For Father's Day

On this, the first Fathers' Day after my Dad died, here is the poem I wrote in the remembrance card for his funeral:

A day we wish would never end

Though we know it must,

As now we abide

Before the horizon

Whilst the boundless depths

Of darkness descend

With all the relentless

Shadows of dusk.

Yet as the twilight fades

We harbour no fear nor sorrow.

For you always let us know,

Even within our souls,

That in the night, however dark and deep,

Awaits the peace of sleep and of dream,

And that as today passes away into yesterday

Still every moment remains beyond tomorrow.

So now as the day ends

Your light yet guides the way,

And by the endless presence

Of every blessed remembrance,

We abide each moment

In undying thanks

For ever having been blest

To share with you such a wondrous day.

Dies In Memoriam

Thanks, Dad.

Dial-A-Story

A week ago most of the family gathered to celebrate a birthday. Between the end of supper and the serving of cake, Danny, whose birthday it was, got the notion to help entertain the youngsters by calling "Dial-a-story," a service of our public library.

You dial the number, and a recorded voice narrates a short story, usually a fable or quick fairy tale. We used to call up quite often as kids. Long before the days of speaker phones, we would pass around the receiver, then anchored to the wall, and take turns listening. Each week held a new story. All these years later, the Natrona County Public Library still provides the service, even still has the same number.

Anyhow, last week's story was "The Wishing Ring," a folk tale about a poor farm couple who come to possess a ring that could grant them one wish. Again and again deciding to save their wish for when they might need it even more, the couple eventually discover the value of working hard to achieve their goals. A quaint tale with a quirky ending. The kids enjoyed it, and it gave all us adults a chuckle. Danny certainly enjoyed it, laughing hardest of all. Then Danny--who, unbeknownst to me, has retained the habit, these many years, of calling the library to hear the weekly tales--proceeded to tell us her favourite tale of all: "Teeny-Tiny."

Danny had real trouble not laughing as she told the story, but she recounted each part, kept the repetition, and performed the voices perfectly, even though she had not heard it in ages. Again and again, she said she wished "Dial-a-story" would play it again some day.

My wonderful, thoughtful wife then proceeded to look it up on the web and found an audio version, care of the Weber County Library System in Utah. We all listened, Danny most earnest of all.

So, Danny happened to be granted a wish--however teeny-tiny--for her birthday.

Find out if your local library participates in "Dial-a-story." Call it up. Listen with family or friends. Share with a child. Support the service and help keep it going for years to come.

Just remember to "please, hang up  the phone."



Link to "Teeny-Tiny" and other spooky tales collected as "A Corpse Claims Its Property":
http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/type0366.html

Link to "Google Books" giving a look at pages from original collections:
English Fairy Tales
Popular Rhymes & Nursery Tales

Link to "Teeny-Tiny" classic audio version from "Dial-a-story":
Teeny-Tiny - Audio - (from the Weber County Library System)

Fundamental Fractal

I am utterly convinced of the fractal nature of the universe!

At last, after months of other matters taking priority through a long, cold Winter, I finally found the opportunity to get to work at clearing tree branches that cracked, snapped, and fell during last October's early, heavy snowstorm. My brother and I spent the last few weekends hauling branches upon branches from my yard, our parents' yard, and our aunt and uncle's yard. 
Six truckloads and four trailers full, all told. 

Carrying trunks, sticks, and sprigs, stumps, limbs, and twigs, over and over again in a seemingly incessant succession, I could not help but wonder upon the self-similarity of branch and tree, that they appear the same, and how, taken on any scale, branch and tree are part and whole, whole and part, of one another.  

Heaving armful after armful onto the truck, and I thought: from sub-atomic particle, to solar system, to galactic supercluster, thus from stick to branch to tree, all are strung together, so heavenly, so harmoniously.

Heap upon heap of broken boughs, and I felt compelled to contemplate how this universe may very well branch into infinite other universes, to compose the multiverse; and how multiverse upon multiverse make up the omniverse; and how that omniverse, reaching into realms within and beyond itself, still resembles its every infinite and infinitesimal piece--comprising, in part and in whole, the one and only universe itself. 

I pondered, as ever, how every instant of existence forks and flows ad infinitum. How each moment reaches out to touch every other moment.  How every living being influences every other living being. 

O, how the Tree of Life ramifies every single solitary soul, yet holds us, all of us, forever unified upon its eternal--and fractal--branches.

Perhaps I was simply delirious from carrying all those neverending branches. 
Nevertheless, I am now absolutely, unequivocally convinced that all of nature is fundamentally a fractal.

Explore fractals further:
http://fractalfoundation.org/resources/what-are-fractals/
http://classes.yale.edu/fractals/
http://www.coolmath.com/fractals/fractalgenerators/generator1/

Yesterdays Tomorrows

Which day of your life would you choose to relive?

  

 Download a free copy of Yesterdays Tomorrows today.

   just click on this link: 

>>>>    Yesterdays Tomorrows    <<<<

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I also welcome comments and reviews.

Yesterdays Tomorrows by Devin Hodgins

Originally published in The Absent Willow Review: December, 2010.

Republished by Musa Publishing: December, 2013. 

A "Creative" Question

Due to circumstances which, etymologically speaking, seem truly to be "surrounding" me, I am unable to post my story Yesterdays Tomorrows this month as I had planned.

Yet those circumstances bring up a question I have often wondered:

Does my writing reflect my life, or does my life reflect my writing?

Is it truer that whatever I am writing draws from whatever might be happening in my life, or, rather, is it that whatever is happening in my life draws from whatever I happen to be writing?
In other words, if a storm rolls over the horizon, does it find its way into my work, or does the storm I am describing on the page manifest itself in the skies?

I find myself swinging between the two "seemings" every now and again. And the more I contemplate the notions, the less I am sure which one ever exerts greater influence.


Writers, musicians, and artists of any creative capacity, what do you think? 


Leave a comment, share your thoughts, divulge your feelings on the subject.

I would be delighted to give out free downloads of Day Dreamer to those who participate in the conversation.

Looking Back/Looking Forward--Looking Forward/Looking Back

Looking Back/Looking Forward--Looking Forward/Looking Back

Last month, a short story of mine entitled Yesterdays Tomorrows was released as part of a holiday promotion from Musa Publishing. It was only available for a couple of weeks. I have been asked if it would ever be available again. So, next month, I shall re-release the story myself as a .pdf, available from this site. I hope everyone checks it out.

Also, after having earned my bachelor's in elementary education only last fall, I just ended my first full week of work, actually employed with the District, as an Educational Support Person/Tutor. As I reflect on all I learned through my education courses, I am brimming with anticipation now that what I studied is beginning to transform from theory to practice. So far, I am thrilled with the position. I work with students throughout the school, in every grade but kindergarten. Such a dynamic, challenging assignment is proving quite rewarding already as inspirational relationships take shape--inspiration from teacher to student as well as student to teacher.

These two points--amongst countless others--draw me, at once, toward the past and the toward the future. Seeming rather appropriate for the open gateway of January, even at its end.



 

Today

Yesterdays Tomorrows
Available as a FREE e-book from Musa Publishing as a gift to readers.
Visit http://musapublishing.com/ and download a copy in your preferred format.

Get a free copy of  
Yesterdays Tomorrows today.
I welcome all readers to leave a comment and let me know what you think of the story.

Yesterdays Tomorrows

Which day of your life would you choose to relive?

 ****

Tom Morgen is tired. Tired of work. Tired of marriage. Tired of life. Worst of all, he's tired of himself. Stargazing one sleepless night, he happens upon being given the chance to relive one single day of his life. But chasing through his past days, each a shadow of all others, he torments himself with indecision. How could he ever choose from all his faded yesterdays and their desolate tomorrows?

 ****

excerpt:

Upon that very thought, Tom felt the wind be still within him. He shivered. And staring still into the sky, he sensed a presence upon the face of the deep, reflecting his gaze. A haunting presence which he was powerless not to perceive. The sky was its eyes, with the stars for a stare.

And from the farthest reaches of surrounding silence, he heard a voice speak his name: ‘Tom Morgen’.

The voice echoed throughout him as he watched the blackness all around deepen into a shape—the shape of a shadow in darkness. The ethereal form approached him, its enshrouding robes flowing as if by a breath never to be breathed. It stood still before him. Tom clutched his chest. And then the shape raised its own eyes: two bright stars opening to gaze upon him.

“I am summoned.”

Tom stood in utter astoundment—utter and dreadful astoundment—before the black shadow. Its enchanting voice. Its star-shining eyes. He grasped ever tighter at his bloodless heart—innocent, as far as he knew, of calling forth the shadowy shape or ever summoning it in any way.

“Am I…Am I dreaming?” he whispered to himself. He did not know if he was dreaming, yet he did know that he was not asleep. Without turning away from the shadow’s starry gaze, he glanced suspiciously at his cold coffee but possessed not even the strength to drop the cup.

Tom gazed onwards at the shadow of stars, feeling it peer into his soul. “Who are you?” he finally asked. “What do you want of me?”

“Thine answer.”

“My answer?” whispered Tom, echoing the silence of the shadow’s voice, and fearing the question unasked.

“Bestowed unto thee is the chance to relive any day of thy life.”

Tom’s heart achingly fell away beneath the hooded shadow’s deepening gaze. He could not stand. He could not collapse. He could only stare in awe.

 

Which day of your life would you choose to relive?