Simple and serene

Like – minded Souls

simple and serene

savor simple pleasures

chase common dreams…

Open up treasures

catch the fleeting air

find the new horizons

dream and then dare

wish for the morrow

Live for the now

Create in joy or sorrow

while others ask how

kim maria

So Love I the Sea…

It did not matter that she could not swim, that she was helpless to the waves and the churning of the tide. All that mattered was that she was here. Finally here. Tip toe, margin close, but not quite in. Breathing in the sea air, watching the sea gulls dance through a soft blue sky. All alone. Her thoughts – her own. Sweet treasures she could not tell.

Will he hear, if I sing from this distance?

She could not guess his thoughts. She only knew her heart. For a moment she laughed, amused at her own self doubts.

No one was on the beach now. Early morn always brought the quiet of nature just awakening to a budding dawn. The sand underneath her feet was warm.

No houses dotted the shore. No coastline palaces to behold, just this glazed blanket of tanned and gritty earth. And she was relieved. She hated the city’s advance on nature, its unyielding intrusion: the unreasonable desire of man to automate all and carve out the imposing edifice of constructed comforts.

Give me a fast ship and a sail…”.

Something inside her longed for the simplicity of a better world; preferably one without the pulling of charred out greed and thinly veiled manifestation of mankind in mimicry.

Finally, Elisabeta placed her feet in the water, shivering at how cold it was and laughing with delight. She drew herself deeper surrendering to the relentless waves, till she was waist deep. The fear finally leaving her she stretched out her arms and started to jumpstart her legs. The Sea did not fight her. She found the less she struggled the easier it had become. The current could take her – the current could drown her. Timidly she made her way back to the shore.

Her clothing wet. Her hair full of Salt. Tomorrow she would try this again. For something so beautiful as this could never be ignored.

She would learn how to swim…

kim maria

A Fireside Chat With A Friend

She didn’t even know where to begin… She loved the warmth of an old stove, the smell of cinnamon, the incense pouring in from the inner chambers, her private nook, a piece of peace if you please from the harried demands of an unchanging world.

One thing left – she lit the Candles. It was the soft sound of Night, wind blown trees, pearl lit moon and she loved it. It was quiet. Calm. Her heart in her hands.

To put the words from your heart on paper is not always an easy thing to do, but truth could never be placed in a box sealed with steel laden intent. There were the pages, the notebook, the Apple computer – waiting. He would come soon. She had waited for him.

And then this knock on the door that would say it all..

She opened quickly. He stood there quietly.

“Come in” She waved him to the table and offered him a seat. He picked up a few of the sheets. Placed them back down.

“What is it you want to say?”, he asked quietly.

“My writing?”, she answered timidly.

“Yes”.

“I want it to speak. I want it to touch men’s souls, make them reflect, cause them to pause – make them wonder -”

“You ask a lot,” he smiled at her.

“I want my works to live. I want to see the words become film that tells a Story that touches the world.” She sat down beside him, reached over and handed him one of the pages.

“Your characters have to speak, they have to live – off the pages. Believable to life. Willing to instill something in men’s souls that they don’t want to live without. Can you do that?”

She breathed in quietly, measuring her words before she spoke.

“Can I fly without wings? Yes… Any writer uses imagination as his Sail, thought and heart his guide and experience his reaper.

He looked at the Candlelight in front of her. The silence before her.

“Then begin – again…”.

The fire was burning, the stove was warm. The incense inviting. She closed her eyes. The tree lit moonbeam cast shadows of a frosty night but the light inside the kitchen was unwavering. She placed her hands on the table and opened her eyes.

Alone, save for the sounds of a winter solstice, she opened her notebook, turned on her computer…

To put the words from your heart on paper is not always an easy thing to do, but truth could never be placed in a box sealed with steel laden intent.

kim maria

I want to meet him…

One flight in. One flight out. She had only had one book signed before. A female author, at the end of church service. But this was different. Like a kaleidoscope of color and a prism practiced in grace, this was a new land for her. And a new state. He lived in a land of cold and snow. Winter a given. Hers, a fragile peace between cool and cold, bitter and sweet.

He won’t even know who you are – just hand him the book, let him sign and then disappear, folding in the hands of those who want to touch him, make themselves known.

“Has he now become your muse?”

He inspires me. And I know I must write.

“And what Character do you become in this play of your own choosing?”

The one who learns.

Like finding a home, the comfort and haven of the script is not too far to travel. There is a gentleness she can detect and an inner calm to his features. Once displayed, like Sunlight, brilliant and burned, she could not turn away…

The flight was not long, only a few hours. She made it her mission to sit unobserved. She would only listen. He had dared to dream. And the dream had become real and he was reading his own stories…She closed her eyes and just let the words resonate within..

She did not need to see – he painted these landscapes well.

The line was long to meet and greet him. It angered her almost that he was so Handsome. She did not have time for this – her life was neat, orderly, single and strong. Yet he had provoked something within her. His creative spark was strong.

Her turn. She handed him the book. He was indeed a Storyteller. He had read the chapters with ease; a fondness for the script. He rewarded her with a smile. His eyes warm and inviting.

“Your name?”, he asked gently, politely.

“Does not matter, your name will be enough”.

“Every name matters…” He waited patiently. She noticed he had not signed.

My name is Kim…Kim Maria.

He smiled and opened the front cover, signing the page, his fingers swiftly making the figures.

Language is so important to the soul. She had promised not to dally. He handed her the book. The line was getting longer, the whispers were becoming impatient. Eager and excited adherents would not be deterred. He reached forward and took her hand in his.

Nodding thank you, she shook his hand and stepped aside to let another make their way to meet him. A firm grasp on the book, a firm hand on her senses, she walked towards the end of the room. She turned for a moment.

He stood there still, watching.

One flight in. One flight out. It had not been long. And yet she felt she had left something behind, with the man, in the land of cold and snow, in the land to which he belonged.

kim maria

It all begins….

I once had a word press account, long time ago…. What can I say – but that writing is like breathing to me. Here I am free to Soar, to fly above the clouds, if I so wish, to scale the peaks in peace and land safely in the home from whence I sprung…

This is a good day. Warm and quiet, cool with the heat below eighty. A good day. The family. I breathe in and breathe out. I am here on this Earth.

To work on my third novel will take time, determination. Writing should never be rushed, but I have found that under a time limit I have performed my best.

I will not make this first post long. A good writer can inspire me. A great writer can make me thirst for more. All ART is creation and it comes, from deep within.

It is our responsibility to feed our spirits with good. We have a duty to grow… To build others up

Love is so much greater than hate…. Compassion so much stronger than the cold indifference of others

This warm day, may it be a blessing to you all…

Kim Maria