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Posts Tagged ‘Story’

What’s he doing, daddy?

What’s who doing, little bit?

That bee.

Oh, he’s collecting pollen from that corn stalk.

Why does he do that? Doesn’t the plant need it?

The plant does need it and so does the bee.

But how can they both use it? The plant can’t keep the bee off.

No, the plant wants the bee to take its pollen.

I don’t want someone to take my toys.

No, I suppose not. But the bee takes the pollen back to the hive for food for other bees.

That’s nice. But what about the plant?

The plant needs some of the pollen to move from one place to another so it will grow properly.

But if the bee takes it, how will that happen?

As the bee moves around on the plant, some of the pollen moves around too and gets in the right place.

Oh, so since the plant doesn’t have any fingers, the bee does that?

Right.

And so the plant doesn’t care if the bee takes what’s left over.

No, I don’t think the plant cares about leftovers.

But if the plant was stingy and didn’t let the bee come over, it wouldn’t grow, would it?

No, it wouldn’t.

But since it’s not stingy, the bee gets to eat and so do we.

That’s right.

And there’s enough here that we can even have leftovers.

Good thing the plant shared, huh?

Yeah, and I’ll share my corn with you.

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Trapped

I’m going to get it when I get home. Momma told me not to take a short cut through the yard.

“Keep to the trees, son. Keep to the trees.”

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. She just doesn’t understand my generation. We like to feel the grass on our feet. We don’t mind climbing a chain link fence or two. And running across the roof of the garage: well, she just wouldn’t understand.

Now I’m in for it. They’ve got me trapped. I can live with this animal against animal thing: I can out wait that dumb cat, but now there’s a two-leg involved in the whole deal. Cat on one side, two leg on the other. I hope momma doesn’t see me like this. I bet, I just bet, if I make a break for it, the cat and the two leg will collide going after me.

Wait, ah, here’s my chance. The two leg is going to consult with the cat. Idiot. That cat doesn’t have clue how to get me off the wall. Uh oh. The two leg is picking the cat up. What’s he going to do? I bet he’s going to throw the cat on me to knock me off the wall. Now’s my chance. If I just leap over the porch, I’m home free. No way that cat can beat me to the tree. Dumb cat. Dumb two leg.

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Daddy?

Yes, Little Bit?

Where does that go?

Where does what go?

That water.

Oh, do you remember the lake we saw a little while ago?

Yes.

It probably goes there.

Oh. I bet they feel lost.

You bet who feels lost, Little Bit?

The little drops of water.

Why would they feel lost?

Because these are creek water drops, and the lake has lake water drops.

Oh, I see. But don’t you think that a water drop is a water drop no matter where it starts?

Yes—but—I mean, they’re the same, but these are not used to it being so deep. 

Do you think they will have a hard time adjusting?

I bet there’s nothing as fun as that waterfall in the lake.

I bet you’re right. But do you think they will be OK?

Probably, but I bet they will miss home. It’s hard to just sit in a lake if you’re made to jump off waterfalls. 

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The men took great care in picking the perfect site. The hill provided a natural wind break. Still, they planted dense shrubs to provide more protection. They dug the pool and ensured a level base before pouring the concrete. The nobleman employed the finest architects and stone masons to ensure a glassy surface. The day came to fill the pool. The nobleman paced too and fro waiting for the ripples to subside that he might enjoy the perfect reflection of the archway: The Other Way he called it. His servant urged him back inside for the day, to wait for the morning stillness. 

He slept fitfully. Fuzzy dreams and vague thoughts unsettled his sleep. Twittering birds outside his window summoned him from his uneasy sleep. A pale gray wash followed the darkness, giving faint outlines to the objects in his room. He dressed quickly and went out. A steel sky held its breath. The reflecting pool lay calm and still but unrevealing in the dim dawn.

As the light seeped onto the gray palette, the sky exhaled. The moment The Other Way appeared, the breath of morning caressed the pool, sending shivers across the water. The image wavered and danced: a mirage of perfection.

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Stories In Pictures

People have been telling stories since the beginning, and those stories have taken many forms: oral, pictorial, drama, and, of course, writing. Stories have also been told for many reasons: entertainment, education, and encouragement, to name a few. The pictures on the header tell a story. This photo comes from Newspaper Rock State Park in southern Utah. Native Americans used this rock to communicate in some way that still puzzle experts, but one look at the rock brings many stories into my mind. The hunter caught my eye when I first saw these petroglyphs. While the picture shows me what happened, it also transports me around a fire at night to hear the story of that successful hunt, taste the meat that was taken, smell the sweat of the hunters, and feel their pride. Good pictures have a way of doing that for us. 

We started young enjoying pictures. Before we could decode the letters and spaces that we may or may not have noticed around us, we giggled and cooed at pictures. Before long, words accompanied those pictures, and someone read them to us, adding a layer of meaning to the colors and shapes we enjoyed. Soon, the pictures gave way to words all together, and if the author did his or her job, we developed pictures in our mind.

We appreciate both pictures and words that tell stories, and this blog celebrates both. 

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