distance by punching her twin brother in the side and grabbing his arms and shoving him. They were both extremely determined to prove that they were the fastest.
Flora then detected the sound of the cat flap flail in the slight breeze as Charlotte emerged. Jammie and Janet were almost at the bush.
CRUNCH!
The trap had been sprung.
The twins hesitated, thinking that Flora was hiding in the bush, waiting for them to step nearer.
Flora took that moment of hesitation to leap from her spot behind the tree. Her plan hadn’t worked exactly as she had hoped, though. She jumped short, and landed about a yard away from Jammie and Janet, who would recover from their surprise any minute now.
Flora moved fast, but long-legged Janet moved faster. Janet sprung from the spot and began to dash quickly away, in the direction she had come. Jammie followed not far behind. Flora dashed, nearly treading on Jammie’s heels, close behind.
Things took a turn in Flora’s favor. Janet slipped in the soggy grass, and Jammie tripped over his twin sister. To avoid doing the same, Flora made a wide arc around them. The moment they got back on their feet, Flora was flanking them. Flora burst in between the twins and shouted gleefully, “Tag!”
Jammie moaned and Janet took up the cry. They moaned their way back to the house, feet dragging, leaving Flora feeling very happy about her victory.
*****
Flora was having a great day until...it happened. She was outside, petting Charlotte. She had debated on returning inside, but Charlotte deserved some pets for making Flora’s victory possible.
As Flora was visiting her cat, she noticed something. There was a dim glow within the oak tree’s thick trunk. Being an inquisitive and curious young girl, Flora crept forward. The glow was green and blue--like an opal gemstone.
Flora, with Charlotte sitting beside her, searched for an opening, or something glowing on the trunk, or something. But she could find no obvious thing that could be glowing. Yet the tree still shown, bright as a star.
Wait.
Was that an opening?
Yes! It was. There was a small--but still large enough to see--jagged crack in the tree. Gingerly, seeing that that was where the glow was strongest, and where it must be coming from, Flora reached in and pulled out....
Okay, so before we reveal what Flora pulled out of the crack in the oak tree, you will have to understand why. You will have to forgive her. For, what would you do if you saw a green and blue light emanating from an oak tree? You would investigate it, of course. It is an animal’s--including a human’s--nature to be curious, to explore. Flora was just doing what any of you would do if you saw a glowing tree.
So don’t blame her for what happens next.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
NOTE TO READERS: I am sorry that I haven't been on lately. v.v'
But this is only the first of the festival of bulls digital book. So I hope that you, loyal readers, enjoy this series of posts.
Also, I have been working on a clay breakfast set!! I will post it (it is a WIP, work in progress) soon. Thank you for reading! ^^
*****
Flora whipped around and cried, “Ready or not, here I come!”
You might be wondering why a thirteen-year-old and two sixteen-year-olds would be playing a game of tag. Well, Jammie had said that he was the fastest runner, and then Janet retorted that she was. This resulted to a heated argument, in which Flora was the monkey in the middle. She tried everything, and eventually the trio came up with the solution of a friendly--or not so friendly, with the extremely competitive twins playing--game of tag.
Flora hid behind the base,a towering oak tree,to wait for one--or both--of the twins to spring her trap. Charlotte, Flora’s cat, would always emerge out of the cat flap in the doorway and into the fenced-in yard at this time, and jump into the shrubs nearby. When the shrubs shook, Flora’s siblings would think that she was hiding in them--at least for a moment. And, in their moment of hesitation, Flora would leap from her hiding place and tag them.
Flora heard the sound of slippery, sodden, mud-covered grass slurping underneath Jammie and Janet’s sneakers. When they came into Flora’s view, she noted that they were pushing each other. Jammie was ahead by a hair, and Janet was making up for the distance by punching her twin brother in the side and grabbing his arms and shoving him. They were both extremely determined to prove that they were the fastest.
Flora then detected the sound of the cat flap flail in the slight breeze as Charlotte emerged. Jammie and Janet were almost at the bush.
CRUNCH!
The trap had been sprung.
The twins hesitated, thinking that Flora was hiding in the bush, waiting for them to step nearer.
Flora took that moment of hesitation to leap from her spot behind the tree. Her plan hadn’t worked exactly as she had hoped, though. She jumped short, and landed about a yard away from Jammie and Janet, who would recover from their surprise any minute now.
Flora moved fast, but long-legged Janet moved faster. Janet sprung from the spot and began to dash quickly away, in the direction she had come. Jammie followed not far behind. Flora dashed, nearly treading on Jammie’s heels, close behind.
Things took a turn in Flora’s favor. Janet slipped in the soggy grass, and Jammie tripped over his twin sister. To avoid doing the same, Flora made a wide arc around them. The moment they got back on their feet, Flora was flanking them. Flora burst in between the twins and shouted gleefully, “Tag!”
Jammie moaned and Janet took up the cry. They moaned their way back to the house, feet dragging, leaving Flora feeling very happy about her victory.
*****
Flora was having a great day until...it happened. She was outside, petting Charlotte. She had debated on returning inside, but Charlotte deserved some pets for making Flora’s victory possible.
As Flora was visiting her cat, she noticed something. There was a dim glow within the oak tree’s thick trunk. Being an inquisitive and curious young girl, Flora crept forward. The glow was green and blue--like an opal gemstone.
Flora, with Charlotte sitting beside her, searched for an opening, or something glowing on the trunk, or something. But she could find no obvious thing that could be glowing. Yet the tree still shown, bright as a star.
Wait.
Was that an opening?
Yes! It was. There was a small--but still large enough to see--jagged crack in the tree. Gingerly, seeing that that was where the glow was strongest, and where it must be coming from, Flora reached in and pulled out....
Okay, so before we reveal what Flora pulled out of the crack in the oak tree, you will have to understand why. You will have to forgive her. For, what would you do if you saw a green and blue light emanating from an oak tree? You would investigate it, of course. It is an animal’s--including a human’s--nature to be curious, to explore. Flora was just doing what any of you would do if you saw a glowing tree.
So don’t blame her for what happens next.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
NOTE TO READERS: I am sorry that I haven't been on lately. v.v'
But this is only the first of the festival of bulls digital book. So I hope that you, loyal readers, enjoy this series of posts.
Also, I have been working on a clay breakfast set!! I will post it (it is a WIP, work in progress) soon. Thank you for reading! ^^
Monday, November 5, 2012
M.C.L. Clay Carrots, Salad, Celery, and Water Dish
This is, as the title suggests, some clay carrots, salad, celery, and a water dish that I have made. There are three carrots, a verity of different leaves for the salad, and a lot of celery. ^^' The water dish consists of a black bowl with blue water within. The rest of the stuff is presented on a burnt orange plate.
This is a clay request that PixieWolf desired. You can view the whole thing on the post titled: M.C.L. Modeling Clay Life, which would be--in the blog archive--in October, 2012. PixieWolf was the first person to comment on that particular post, so it should be easy to find. :)
To PixieWolf: I am sorry that I posted it so late... v.v' I have had it finished for a while, but I never found the time to post it until now. Nevertheless, I hope that you enjoy! :3
To my loyal readers: I apologize for not posting anything in a while. I haven't been able to go on for a while. Also, thank you for viewing! ^^ Every view and comment is greatly cherished and appreciated. =3
Colors used:
Burnt orange, light orange, yellow-green, blue, black, dark green, green, dark purple
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. Yin Yang Clay iPod With Ear Buds
This is a yin yang clay iPod with ear buds that I have made. ^^
**Note to readers: The white fur is from my sweet, sweet cat, Cosmo. He was trying to rub against my phone as I was taking the picture, and--of course--he shed all over my clay iPod. Thank you, Cosmo! x3**
The iPod is black with a white circle for its button. The ear buds are white, also, and are inserted into the iPod's front by a small hole I made with a toothpick.
Colors used:
Black, white
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
The Trickster
Once upon a time, there was a young girl. The girl, named Annabeth, had two older sisters named Natasha and Jenna. Jenna disliked her little sister Annabeth and liked to play pranks on her.
Once, Jenna set a bucket full of syrupy juice and water, heavily colored with yellow food coloring on top of Annabeth’s door to her room. Jenna stood on the far corner of the room to wait for her little sister. Soon enough, Annabeth wandered into her room--and the yellow juice/water soaked her to the bone.
Annabeth, furious, saw her sister leaning against the wall, laughing heartily. “My clothes are ruined!” Annabeth cried tearfully.
“Exactly,” Jenna said, still giggling.
Another time, Jenna took it to far. She knew that Annabeth had a fear of spiders, so she gathered a dozen from an old warehouse close by and laid the siders in Annabeth’s bed as she slept.
It was a little past midnight when poor Annabeth awoke, feeling a dreadful crawling sensation up her legs. She decided that it must be her imagination, and snuggled back underneath the covers. But when the crawling continued, Annabeth turned on her little lamp that sat on her bedside table, figuring that if she saw nothing, it would confirm that there was nothing crawling in her bed.
In a pool of yellow light, Annabeth lifted her covers--only to find a dozen spiders, the biggest ones the size of a mouse, the smallest the size of Annabeth’s thumb. Annabeth screamed, and later got in trouble for waking everybody up.
But, two nights later, Annabeth knew that she would get back at Jenna. She had gotten a dozen plastic spiders that looked very realistic. And, that night, while Jenna slept, Annabeth positioned the plastic spiders in crawling positions all over the bed.
Early that morning, Jenna woke with a fright, screaming. Annabeth arrived and said, “How do you like it?”
Jenna, thinking that the plastic spiders were real, cried, “Stop it! Get them off of me!”
Annabeth laughed, “I’m the prankster now, Jenna. If you promise never to play pranks on me ever again, then I will take them off.”
Jenna swore.
“Okay, then,” Annabeth said, plucking up the spiders on by one and cradling them all in her arm.
“I thought that you were afraid off spiders!” Jenna gasped, blinking in astonishment.
“I am,” Annabeth admitted, placing the last spider in her arm. “but I’m not afraid of plastic ones.”
And Jenna never pranked Annabeth again, even years after. Because she knew that she might bite back.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
The Trickster
Once, Jenna set a bucket full of syrupy juice and water, heavily colored with yellow food coloring on top of Annabeth’s door to her room. Jenna stood on the far corner of the room to wait for her little sister. Soon enough, Annabeth wandered into her room--and the yellow juice/water soaked her to the bone.
Annabeth, furious, saw her sister leaning against the wall, laughing heartily. “My clothes are ruined!” Annabeth cried tearfully.
“Exactly,” Jenna said, still giggling.
Another time, Jenna took it to far. She knew that Annabeth had a fear of spiders, so she gathered a dozen from an old warehouse close by and laid the siders in Annabeth’s bed as she slept.
It was a little past midnight when poor Annabeth awoke, feeling a dreadful crawling sensation up her legs. She decided that it must be her imagination, and snuggled back underneath the covers. But when the crawling continued, Annabeth turned on her little lamp that sat on her bedside table, figuring that if she saw nothing, it would confirm that there was nothing crawling in her bed.
In a pool of yellow light, Annabeth lifted her covers--only to find a dozen spiders, the biggest ones the size of a mouse, the smallest the size of Annabeth’s thumb. Annabeth screamed, and later got in trouble for waking everybody up.
But, two nights later, Annabeth knew that she would get back at Jenna. She had gotten a dozen plastic spiders that looked very realistic. And, that night, while Jenna slept, Annabeth positioned the plastic spiders in crawling positions all over the bed.
Early that morning, Jenna woke with a fright, screaming. Annabeth arrived and said, “How do you like it?”
Jenna, thinking that the plastic spiders were real, cried, “Stop it! Get them off of me!”
Annabeth laughed, “I’m the prankster now, Jenna. If you promise never to play pranks on me ever again, then I will take them off.”
Jenna swore.
“Okay, then,” Annabeth said, plucking up the spiders on by one and cradling them all in her arm.
“I thought that you were afraid off spiders!” Jenna gasped, blinking in astonishment.
“I am,” Annabeth admitted, placing the last spider in her arm. “but I’m not afraid of plastic ones.”
And Jenna never pranked Annabeth again, even years after. Because she knew that she might bite back.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
The Trickster
Thursday, November 1, 2012
M.C.L. Clay Crimson, Lemon, Ivy, and Ice Teacup Roses
Here are, as the title suggests, four clay crimson, lemon, ivy, and ice teacup roses that I have made. Lemon roses have red leaves, crimson roses have green leaves, ivy roses have red leaves, and ice roses have green leaves.
Colors used:
Brown, red, green, blue, yellow
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. Clay Oatmeal
This is a bowl of clay oatmeal that I have made. The oat are both yellow and white, as I couldn't decide on which color they should be. The oatmeal is dressed up by cranberries, blueberries, and almonds. To top it off, cinnamon and nutmeg are sprinkled over its crest.
Colors used:
Blue, yellow, white, burgundy, brick brown, dark blue.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. Clay Yin Yang Teacup Roses
These are four black and white clay yin yang teacup roses that I have made. There are to white teacup roses--each with a single black leaf--and two black teacup roses--each with one white leaf. It is presented in a small, burgundy clay bowl.
Colors used:
Burgundy, white, black
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. Clay Pepperoni and Spinach Pizza
This is a clay pizza that I have made. The crust is a yellow sphere with red clay sauce spilled haphazardly across its face. Warm, yellow-orange clay cheese is sprinkled over the top off this. To top it off, circles of pepperoni and leaves of spinach are placed delicately over everything.
Colors used:
Yellow, red, yellow-orange, green, burgundy
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. A Clay Bead Necklace
This is a clay bead necklace that I made! It took a really long time, but it was fun to make. There are 39 beads in all. ^^'
Colors used:
Turquoise, blue, dark blue, greenish blue, dark purple, white, orchid, light blue, black, mint.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. An Old Clay Cat
This is a clay model of my cat, Cosmo, that I made a while ago. (Once again, I had only the four primary colors at the time) It's not very good, but it took a while to make. v.v'
Colors used:
Yellow
-KittyLover8
© 2012
M.C.L. A Clay Plant Cell
This is a picture of a clay plant cell that I made. At the time, I had very limited colors of only red, yellow, green, and blue. Here is a link to the site that I used for reference:
http://www.enchantedlearning.com/subjects/plants/cell/
And there you have it! ^^ A clay plant cell. Enjoy!
Colors used:
Blue, red, green, and yellow.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Science: Phototropism and Gravitropism
Today, I am going to be discussing phototropism and gravitropism in plants. First, let’s talk about phototropism.
Phototropism
First of all, phototropism is the scientific name for when a plant’s leaves turn towards the light of the Sun.
Now, let’s explain how and why a plant’s leaves angle toward light, much like solar panels.
So, how does a plant archive the feat of angling its leaves toward light? Well, in a plant, there are these hormones that are called auxin. These elongate cells when there are in contact with them.
So, as the day goes by, of course, the Sun seems to change its position in the sky as the Earth spins on its axis. To get as much sunlight as the plant can (sunlight is vital for photosynthesis), the plant sends auxin cells to the side with the least amount of light. In that area, the cells now elongate. And now the plant leans toward the sun.
The plant will do this periodically throughout the day as the Sun’s position in the sky shifts.
So that is the answer to ‘how.’ Now for the answer to ‘why.’
Well, plant’s leaves, as I have said before, act much like solar panels. Because 1), they angle toward the Sun, and 2), they gather the Sun’s light. I have also said previously that sunlight is vital for photosynthesis. Why?
A plant needs carbon dioxide, sunlight, and water for the completion of photosynthesis. This adds up to sugar (the plant’s food), water, and oxygen.
To gather sunlight--an essential step in photosynthesis, as you have learned--a plant uses its leaves. But the plant must collect as much sunlight as possible before the sun goes down. To do this the plant uses auxin cells.
And that is how and why phototropism works! Now let’s move on to gravitropism.
Gravitropism
Okay so what is gravitropism? Gravitropism in a plant teaches about a plant’s response to gravity.
Why doesn’t a plant grow every which way, with its roots in the air and its stem and leaves in the dirt? How can a seed tell the difference?
A seed tells the difference with the aid of gravity. Scientists found this out when the did experiments on plants in space. Out there, more or less, depending on where you are, there is little or no gravity.
In space, plants do grow every which way. But on Earth, they did not. How did they use gravity to tell which way was up, and which way was down?
The seeds could tell using the Earth’s core, which strongly emanates gravity, pulling us toward the ground. The seed then points the right way and starts to grow.
But why?
This answer is pretty much the same as the answer to ‘why’ is phototropism. The plant needs its leaves to gather sunlight and carbon dioxide (in the air), and needs its roots to gather water (in the soil). So a plant would die if it was growing upside down. Without any further adieu, that is how gravitropism and phototropism work.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Phototropism
First of all, phototropism is the scientific name for when a plant’s leaves turn towards the light of the Sun.
Now, let’s explain how and why a plant’s leaves angle toward light, much like solar panels.
So, how does a plant archive the feat of angling its leaves toward light? Well, in a plant, there are these hormones that are called auxin. These elongate cells when there are in contact with them.
So, as the day goes by, of course, the Sun seems to change its position in the sky as the Earth spins on its axis. To get as much sunlight as the plant can (sunlight is vital for photosynthesis), the plant sends auxin cells to the side with the least amount of light. In that area, the cells now elongate. And now the plant leans toward the sun.
The plant will do this periodically throughout the day as the Sun’s position in the sky shifts.
So that is the answer to ‘how.’ Now for the answer to ‘why.’
Well, plant’s leaves, as I have said before, act much like solar panels. Because 1), they angle toward the Sun, and 2), they gather the Sun’s light. I have also said previously that sunlight is vital for photosynthesis. Why?
A plant needs carbon dioxide, sunlight, and water for the completion of photosynthesis. This adds up to sugar (the plant’s food), water, and oxygen.
To gather sunlight--an essential step in photosynthesis, as you have learned--a plant uses its leaves. But the plant must collect as much sunlight as possible before the sun goes down. To do this the plant uses auxin cells.
And that is how and why phototropism works! Now let’s move on to gravitropism.
Gravitropism
Okay so what is gravitropism? Gravitropism in a plant teaches about a plant’s response to gravity.
Why doesn’t a plant grow every which way, with its roots in the air and its stem and leaves in the dirt? How can a seed tell the difference?
A seed tells the difference with the aid of gravity. Scientists found this out when the did experiments on plants in space. Out there, more or less, depending on where you are, there is little or no gravity.
In space, plants do grow every which way. But on Earth, they did not. How did they use gravity to tell which way was up, and which way was down?
The seeds could tell using the Earth’s core, which strongly emanates gravity, pulling us toward the ground. The seed then points the right way and starts to grow.
But why?
This answer is pretty much the same as the answer to ‘why’ is phototropism. The plant needs its leaves to gather sunlight and carbon dioxide (in the air), and needs its roots to gather water (in the soil). So a plant would die if it was growing upside down. Without any further adieu, that is how gravitropism and phototropism work.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)