Destiny At times, my thoughts wrinkle like last weeks dirty laundry.  Occasionally, they soar, teasing my subconscious like string teases a kitten.  At the end of the day, I fold all good thoughts carefully and store them neatly in an imaginary trunk.  Words, lines, and stories appear.  They rise from the churning chest like vapor from river's placid canopy.   Guarded Conversation Their shadows drop off the weathered table, slither across straw-covered ground resting on Wiggins' wooden shed.  Lantern-light projects black images on gray wood.  They huddle over half-empty vodka glasses guarding their conversation.   Shadows On Weathered Wood The men step out in silence towards the village square taking a subconscious and gratuitous bearing on the church steeple.  The dominant church and belfry sit majestically on the square's southeast corner.  The sanctuary's open doors welcome all travelers at the meeting of Little Karman and River Road.  Around fall equinox, when the sun slides past twelve bells, the steeple's undressed wooden cross accepts the sun's golden gift sending a ghost-like Calvary image onto warped crossing roads.   Rocks Plunk Plunk I watch Peter and Maria trying to skip rocks on river's flat palette.  Rocks go plunk.  Children laugh and silently seek Mother's admiration. Plunk, plunk.  I return their infectious smiles and nod.  Tiny, white feet play with gentle waves that soak the sandy cove.  Catfish jump and slap the surface with agile tails as if to mimic Peter and Maria.  Plunk, plunk, whap, whap, plunk ... whap.  Pale-blue light reluctantly gives way to shades of blue and purple.  It all saturates my soul.   Ten Hands Up For Rats I scooped and scraped until my right hand over-flowed with powdery dirt.  I threw it as hard as I could.  My skirt instantly turned a dusty-brown.  A large dirt-cloud covered my shoulders and head.  I choked and frantically waved my hands about trying to clear the air.  My shooter sailed from my hand like an over-sized clay shell striking Amelia's head.  The errant shooter dropped silently to our dusty marble deck - the inaudible thud muffled by the girls' uncontrollable laughter. "RATS," moaned Amelia.   Inside A Sideways Second I lie in warm protective bedding staring wildly into Solotoye's murky witching hour, when a grammatical stranger scratched on bedroom's frosted ebony pane. It slipped in.