One Sun

Dedicated to Dad

One sun, many rays of light
One Father, protective warmth
Open hands illuminate hills,
Mother's holy streams, and
My forward path

The Amato Tomato, aka Nonna's Best

A Sicilian Heritage Signature Series favorite, the deep red heart-shaped "Amato Tomato" is low-acid, producing a tinge of sweetness, buoyed by an underlying essence of clove-spice. This tomato is perfect for slow-simmering pizza sauce. It has come to be known the world over as "Nonna's Best".

Dear DP: Perplexed Procrastinator

Dear DP,

With a sudden vengeance my Inner Procrastinator has reared Its ugly head. Thought I had conquered this Foe long ago, but apparently It was only quelled. I find myself by varying degrees from being at a stubborn stand-off with this Deviant to being completely at Its mercy.

Although I'm never late for work and always return calls promptly, the rest of my professional and personal life seems to be nothing more than an inertia-inducing, mentally-paralyzing, last-minute, mad-dash sprint to meet real and arbitrary deadlines.

As if to mock me, my battery-operated desk clock stopped overnight at 02:37.

Please advise.

Just sign me,

Nick O. Time

Happy Anniversary DP!

Luke, over at the Latent Chestnut has just posted something that blew me away: Ditalini Press is one year old today! Happy anniversary everyone and more happy writing...

Dear DP

Hi. I'm a Buddhist monk and my Master has just died. We've completed the cremation ceremony and I am very sad. He's been with me since I was thirteen, always there to tell me what to do and how. I feel lost. I met with the Dalai Lama yesterday who examined the cremation ceremonial ashes and all the signs were there that Master has already been reincarnated: cremation pearls, swirls in the cinders, and a footprint under a stone with the big toe pointing east. The Dalai Lama, despite my pleas that I am under qualified, thinks that I am the one who can properly identify him again in his new physical form. Frankly, I'm scared and don't know where to start. I need advice.
Cordially yours,
Buddhist in a Bind

Dear DP

Dear DP
I'm 59 years old and have been coloring my hair for the past 15 years. I know I'm not alone when I say how much I hate the tedious, messy job of dying roots every four weeks. But how does one go grey? My boyfriend says I should just let it happen and he's cool with it. It's me that's not quite comfortable. Why do I care? I don't know. I was thinking of just getting a hair dresser to do one quick painless dye job to match my roots. Kinda like yanking the band aid off a wound. I'm afraid the shock might kill me though. What do you suggest? What if my friends or my kids go "Oh My God" ?
Sincerely,
Secretly Grey

Dear DP

Dear DP,
I love to commute via bicycle. I ride my bike to work just about every day, which means I have to share the road with those dingy monstrous motorized vehicles. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the value of the automobile and I even own one myself. The problem is, when I am riding my bike, I get extremely angry at the vehicles that are on the road with me, like they are infringing on my territory. I wish those noisy, polluting, inconsiderate maniacs would understand that cyclists have a right to the road, too! The thing is, I do not have this problem with other cars on the road while I am driving, only when riding my bike. Alas, I have come to the realization that I have a textbook case of ride rage. What can I do to curb my anger? I want to enjoy my commute to work, not be enraged by it. I don't want to let my anger get the the best of me by doing something foolish and ending up a pancake on the road. Please help me; any advice would be greatly appreciated.
Yours,
Cantankerous Kokomoan

Blue Ridge Lake

None of them had ever been in the water at Blue Ridge Lake. The steep cliffs that surrounded the perimeter of the lake made it too treacherous for anyone to even consider jumping in. They had heard enough stories from their parents about those who fell into the lake and never return. But today when they all met at the lake, like they have done countless times in the past, they found something sticking out of the water that none of them had ever seen before.

Grant looked on in disbelief as Antoine climbed down from the strange object after going to touch the surface of the water. Everyone cheered as Antoine strutted back to the group. Dante was going to be the next to go, but he chickened out; so the attention turned to Grant. No one was really expecting Dante to go anyway. To be able to say that he was in the water at Blue Ridge Lake and live to tell about it, was an opportunity that Grant felt he could not pass up. Grant finally summoned the courage to do it after a lot of antagonizing from Antoine. He climbed up onto the object and peered into the water.

Grant stared into the lake as he stood on top of the strange orange object protruding out of the water. Then, he took a deep breath, and started down toward the water. The orange object come out of the lake and rested on one of ridges, providing a seemingly safe way to get into the lake and climb back out. What could go wrong?

The decent into the water was a piece of cake. The porous surface of the object made it easy for Grant to keep his footing and he reached the surface of the water in no time at all. Feeling cocky, he even swam in the water a few minutes before getting back on the object to climb back to the surface. He was about half-way back to the top when he noticed the water below him getting choppy. He started to move faster when the object suddenly slid off the ridge and totally submerged into the water and disappeared.

It was almost as if something pulled it into the lake. Grant suddenly found himself on the surface of the water with no way to get out. Grant was in a state of sheer and utter panic. He swam to the ridge but there was no way to get out. The blue ridge was too steep and slippery for him to get any kind of grip. He saw his friends at the top of the ridge looking down and calling his name. There was nothing they could do for him and Grant started drifting further and further into the lake.

After Grant was floating around for awhile he noticed that he was in some sort of current. He was excited because he thought the current may take him to a point on the lake where the cliffs would not be so high. His initial hope turned to fear as he saw that the current was taking him to a mysterious cave. As he got closer and closer he saw that there was a giant whirlpool inside the cave! Grant tried to swim against the current to no avail, he soon realized he would inevitably be sucked into the cave and down the whirlpool.

Paralyzed with fear Grant accepted his fate and let the current take him to certain death. Just as Grant was about to enter the cave he noticed the water getting choppy again; just as it did when the orange object was pulled into the water. Grant was getting thrown around in the water and he could barely breathe. He fought to stay afloat as the water got rougher and rougher.

Suddenly, the water was calm and Grant felt as if he was being lifted from the lake. He looked around and saw what seemed to be two enormous hands cradling the water beneath him. Before he knew it, he felt the water rushing over him as if he was caught in a tidal wave. As the water subsided, Grant realized that he was back on solid ground again. Unable to comprehend what had just happened Grant stumbled to his feet, found his bearings and started back to the colony, armed with the most amazing story any of them will have ever heard.

Mini-Topic: Native Voice

Write a prayer poem in the style of the Native Americans.
You can also post an original work alongside your rendition of a prayer, if you came across one in particular that worked as a catalyst to your inspiration. I can't help but find that the original Native poems I'm coming across are undeniably worthy of being represented here, especially if we're writing our own 'versions'. So, post both if you'd like. I think I will have to.

Orb of Paradise

My tomato variety would be called Orb of Paradise. A versatile tomato best enjoyed fresh picked and sliced with just a little salt on a peaceful summer evening.