“The vast landscape was never ours to begin with, we are all tenants of the same good earth. Surrounded by the enchanting tourist attractions, one forgets. One becomes enamored by the sounds, smells and tastes. Time? Time mattered less.” – Jacqueline Cioffa
“I have loved, laughed, cried, hurt, chose the empty life, until love finally found me a home.” – Jacqueline Cioffa
THE VAST LANDSCAPE current Amazon Best Sellers Rank: Free in #KDPSelect #Kindle
#1 Psychological #1 Sagas #3 Literary
We are all like it or not, intertwined.
The way the stories breeze through my mind, much like the people I have loved and let go.
As I watch helpless, I cringe at the chaos that surrounds. These are dangerous times we live in. To love, dream, practice uncomfortable kindness. To choose hope.
I leave this place with tales spun from grass and held together by frayed twine.
Living is scary. Not living is well nothing, nothing at all. Moments scribbled on forgotten parchment, moving images I recall.
Will it matter, probably not. But, it matters now. Right here. Right now.
It was real for a moment, in my head and my heart.
It was so nice to dream.
excerpt Georgia Pine by Jacqueline Cioffa
“There is something about a seashore dwelling, how the wind blows steady, sweeping and swooshing problems away. They magically evaporate out to sea. Harry couldn’t know how blessed time and living inside that house would be. The home was evergreen, oversized planks, cool to the touch but so very warm inside. The picnic bench carved with etched markings, familiar names, some recent, others worn. Barely legible grooves recorded a family.”
Going Back To Cali Book Tour
The Chopra Center Self awareness, body, mind and spirit, meditation, restoration. Reconnect.
“Nothing is more important than reconnecting with your bliss. Nothing is as rich. Nothing is more real.”
— Deepak Chopra
…one must be more specific
There is beauty in ice sculptures, black leaves, sand granules and zebra mussel shells
Someone carved a number into the willow
I wonder what it meant and how long it’s become piece of the bark
Are they dead and buried, the secret etched inside the tree’s history?
I cannot say
I had not seen before
The biting winter air keeps me alert, alive noticing the minute details
I slow my pace, paying no attention to time and space, focusing on the grays above
and the black ripples before me
When dreaming of a beach one must specify the horizon