What I Didn’t Do

My summer vacation
other than being sunny and dry
not spent with the likes of you
not that I didn’t try

My summer frame of mind
was cloudy and yet
not because of your moody times
without hazarding a bet

My swim fins and sun lotion
not rubbing you the wrong way
touching your alabaster skin
being saved for a better winter’s day

My summer filled with
what I didn’t do
no worries about getting together, breaking up
no summer memories of you

My summer, your summer
sitting watching the cold rain fall
my electric fireplace warms
your smiling self, shadowed on the wall

My summer gone
and yours too
my wishes, my wants
my memories, you

My summer


Her Apricots, Her Peaches

The fruits of summer
remind me of you
their flavors so intense
their scents reminiscent of

Try tasting an apricot
in the glory of its life
the acrid sweetness,
like your smile
when I said

Your summer fruits
the culmination of
the flowers of Spring
scented, enticing, alluring
tasting, as if I just

The intensity of taste
equal to the season at hand
no cold Winter impressions
nor fading Autumn expressions
just savoring your tastes
like when you told me

Savoring the season
your orange blossom delights
apricot briefness
your peach soft skin

and scents of the taste

of you

A Summer Mystery – Part 10

Previously unpublished and deleted, but resurrected once again and dedicated to Miss Scarlett, now living in an undisclosed location in Canada……..

Who Done It. A Summer Mystery. Part 10

“I heard from him on that most fateful day, before the day’s events unraveled around us. He was in the vicinity to sell some of his less than legal works of art, and needed me to verify the authenticity of his works, before the money changed hands. He forced his way into the Mansion, taking liberties, as if he were a sailor visiting another port of call, and the women who waited there for him, but I was not that easy, nor was I ready to let him into my place of residence, if you catch my drift, that is?”

I did indeed, but I was proud of her courage, when confronted by the likes of men like him.

“He appealed to my weaker side, which is like an Achilles Heel to most people, forcing me to allow him access to the most precious treasures that I had in my possession!”

“You mean? Asking for her to clarify, even though I didn’t want to hear the truth.” My mouth went dry, while my hands started to sweat, thinking the worst of Miss Scarlett, even though it might have been complete and total balderdash!

She said: “He asked me for the combination to the safe in the Sitting Room, or else he would reveal an embarrassing moment in my past to the press, thus leaving me open for public ridicule.”

“The bounder!” I told her, wanting her not to be left open to the likes of him, or of the press, but secretly hoping that she would save that part of herself for me! I must admit to having had the privilege of knowing Miss Scarlett in any of various rooms of that Tudor Mansion, having had the pleasure of discovering her many secret rooms, hidden places and tempting areas unknown to the rest of her admirers. I hoped so anyway.

So M. Brunette was in the vicinity of the heinous crime, whether partially, or completely involved in the events of that most fateful day. I asked if it were possible that she contacted him again, luring him back to her boudoir, as it were, in order to catch the Blighter in the Act!

“Oh Colonel, why in the world are you blushing? Have you been having impure thoughts about me again?”

To tell her “Yes” would indeed be the truth, but I deemed it wise to hold my cards close to my chest, lest I would have to tell her the truth, keeping it close to her chest. Those thoughts along with luring that fiend into her Boudoir, were enough to  make me blush in an unabashed way, something I wouldn’t have experienced with any other woman!

But Miss Scarlett, well Miss Scarlett wasn’t just any other woman. During these many days that we had experienced each others company would end up being the most exciting moments of my long life. Not even being the hunted instead of the hunter in Africa, could equal the experiences I’ve shared with the woman in red. Ask any man who has confessed to a night of passion spent with the woman of his dreams, and see how noble he becomes in his thoughts! The thoughts that arise after such an experience are those that defy any and all logic, reducing all thoughts of being noble, doing the right thing and respect to mere words that are diminished even further, each time the lights are dimmed and he is caught in the throes of passion and the wiles of the opposite sex.

With God as my witness, I am no different than the men that I describe, being just as weak in the knees as any giddy school boy, who only can admire the woman of his dreams from afar, but then throwing caution to the winds, and taking what is rightfully mine. Oh God how it has happened to me, again and again…

We re-entered the main part of the Mansion, leaving the sanctuary of our secret passage, hoping that our presence would go unaware of the police guarding the entrances, hoping to catch us in a new act of mayhem. Miss Scarlett was ahead of me, taking a peek into the Sitting Room where her life changed from good to bad within a short amount of time, and which now needed to be rectified.

She motioned to me to be quiet, and slipped through the doorway, like a memory that was fading in the light of day. I hastened to follow her, but the door was closed unceremoniously, before I could come to her aid. I heard voices in the next room and thinking quickly, chanced to look through the keyhole confirming the worst of my fears. Miss Scarlett was being held against the mantle, by that most clever of all opponents, M. Brunette, who could have his way with her thinking them to be alone in the mansion at that time.

I listened to his bragging about how he had done away with Miss Scarlett’s companion just minutes before she entered the room herself. The companion had also repulsed his advances and was not swayed by his charms or promises. He forced himself upon her, making her swoon uncontrollably, just before stabbing her with a broken whisky glass, intended for Miss Scarlett, if she too refused to allow him access to the Mansion’s treasures. I chose to pull out my revolver at that instant, and sighted it at the Blighter, through the Sitting Room door.

The Constable noted afterwards that he was about to doze off when a shot was heard from within the mansion. He alerted the others on the premises to hurry to his aid, and see who the spiders had caught in their web of deceit? Upon entering the Sitting Room, he found 4 persons: Mr Brunette, Miss Scarlett, looking ravishing as usual, Colonel Mustard and the Cleaning Woman, Mrs Dust, who held a revolver pointed at Mr Brunette, but without firing a shot. She admitted to firing a shot into the ceiling to alert us of the impending crime, but without ending the days of the now most wanted criminal in the State of New Hampshire.

The Colonel had been startled by Mrs Dust, who pretended to go about her duties in a most less than dutiful way, but convinced her to listen in on the conversation on the other side of the door. This was cleverly done by Col. Mustard in order for her to retain her position, by confirming that the crime of the century was not committed by the Dastardly Duo of Mustard and Scarlett, but of the less than likely ilk of one, M. Brunette!

Miss Scarlett and I, with our names cleansed once again, decided to take up residence once again in the only home that either of us had ever known. I still didn’t have the answer to my question, as to her first name, but that was revealed to me, not by herself, but by that evil of all doers, M. Brunette.

Before he was taken away to meet his fate, he whispered to me: “If you ever want to drive Miss Scarlett wild with desire, then try saying her first name to her, when the moment is right! Oh, Josephine, I chanced to tell her once, and she threw herself at me, as if I were the last man on the planet! Try it, you’ll thank me for it someday!” And with that, they cuffed him and threw him into some nameless cell and threw away the key.

Knowing what I knew now, gave me an advantage over her that any other man, gentleman or otherwise, would have given his left arm to use against her. I felt that my nobleness was returning to me, when I told her of my first name, hoping to give her an equal advantage when our passions again were on the rise. “If you would be so kind to address me as Algernon, you would be doing me the honor as calling me by my chosen name!”

She smiled and thanked me for that information, but provided none of her own, lest things got out of hand.

I was overcome at this secret side of her, but considered using my inside knowledge of her nature, and chose to let my passions get the best of me, when I said, “Josephine. May I have this Tango with you in your Boudoir?…….”

Let the pieces, or passions fall, where they may…..



Who Done It? A Summer Mystery – Part 6

We were like flowers, her and I.

Yellow for happiness and inspiration, enlightenment, creativity.

Red for love, seduction, violence, danger and anger.

yellow and red daisy flowers

With my work being done in America, that is on the other side of the pond, I hastened my planning for returning to Good Old England. I realize that our American Brothers and Sisters had gained a lot by my being able help here in this former British Colony, but it was time to return home to the Queen, and all things that made England Great!

Miss Scarlett held her red handkerchief to her eyes, while she stifled a tear of regret! “How could you leave me, after all we have meant to each other?”

Indeed, How could I do such a heinous and cowardly act? I was certain that if I had remained, I would have to make an honest woman of Miss Scarlett, before she ended up on the Gallows after being caught in a compromising situation with the Chief of Police, or the head of organized crime in this part of New Hampshire! She had ways, that no man could forget, making them cry for mercy, or squeal with delight right up to the moment, when she thrust her stiletto into the heart of what had been an honest man just a few hours before.

“She made me do things, that my wife never would do”, they’d whimper as they were dragged away to the dark and disgusting holes of the worst prisons known to man. “She let me touch her there, but not the other places”, they’d say, just before they went mad with desire, having to exist without knowing her in both the Old and the New Testaments. Denied once again by that temptress.

She would always get off the hook, just before the judge’s hammer hit the table, pronouncing judgement on those sorry souls. Escorted through the back door of the courthouse, the jacket of some high priced lawyer over her head, escaping  the prying eyes of the gutter journalists, who wanted to expose corruption at any costs. She would buy Congressmen with her silence, and sell them to others who would pay dearly for the things that they knew about how the system worked. Always a trail of broken hearts and lives left in her wake. Always another sucker, waiting in the wings, waiting for her Stiletto to find its way into another innocent heart. Another live gone lost!

She was waiting for me, in the Ballroom wearing the most sultry dress, I had seen on her, making my British Blood boil for the things that she did to me. “Colonel Mustard, were you thinking of leaving me? For Good?” She made it seem as if she had bolted the doors, and swallowed the key, rather than let me escape her clutches once and for all! I eyed my Elephant Gun on the table, in the hope that I’d be able to do her, before she did me, if you catch my drift, that is!

“Eyeing your Elephant Gun, Colonel? I didn’t think that you would result to such measures, when it was just you and I, alone together, with just the length of our lips between us?”

I thought of how I could make a dive for it, rolling through the tall grasses of the Savanna, before the lioness charged for my throat. If only I hadn’t been left unawares. If only I hadn’t let my guard down for a single moment in order to take a swig of Whiskey, or look at the tattered map, hoping against hope that I’d find her in the end. Will it be enough, taking aim with my Bowie Knife, hoping to stab the beast in the heart, while it tried to tear my head off, showing no mercy whatsoever?

It seems like we literally fell into each others arms, after a jilted wife or a casino owner cheated out of his life savings, had hunted her down, cornering her at the end of the pier in Maputo. If I hadn’t chosen that moment to leap off the boat, while quickly loading the shells in my Elephant Gun while assessing the situation, I’m pretty sure, we wouldn’t have been in this situation today!

I hadn’t been in Africa rather long, before I ran into troubles with the natives who were hired to aid and protect me on my journey. They had no qualms about hacking off an important limb, if denied taking a single look at my traveling companion, the lovely Miss Scarlett. She seemed to have a way about her, using her sly smile to melt men in their shoes, and strangled them with their neckties, for the want of touching her, where she wanted to be touched, but then she denied them that pleasure all the same. It should have been against their religion, to desire someone so badly, but I had seen it before in the Maputo, after we made our narrow escape past the angry crowds and the massing group of police officers, called to rid the city of the chaos, she brought with her. It happened time and again, no matter where in the world she turned up!

Now we were here, at our camp, completely alone after having been left to our own wits, when the natives scattered like sparks from a wildfire. Scattered and left us alone to face the dangers of the wildest and darkest Africa, while in the throes of our passion that could not be denied.

Just a moment before, while we lay in each others arms, telling each other lies about what we felt about each other, and how everyone else, didn’t amount to a hill of beans, compared to our love. She told me that “I was the only one in her life that meant anything.” That all of the other men, never could hold a candle to me, nor the way that she likened our passions to being just like two wild animals in the darkest of Africa, which is where we were, by the way.

The sounds of the Lioness, seemed to be all around us, as we rose up from the bed, sweeping the mosquito net aside while reaching for the Gun, that being our only Salvation left in this God Forsaken Part of the Known World! I had just one shot, and if that failed, then we’d both be on tonight’s menu for the rest of her pride, Big Game Hunter and his mate – Bon Appétit!

I calmly walked over to the gun and felt its long, smooth barrel while looking at Miss Scarlett. “I wonder if you understand the thrust of the situation?” I said while keeping my eyes on her sultry look and gleaming eyes? “I have considered taking you in my arms and strangling the life out of you, while you stabbed me in the back with your stiletto!” Said while moving a step closer to her.

“Do you believe in love, Colonel?”

To be continued…


“But even flowers wither and die, you know?” – What Miss Scarlett wanted on her headstone, when her time on earth was done….


Who Done It? A Summer Mystery – Part 5

I guess, I should have left well enough alone and just forgotten about Miss Scarlett once and for all? She was gone and that was that. I don’t know of anyone, personally that is, that has managed to come back from the dead, once they’ve taken a trip on the River Styx? If so, then they are not of this world anymore!

Although, there was still something gnawing at me, that made me continue on in the hope of finding the truth at least, about what happened to the likes of that likable young woman, Miss Scarlett. I ran the whole scenario through my mind, the last time I had seen her, and tried to put the pieces together of the back side of the puzzle picture.

I knew the answer must exist in the Mansion, where we spent a lot of our time together. An old Tudor, with rooms that each could tell a story that would give anyone the willies, or cause them to run for their lives, while they still could, that is. We, that is Miss Scarlett and I, had solved a few tricky cases, which had to do with a past love, or a matter of money, which seems to be the best causes of crime in our neck of the woods!

I returned to the scene of the crime, even though no crime had been committed. I recall having gone out to the cellar, after hearing a noise, then the lights went out. Sounds like someone slipped me a Mickey, or hit me on the head with a Blackjack, but I was still conscious, when I left the top of the stairs to return to the Lounge.

The Cellar. The Cellar should have been my first Port of Call. With the foghorns sounding, and the drunks and derelicts being dragged onto the waiting ships, shanghaied away to a new home, against their will, I might as well have been the Captain on the Black Ship for want of an answer to my questions. Brushing away the salty brine on my jacket sleeve, I again started down the Cellar Steps, feeling the coolness wrap itself around me, similar to how I remembered Miss Scarlett’s legs, doing a similar trick, but then I digress in my memory for want of a better thing to think about!

At the base of the steps, there were signs of a struggle, as if someone had been bound and then dragged along the stony floor towards a blank wall on the opposite side of the room. The signs stopped abruptly, which made me think of a Secret Passage, or something like that, unknown to anyone else, in this God Forsaken House of Death and Mayhem.

I felt along the wall, for an indentation, or something similar, which didn’t belong there. I had forgotten my torch, which was now residing next to a bottle of Whiskey, but luckily I had my Lead Pipe, which I usually have with me, especially when in the company of Miss Scarlett. I struck a match, which helped me to see the following text, “Kilroy was here” with a figure of a man looking over a fence of sorts. I felt along this drawing, noticing a small hole, large enough for my index finger to fit into, which made me do so without hesitation.

A sound appeared, behind the wall, as if gears and levers were set in movement, creating the impression of a doorway, where the figure had just been. My match had gone out, plunging the Cellar into semi-darkness. I took this as an omen to tread carefully, when I felt around for a new opening in the door like structure. A thin crack allowed me to open the “door” and enter a new area, filled with a familiar scent, that I knew about before…

The “room” made the impression of having been occupied recently, supported by a pile of rope, which lay in a heap next to a chair. Someone had been bound to that chair, without being gagged, as the proximity of this “Secret Room” would have dissuaded any and all onlookers from ever finding the door, like I just did. The Mansion had all been abandoned, after the disappearance of Miss Scarlett, even forcing myself to take up residence in a dirty Flop House down near the River, for want of throwing myself to my own fate, if the Whiskey didn’t help me cope, like I needed it to.

My own existence had become my own nightmare, thinking constantly of the fate that Miss Scarlett had suffered by person, or persons unknown. That poor Canadian Lass being at the mercy of unscrupulous types, forcing her to throw herself into the River, or yet even worse things that could befall, such a young and innocent girl as herself! It made my blood boil at the thought of her being held captive down here in this dungeon of pain, but I tried to get a grip having only the thought of bringing the guilty persons to justice. My own kind of justice that is, having made a lucky shot with my massive Elephant Gun, which had gone off by accident, when I was escorting the Blighters back to civilization to face the music.

The next thing I heard was the muffled cries of a woman, behind yet another door, just ahead of my position. I made what others might have referred to as Super Human Strength, when I forced the door open, throwing the person on the other side, off to the one side, allowing me entry into a darkened dungeon of sorts. “Mustard, you Blaggard, I never thought you’d find my hiding place”, snarled a familiar voice belonging to Sgt. Grey, the once trusted officer of the local Constabulary. In the corner of the room behind him sat a familiar figure, who resembled….who resembled….”My God God, Is that you Miss Scarlett?”

An almost unrecognizable figure was seated in the corner, her eyes not focusing on me due to the limited light in that room. “Oh, Colonel Mustard, I hoped someone would rescue me, and most of all that someone being you!” which caused her to break down and sob, as if she had been ready to meet her maker.

Sgt. Grey turned to me, and said, “If it hadn’t been for your meddling, I’d have had her all to myself, but now no one will!”  And with that he drew forth a Spanner, and began to wave it threateningly in my direction. I whipped out my Lead Pipe, which made Miss Scarlett squeal in delight, and did my best impression of a man fencing with an equally armed assailant. I won’t say that I bludgeoned the Blighter, or sent him to Kingdom Come, but I did have that very intention of doing so! They did have to carry him out of that Hell Hole, when I was finished with him, but that almost saved the Taxpayers the chore of trying the man to be hanged by the neck until dead, which I found pleasure in all the same!

Miss Scarlett was then rescued by Yours Truly, and returned to the Lounge, where the whole terrible mess started just one week before. I laid her gently on the bed and waited on her, hand and foot until she made a complete recovery, at least on the surface that is. She might never get over her ordeal in the Cellar, but I was bound and determined to bring her back into being the woman she was before, by committing myself to her with all my heart.

“Oh Colonel Mustard,” she said one day being almost completely recovered from her ghastly ordeal, “I knew you would rescue me some day!” She was consoled by the presence of my Elephant Gun and Lead Pipe, which by the way, complemented each other beautifully in the service of young women.

“I can’t wait until we continue, where we left off, on that most fateful day”, said while gazing into my Elephant Grey Eyes.

“Nor can I, Miss Scarlett. Nor can I…..”


The Cancellation of Summer – Travels Part 8

I felt it to be quite relaxing, enjoying someone elses dream for a while. I didn’t need to apologize for my Stormy thoughts, nor my unsettled disposition.

She was doing the driving, and all I had to do was enjoy the ride, if I could that is. I felt myself to be a bit restless, being the passenger and all, but those ideas just needed to be adjusted to someone elses thoughts.

She didn’t seem to understand my distress. Why can’t you just let your imagination go, and let another unreality mold your Summer Daze?

Yes. Why not I asked myself?

Your problem, she said turning the car down a steep embankment, and removing her feet from the brake pedal, is not being able to let yourself go, am I correct?

…..I wish, I hadn’t let her drive. That was neither the first, nor the last time, I wished that. I was more in control, when I thought about driving, wrenching the wheel away from her, regaining control of my life again, but is that what I really wanted?……

Yes, I yelled as the car raced towards our doom. I like to be in control. It must be one of my failings, which I screamed at her, thinking that the end of my nightmare was close, and getting closer all the time!

She must have caught the glimpse of terror in my eyes, as she stepped on the gas pedal making the engine roar like the lions I had left behind, embarking with her instead…

“Any regrets yet?” she yelled in the wind, driving madly down the slope. I shook my head, fearing that any backing up would make her crazier, but my toes were eagerly twisting and curling, rubbing against the rug looking for calm beachy sand to hide in…

Her gaze left what should have been the road to our common dreams of a now apparently deadly summer, to put on a song, and stare at me smiling. “Hello, you fool…” she started singing at the top of her lungs, her eyes not leaving mine, and the car still bumping and racing downhill, pretty much as it felt it.

“I was thinking more Loving Spoonful, you see?” I managed to tell her, just before she turned her attention back to her driving.

“See? You’re doing it again! I am giving you a blank check to my dream account, and yet, you turn around and try to take control of everything! My car, my road, my song! C’mon join the joyride…”

……I felt like my Summer had taken a turn for the worse. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it seemed like, I wasn’t in control anymore……

Couldn’t get clearer…  Clear as the huge Sequoia trees that were forcing her to zigzag frantically, postponing our death each time we…  each time she dodged one.

“Saved you once more!” She said, not seeming the least concerned about our still increasing speed.  “Don’t you feel alive?” she asked, and then whistled along with the radio…

I closed my eyes, starting to think that she didn’t know anything about summer after all… That letting go was too big of a chance to take, and that I might as well take back my own dreams under my arm, and slip away to the beach to hope for another chance companion to spend what little of summer was left.

Just as I was about to wipe this crazy road trip from my mind, a warm feeling enveloped me, like a blanket. Flowers started blooming everywhere, from the ceiling down, covering the walls, and hiding the door I wanted to let myself out of a moment before…

“Do you trust me?” Her eerie voice surprised me, concentrated as I was, getting used to the new vegetation. It felt as if she was just next to my ear, feeling her voice more than I could hear it.

“Do you?”

“You’re not even really here…” I said, convinced she had stayed in the car, having the time of her life.

Without warning, I suddenly got the burning feeling of her lips on my neck, searing my skin, as if she wanted to brand me.  “I think we should be summer lovers, you and me, you know?” she whispered, as I considered the burn on my neck. “Just like phone sex… Just without the phone! I am not too much into technology, not during summer…”

She burst into laughter, burst into a hundred butterflies, and flew away from me, leaving me wondering what had just happened. When she appeared again, coming out of the bushes, she was covered with Clematis Cloudburst, from head to toe. The delicate flowers didn’t let a clear view of her silhouette, but allowed me just enough to imagine every curve of her hiding behind the petals…

“One of them is inked into my skin… Want to come and look for it?”

……If I said yes, at this juncture, would I survive this journey? Would I just fade away like some Summer Memory, that someone lost on their Summer Holiday. “Did you find it, or is it gone for good?” It was never there, I’m afraid……

I did, even if I feared a trap, not wanting her to break into butterflies again if I brushed my fingers lightly on her hip.

“Do you believe in my summer dreams now?” She asked. “Are you ready to let go?”

I just kept staring at her for a moment, trying my best to focus on the violet blossoms and not the pieces of pale milky skin in between. She walked to me, reaching up a hand, running her fingers on the burn on my neck, with a content look in her Manga eyes.

“Are you ready?” I nodded, impatient to go flower picking…

“Then there is something we have to get over with first!!”

I opened my eyes, as we were jumping the cliff, Thelma-&-Louise like. My heart skipped a beat and I felt a freezing chill down my spine. The air was so cold in the car, suddenly, that I swear I saw the edges of the windshield icing up… With icy little flower patterns,  slowly decorating the glass, framing the view of our imminent death!

That’s when I saw it…  Huge, more than huge, giant. We were flying straight into oblivion.

“My love, meet General Sherman, General, meet my new summer love!”

Flying straight into the biggest tree I could have imagined… even in my wildest dreams… And there was nothing more to do… The windshield was completely covered with ice now, and there was really nothing left to do…

But let my summer fall straight into winter!

…….I fell back onto the front seat, as if nothing had happened. Everything looked the same, but I felt differently. She had been driving, no doubt about it. She had left an impression on me, similar to the impression of melting ice crystals on the windshield in the noonday sun. I shook my head a few times, trying to force oxygen back to my brain, lest I fainted from sheer lack of sanity!

Written in corroboration with cyranny.wordpress.com



The Cancellation of Summer – Travels Part 6

It was beginning to look like my Summer would be one of the best, I ever had experienced, but being Cancelled and all.

I looked back to my Spring suitcase, gathering dust on the upper shelf in my memory. I wonder if I reached up high, if I could get to it, changing Summer into Spring once again. Flowers Blooming, Summer Expectations, Tickets to be purchased and, and,

The and, was me having to travel alone, again. It might as well have been but, which sounds more promising than and, but then.

I started to play that game with myself. If I hadn’t chosen that day to, If she hadn’t been so mysterious, If she hadn’t been so foreign, if, if, if.

I thought of going to the beach, as if I had been alone, as if I wanted to meet her by chance once again. I looked around my room, which seemed small in comparison to the rest of Summer. Dusty postcards yet unwritten, and sand from Estonia, or someplace like it, and the thought that I hadn’t traveled this far alone, but there wasn’t anyone in the room with me. Nor was there anyone outside along this lonely stretch of beach, resembling an Autumn scene, with all the tourists gone for the season.

The screen door slammed in the wind, scattering my random notes and unfinished poems of someone I hadn’t yet met, along a Summer Beach, somewhere…

“I dreamed of you”, I said while I wrote. “I dreamed of you on the beach, not paying attention to me whatsoever, taking care of your own business, hiding under your hat.”

I scribbled and I swore. I lined out what didn’t belong, and kept what I thought she would like, if I ever met her, that is.

I felt that she was too aloof to consider someone like me. I gathered up my notes and tried to place them in order. She was here, then there, then….I seem to be missing a page or two right here, which I said while pointing to no one.

Her first words were, “Such a mess! You probably don’t know your head from your heart, not like I do anyway.”

She was right, of course. I needed to get a grip. The Summer was passing me by in this lonely cottage, cheap as they come, but wouldn’t I have wanted it another way?

I was looking for page 3. That’s where I said, “You really add something special to this beach” which sounded like the worst pick-up line that I had ever heard.

The wind blew once again, making more mess than before. She bent down and began to collect the many pages. “Honestly”, she said with consternation. “You are never going to be finished with this, until you find pages 3 and 4.” She sat down on the wooden floor and began to hum a little tune, which I had dreamed of the night before. “What did you dream?” she asked, stopping for an instant with her paperwork, gazing up at me.

“I dreamed that I was lying in bed, but the cottage wasn’t dark. I watched the spiders make their webs on the ceiling, catching the Summer Flies unaware. The screen door was moving, but I couldn’t tell, if someone had come in, or if the wind was playing tricks again.”

“Did you see her?” she asked while continuing with her work. Her fingers stroking the edges of the papers, caressing the words as if they liked it like that. “Did she come into the room?”

I looked up from my table, gaining sudden inspiration to continue my work. The wind blew the curtains in and out, but there still weren’t any other sounds than the wind, and the waves. It irked me that I still couldn’t find pages 3 and 4. They were the key to finding her, asking her to stay, telling her of my life and, and…

My pencil fell onto the floor, making me bend down to pick it up. “Here. Let me help you” she moved over from her pile of papers and reached it at the same time, with our hands meeting and greeting each other. “How do you do?” I asked her, as she looked up at me. “I am doing just fine, looking up at you, wondering why you are sitting here all alone, in a lonely cottage by the sea in the fading memories of Summer?”

My hand was getting cramped with all of my paper scratching. I thought of lying down for a bit, in the late afternoon, not dark, but not light. As I lay there, watching the spiders make their webs on the ceiling, I heard a movement at the front door. I dare not move, not knowing if it was a sign, an ill omen?

I found her gaze to be piercing, slicing holes in my arguments of why I had been alone, why it had been the best thing, and why I found her to be so fascinating. I must have written that on page 3? When I gazed upon her face, her smile, why they seemed so restful to do so?

She took the pencil and twirled it in the air. “Did she come into your bedroom? Did she? I wonder if you wanted her to do so, being who you are?” She got up and went out of the door, without a word being uttered. I just sat there, wondering if I was ever going to be finished with my poem, my story, telling myself that she and I, that she and I were made for each other, but because I hesitated, because I insisted on finishing up, what I had started.

I let the pencil drop, not caring if she reprimanded me for it later on. I was bound and determined not to lose sight of her, not again.The spiders went about their business, as I left the bedroom heading for the front door. I reached the door, just seconds after she had been there, but there was no one to be seen. Just a lonely beach, devoid of Summer Visitors, if there indeed had been any?

I walked along until I stumbled upon 2 pieces of paper lying in the sand. Pages 3 and 4. It seems as if they had blown here, causing my mind to wander, distracting me from my work, daydreams of someone, who I had dreamed about, someone, someone.

“I can’t just lie here all Summer, waiting for you to finish your poem”, she said not angry, but waiting for me to make up my mind about us. “About us spending the Summer with each other, not in your lonely cottage, but in each others company, wherever that might lead us…”

“I’ll always remember her, lying on the beach, as if I had dreamed of her/you. I dreamed of you, I said to her while we gazed upon the Summer stretching out before us. You were on the beach, not paying attention to me whatsoever, taking care of your own business, hiding under your hat.”

“Yes, she said, but I knew you were there. If it wasn’t for my darn hat, then I might have seen you sooner?

“Then I wouldn’t have wasted my time writing poems to you, when I could have been living them…”

“Write them anyway”, she said.

“I love the way you write….”



The Equinox Agreement, Summer Next

She’d tell me from time to time, about the Equinox Agreement. “I have a signed piece of paper with your name on it, agreeing to the terms and stipulations of such.” She said it with such conviction, that I had to believe her, even though my doubts were beginning to show themselves to me, when she wasn’t at home.

I tried to remember back to the time when I lived by myself. I almost remember my routine. You know, get up for work, make my breakfast and lunch, get dressed, and the like. I might have turned on my TV, if it was in my TV days, and not in my boycott TV days, or something. I lived my life alone, went to work, then came home again to the same place. Ate my dinner in silence then did something or other to pass the time until it was time for bed. I can’t say exactly, as there are gaps in my memory. One of those gaps concern when I met her, when we moved in together and when she started telling me, that we’ve always been together.

I never was much for contact with my family and had just a few friends in my life, so there wasn’t really anyone who could corroborate her claims. I didn’t even have another girlfriend before her, at least not one that I could remember. She could have pounded on my door one day, yelling at me for dumping her for someone else. Crying uncontrollably about how we had spoken of marriage and having kids, and how her father had offered me a position in his company!

There just weren’t any of those incidents. No one to save me from myself, and the Equinox Agreement. I considered running away, and starting out somewhere else, some place where I could be myself again. I just needed someone to push me in that direction.

I asked her one day, to tell me again about the Agreement, being so forgetful and all.

“Silly you”, she said smiling, but with a serious after look which told me that I had asked about this one too many times.

“Now look”, she said. “Every time there is an Equinox, you need to tell me how much you love me and cherish our time with each other. You will have planned this day for months since the last Equinox, in order to surprise me on the big day. I am always just as surprised as the time before, and can’t wait until the next time comes.”

The next occasion was the Summer Equinox. “My favorite of all Equinoxes”, she said. I knew this to be true, but didn’t want to show my doubts about our relationship, before my suitcase was packed and my train ticket purchased, throwing glances behind me over my shoulder, that she might be right behind me?

The month of May was drawing to a close with June barking and scratching at my door. “Let me in” it said and appeared at every window, and door. Anticipating entry at any moment.

June, I muttered to myself. June has arrived, and I am still not ready to go. I almost could not stand myself anymore, not being able to agree on the most simple of things. Coffee today, or Tea? Necktie, or casual Sweater? Staying with her, or…..or…..

I couldn’t even be sure, if what I was planning, was the right thing to do? I felt that I didn’t have enough options, enough choices with a way out, if all else failed.

“You are being very secretive, aren’t you?” she would ask from time to time. I have great expectations about the coming Equinox, she’d say smiling, as if she knew that a change was coming. She might have known it before me?

On the day of the Summer Equinox, I was certain that I had covered my tracks well, as I started off towards the train station. I imagined that she would be searching for me, from room to room, not being able to fathom that I was not, where I should have been, not like all of the Equinoxes before.

I had strange feelings, as I stood at the Train Station, waiting for the Train to Freedom. My Freedom. I didn’t know where I was going, or what I would do when I got there, but one thing was for certain, I would be away from her for good. I would have to find a new way of celebrating the Equinoxes. Perhaps nothing at all, or looking at the door expecting someone like her, waving the Agreement in her hand, taking my hand and returning me back to our home, locking the door and smiling.

I boarded the Train without any difficulty. I found my seat and stared at the sign on the Train Station, “Welcome to Equinox! Population 2”. A man entered my view carrying a ladder on his shoulder. He stopped under the sign and climbed up carrying something in his hand. He replaced the “2” with “1”, then promptly disappeared once again.

The train pulled away from the Station, with a lone figure standing there waving goodbye to me.

“Goodbye” someone cried in the distance.

I turned and looked, and she was gone. I didn’t think about it again, and only concentrated on my newspaper, outlining the day’s events. At the next station, I got off, not knowing what to expect, or if anyone would be greeting me there.

“Hello”, a voice said. “I’m glad you’ve come home again.” A figure embraced me, and gave me a kiss. We walked away from the tracks, hand in hand.

“You’ll never know what happened to me”, she said as we went back to our house. “While you were gone, I met someone, but he left a few minutes before you arrived! You would have liked him a lot, I’m sure.”

I turned and looked into her eyes, and tried to remember just who she was.

“I’m happy you made it home in time for the Summer Equinox, she said with a gleam in her eye. It is my favorite time of year, don’t you remember?…….



Who Done It? A Summer Mystery – Part 2

“Colonel Mustard, are you who you say you are?”

“Such an outrageous question. Of course I am, who I say I am.”

The lovely Miss Scarlett, and I were enjoying a quiet moment in the Conservatory.  “Why have you referred to me as Miss Scarlett with two Ts”, she said while wrapping her long legs around me.

“It makes you more exciting”, I said as I cleaned my Elephant Gun then sighted down the barrel, as if the prey was in the sights. “Click” said the gun, without firing a shot. “Got you you Blighter!” Then re-cocking the trigger for the killing shot.

“Shouldn’t you let the poor beast live?” Miss Scarlett asked, while shedding a tear at the loss of such a magnificent beast.

“Could be, I said, while wiping the sweat from my brow. “There are always more where that one came from!”

Dr Black chose that moment to enter the room, waxing his fake mustache, a habit that he never seemed to lose, even though it caused him a great deal of difficulty when dealing with the police.

“I saw her today”, he said while tossing a careless gaze over towards Miss Scarlett,” you know who?”

I tried to ignore him, and tried to tell Miss Scarlett that there wasn’t anyone but her. Not now, and definitely not before.

“She needs to see you, it is urgen”t, his wandering gaze following her legs from toe to tip, wherever they might take me, he thought to himself. If only, he were alone with her with me being out of the way, then…

His words did indeed seem urgent, but I doubted his intentions for being the lackey, the Messenger Boy for someone like her. “What did she promise you?”, I asked him directly, not wanting to beat around the bush, my hands grasping and ungrasping the lead pipe behind my back, waiting for a sudden slip of the truth, or the smell of her perfume on his jacket, or the faint imprint of red lipstick on his collar.

“Did you see her? Are you certain it was her?” I asked a bit more rough this time, pinning him to the Ficus Elastica, noticing how his breath was forced out of his lungs, reducing his answer to a mere gasp, “She sat in the Rolls. Her face was covered, but I am sure it was her….She left something for you….A Letter.”

I let him go, forcing him to collapse in a heap on the Persian Rug.

“That is a better fate, than you ever gave your patients, Old Snake in the Grass!”

He didn’t move, fearing my wrath, and disgust at his mere presence. He drew an envelope out of his pocket, making sure that it resembled the real thing, placing the final details with his quill pen, and sealing it with her wax seal. MP for Miss Peach, in orange wax of course. He handed it up to me, thus collapsing once again, disappearing as it were through the trap door, to points unknown.

“Who is she?”, Miss Scarlett asked,  while biting me on the left earlobe. Her voice reduced to a bare whisper, “Take me now, instead of meeting her”. Her sultry breath, her body close to mine, the lead pipe behind my back and a cigarette burning close enough to think that it was mine, if I smoked that is!

“I need to meet her”, I said, while  forcing my gaze upon her, undressing her in my mind, my hands over her body, her high-heeled shoes dangling over the table.

“Oh”, she said taken aback. “I didn’t know you were so forceful”, showing her hand, Full House, Aces and Spades. “I guess, I should hike up my dress a bit more, farther than any red-blood American Man could take.”

It’s a good thing, I was British, or else I might succumb to the combination of her red dress and her killing stare. It’s done others in, I’m sure, but we all have bodies buried in the basement, don’t we?

“I’ll be back later”, I told her and walked confidently out of the room, hoping that she would stop me from going, using her femme fatale, way of  persuasion. “Kick and Kiss me honey”, I said and left the room heading towards the Dining Room.

I feared poisoning was on today’s menu. “Soup du Aconite” with Amanita Muscaria as hors-d‘oeuvres, The Deadly Fly Agaric, when nothing better will do!

She sent someone else to serve the meal, Mrs White, in her best impression as maid, servant, and seductress, when all else failed to work.

“Colonel Mustard, what a delight it is to see you again”, I reached out to kiss her hand, but noticed a reddish look beginning to grow in intensity as she approached me. “Cyanide, anyone?” That is the question I could have asked her, but suddenly she began to suffer from shortness of breath then seizures, finally collapsing into a coma.

Dr Black might have been called in other instances, but he might as well have been the one who administered the deadly blow to an otherwise harmless old bat!

I then heard movement in the next room, prompting me to look through the keyhole, hoping against hope to catch a look, of my former love, caught in the act of seducing my best friend, subjecting him to the same tortures, she inflicted upon me, and I loved her for that, dear God. Oh how I loved her for that!

I started to turn the doorknob, and pressed the door inwards, hoping to catch her off guard. I had turned off the lights in the Dining Room in order to give myself an additional edge, in order to gain the upper hand, before she did. The room appeared as dark as my own, allowing for just a crack of light appearing under the door leading to the Hall.

I struck a match, fully expecting the flame to be shot out from under me, throwing me lifeless on the floor, dying in a bloodbath of ecstasy,  hoping to see her at least once more, before I met my maker!

The room was deathly still. I listened intently for her breathing and imagined her breasts heaving and sighing in the darkness. “Do you trust me?”, she once asked me, which seemed like an odd thing to say, with her knowing how I felt, and how I still do…I still do.

“So, you’ve come! I had hoped for as much, but you never know with Great White Hunters. Seeing you there, in Africa brandishing your Elephant Gun, blowing away the other Suitors of your love affairs gone wrong. Justifying it in the courts, as others that had sullied the name of Mustard, taking lover after lover, until your needs were satisfied, then casting those poor women aside as yesterday’s news.  And I, what of I? Am I just another conquest?  A trophy on your mantelpiece, which has lost the favor of your company. An old rag that you’ve wiped that nasty grin off your face with, then tossed it in the dustbin to be burned along with the rest of the garbage. Am I that person to you?”

I sensed, that she wasn’t as happy to see me, as I her! I had the Gun, in case….But she was wielding the Rope, and used it without questioning, without warning.

“If I tied your hands, would it make my intentions clear to you?” she asked me, just without warning, or my accept before I found myself bound and attentive to her words, and to her needs. “If I said that I have missed you so dearly that tramping on the others who have been poisoned, stabbed and bludgeoned, meant nothing to me, as long as you held me in your arms once again.”

Being bound and gagged, I felt that I was the perfect compliment to her words and questions, not being able to interject my anger, or question our existence together! I felt that this could work, for the both of us, as long as she didn’t feel like my lifeless body, dangling from the ceiling, while sipping a glass of Revenge Whiskey, that sounded like a better thing altogether!

Suddenly the lights went out, plunging us into darkness. A flash of lightning outside the window, accentuated her face, bathed in the fiery waters of revenge, raising her hand up with the knife that had done in so many former lovers, its tip glistening in the lightning light, falling downwards with a Shriek, the final Death Knell, when all hope is lost, and the end is near….

When the lights returned , I was greeted by the sight of Miss Scarlett, standing over the lifeless body of Miss Peach, dagger in her hand, glistening with blood, still dripping from its serrated edge. “You’ll thank me for that one someday”, she said, while slicing the knife blade up Miss Peach’s corset, revealing the less than sleek form of a woman that I once knew, back when she was alive, that is!

“You see? She wasn’t the woman, she said she was. Not sleek and elegant, not quick to forgive and forget, and definitely not someone for the likes of you!”

I was seeing Red, not in anger mind you, but Red all the same.

“Is that your Elephant Gun in your trousers, or are you just happy to see me?” She said while her long fingers danced about my face, like knives close enough to cut, or finger tips ready to caress.

I had quickly forgotten about any past loves, at least while Miss Scarlett was in my life. If anymore of them did manage to turn up, then she probably would still be in my life.

Oh, how I hate explaining to the police, where all these bodies have come from….




The Cancellation of Summer – Travels Part 3

I wondered if she knew just who she was, or more importantly, who I was?

It seemed like each day brought new things, and each night brought us together, but with the sunrise at the new day’s dawn, we were strangers once again.

“Who are you?”, she chanced to say, while we still shared the last moments of the Summer Night. “Why are you here with me? Are you staying or going now?”

“My Summer had been cancelled”, I explained once again. The same explanation, at the same time on each new day, to the same person. Not being angry at who I was, just wondering why, we were traveling together?

“Consider me to be a chance companion on the road. We met and we are traveling together, no more, no less”, though I was lying. I was lying, because I still remember the night before, and the scent of her perfume on my skin. I was lying not only to myself, but her as well, for I feared that she would leave me alone during this Summer, not having any direction, nor companionship to share life’s small moments with.

“Where are you going today?” She asked me rather nonchalantly, as if I were the Engineer, “All Aboard” the conductor would say, motioning the lack of guests onto the train, staring his empty stare at the rows of seats, empty seats filled with non-paying passengers.

“I thought of taking a trip, somewhere.” Something that I said in a sort of way which would suggest a destination, without having one. “We could travel there together”, said not necessarily to her, but to her as well, if she chose not to travel with me.

“I’ll consider your invitation”, she said, “but I might just have other plans as well.” She turned away as if she were heading in the direction of her destination.

“Can I come with you?” I asked, not in a pleading way, but in one that suggested that we should travel together.

“Oh, Are you also traveling somewhere today?”

I thought this line of questioning was getting us no closer to finding out, who the real murderer was. She was toying with me, but I liked it. “Have I ever showed you my knife?”, she asked while I looked for another cigarette, even though I never had smoked before. She hiked up her skirt and showed me her holster, sporting a thin stiletto. “Only in case of emergency”, she hastened to say, but how many emergencies did come, remained between her and herself.

Did she really kill him? I doubted it, but then I had fallen for her unmercifully and unabashed. I had jeopardized the case, by doing so, but her eyes told me that I wanted her, no matter what.

“Take me for a ride”, she said in that way which made me melt onto the floor. Stepping daintily over the puddle on the floor, she looked out of the window to the street. “My convertible is still parked at the curb. Tank filled with gas, and a woman ready to go all the way! What do you say to that, Big Boy?” I pulled myself together, and dusted off the odd piece of wax or two, before sweeping her off her feet, and passing through the waiting window to the street below.

“I’ll drive”, she said while twirling her keys in the air, looking for the right one to use.

“The wrong one will take us farther”, I said without hesitation, but with a doubt if she would indeed go that far?

“He loves me, he loves me not”. She sat on the front seat, her legs draped over the side of the car, tossing the odd key away, as if they were petals on a Summer Flower, blowing away in the wind. “He might have loved me, just before I shot him. He might have been the one, but my knife knew no mercy.”

“Save me,” he cried. “Don’t do the deed!”

Was she confessing to the perfect crime, or just toying with me again? She chose the key with the leopard’s head, and placed it in the ignition. The motor roared as if it were on the Serengeti, chasing antelopes in their final death knell. “Hop in before they catch us, alone and unarmed, waiting to sink their teeth into us.” She just stood there, looking out across the African Skies. It looked like rain, somewhere. Just not here, not today.

“I love seeing the wind in your hair”, said while we raced along the Endless Plains, as said in the Maa, in the Maasai. “Africa was a good choice for today”, said while thumbing through my travel brochures, tossing them onto the back seat, but turning into Mosquitoes instead. “Why did you do that?” she cried, while getting stung a place or two, having to scratch an itch, which had been bothering her since we met, almost losing control of the jeep while doing so. “Have you ever done it in Africa before?” I assumed that “it” would become known to me, while we raced across the patterns and undulations of the grassy plains. She released the wheel and let the jeep flow along with the current, heading towards the falls, The thundering falls.

“Should we pretend that we are in a barrel going over Ndoro Waterfall?”, said while gazing into the bluest of my eyes? “I can see an ocean in there”, she remarked while the car was spinning out of control, the current tearing trees and rocks from the shore, adding to the chaos and mayhem of the boiling river. “I can see an ocean of possibilities, when traveling with you”, she said to me, in a rather unabashed way, throwing caution to the winds and kissing me….The vehicle swerved from side to side, as if the road had lost control of the situation.

I took control, and held her in my arms, stemming the tide of confusion, the jeep rolling to a stop in front of my office once again. “Did you do it dearest?”, I asked while running my fingers through her hair, sifting out the trees and rocks that had entangled themselves in the waves.”Did you really kill him?”

She turned away as if to confess to no one, she whispered something, which made me want to hear something else, and not what she wanted to say. “I loved traveling with you today,” I imagined her saying. “I loved seeing the blue in your eyes, I could love an ocean with you”, which must have been the words she had been whispering, the words that I did so want to hear.

Not Guilty. How could it be otherwise? I believed her as she gazed into my eyes..

I could love an ocean with you……