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~~This image does NOT belong to me. It belongs to TheWalkinMan (Fred SanFilipo).~~
Most of you know me as a photographer, some of you know me as a photographer and a poet, but very few of you know me as a writer. But that’s my first love. I have been a writer since I was first able to hold a pencil. And now, because of Flickr, I am able to marry my love for writing with my love for taking pictures. And usually that’s done with my own words, and my own images. But NOT this time . . .
This time, I am going to collaborate with a very gifted photographer: Fred SanFilipo (TheWalkinMan).
I have always admired Fred’s work, and this image is one that he said, “didn’t make the cut.” I told him that, in my mind, it made the cut just fine, and that if he had no use for it, then he should give it to me, because it was firing up my creative juices.
And that’s exactly what he did. Resulting in the birth of the tale of “The WalkinMan’s Tree.”
Please enjoy what I believe is one of the first collaborations of words and images on Flickr.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Disclaimer: The WalkinMan’s Tree is an original story by Sheree Zielke. It is a work of fiction and in no way represents the real WalkinMan (Fred SanFilipo) Do not copy or use this work in any way without my expressed permission. All rights reserved by Sheree Zielke, 2009)
~~~The WalkinMan’s Tree by Sheree Zielke~~~ Part ONE
The tall man stirred. He rose from his crouched position, and reached for a large leather satchel that lay near him on a carpet of dead spruce needles. He straightened, and winced as pain lanced through his side, making him gasp. The battle wound had healed slightly, but his walk had ruptured it, and now the gash bubbled with blood. A small grunt slipped through his open lips. He swung the satchel across his shoulder, and turned towards the tree. His long great coat swung heavily around his calves, as he moved.
The tree sat solidly ahead of him, its rough bark nestled in a brooding silence. Golden moonlight gilded its base, while shadows tinted with blue fell thickly all around. The man’s booted feet moved with certainty across sprawled and gnarled roots that wended their way across the forest floor.
Beneath his hood, a spark of moon glow caught one eye, but only one, for the other was obscured. The man reached up to the worn leather patch, lifted it, rubbed the sharp bone surrounding the empty socket, and then settled the soft leather back into its rightful place.
A bird called from somewhere deep in the gloom, and the WalkinMan glanced up. Before him, a large black bird sat precociously atop a branch silhouetted by the brightness of the moon. The bird cocked its head, hopped along the tree limb, and plucked a tiny leafy branch from the tree, held it for a moment in its beak, and then dropped it. The tiny branch floated to the ground landing at the man’s feet.
He reached down, his once long slender fingers, now gnarled and bent from years of battle, and retrieved the spindly branch. He winced, and pulled back his coat. The stain had spread and blood ran darkly to the earth at his feet. He tucked the branch into his satchel, and began his search anew.
With small halting steps, and a hand ever sweeping at the underbrush, the man scouted the area. She had said in her letter to him that he would find it here. Somewhere near the big tree. Their tree. He moved out of the light and back into the shadows. Unseen creatures scurried and fluttered as he shuffled back and forth. Fireflies twinkled brightly in an aerial ballet above his head. He continued his search.
The dark wetness on his chest had grown and now soaked the right side of his shirt. Silvered black droplets appeared silently on the moon-kissed leaves at his feet. He was moving slower now, but he continued his hunt.
Then suddenly, he dropped to his knees. He scrabbled at the underbrush, ripping at brambles, their thorns drawing blood as he did so, tearing at thick moss. Frantic. His breath came in quick gasps. And then he stopped.
The WalkinMan sat back on his haunches. A soft sigh escaped his lips, as a silvery tear slid down his cheek. The moon drifted high overhead, its icy blue glow illuminating the man, the tree, and the thing he had sought. He reached out a hand, a broken hand, so covered in scars, and fresh bloody scratches.
His fingers traced the rough-hewn edges of the thing he had traveled so many miles to see. The thing he never wanted to see. But the thing he needed to see. Blood from his wound continued to seep into the ground at his knees. Dark terrible stains, crimson into black. Tiny crystal droplets shimmered on his thin face, raining down in the silence, and joining his blood on the ground.
Too late. Always too late. The WalkinMan was tired.
He rose and made his way back to the big tree. Their tree. He lay down at the base of the tree, where he struggled to find a comfortable position. Then after a grunt of pain and a soft sigh, the WalkinMan sank into the fog of fatigue. A sound from the forest, and the WalkinMan opened his heavy-lidded eye. He saw nothing. The ground beneath him grew wet with his blood. The cottony bloom of exhaustion crept over his being, and the WalkinMan slept.
~~~Many Years Later~~~Part TWO
“Look, it’s the WalkinMan’s tree!”
“The what?”
“The WalkinMan’s tree. It’s special.”
The girl stood and stared at the big tree. Thick brunette hair swept back from her face, revealing blue eyes and full lips. Her face glowed golden in the moonlight.
“It’s got some pretty light on it,” the girl said, “but still, it’s just a tree.”
“It’s not just a tree,” the boy responded, a little hotly. He knelt near the tree’s trunk. Moonlight caught in the spikes of his blond hair. Youthful fingers caressed the ground, as he spoke. “It’s the WalkinMan’s tree. They say he died here.”
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Continued TODAY!!! on TheWalkinMan’s photostream -
www.flickr.com/photos/sanfilipo/3595117664/
And if you liked this photograph, wait till you see the one that Fred has posted today!
Blessings,
Sheree
(All rights reserved by Sheree Zielke, 2009)
“Welcome to Down Under Ginger” grinned Biggles. A worried looked then crossed Biggle’s face as he surveyed the terrain.
“I not sure if this is the right place…there’s a banged-up kite over there…and there’s a bright red post box, but there must be a dozen similar ones scattered across the country”
Just as he was about to take off once more, Biggles suddenly saw it. “Ginger LOOK! It’s a giant cross in the sand, just like Charlie drew on the map…this must be the place!”
But before Biggles could slap his knee with delight, he saw the most biggest whopping rat bounding straight towards them !!!!
Biggles and Ginger arrive at the hanger. The Silver Pullet stands gleaming in the moonlight.
Biggles kicks the tyres as Ginger loads the crates of lemonade they will need for the long trip ahead.
They took off into the night, heading south to the equator.....
Three Russian and three English scientists depart to South Africa to measure the 24th meridian east. As their mission is proceeding, the Crimean war breaks out, and the members of the expedition find themselves citizens of enemy countries. The novel features 52 illustrations by Jules Ferat.
The "Lost God" is a short story written in 1917 about an explorer who is mistaken for a god by islanders who had never before seen a man in a diving suit. The story was the basis for the 1930 film "The Sea God" starring Fay Wray and Richard Arlen.
From the back cover:
"A SWELL ADVENTURE STORY"
In "Think Fast, Mr. Moto" J. P. Marquand again reveals the same expertness of plot and finished narration which have characterized all his writing, from mystery stories to the Pulitzer Prize winner, "The Late George Apley." And once more the now famous Japanese secret service agent, Mr. Moto -- strange, polite, inscrutable -- finds himself involved in a swift-moving plot of international intrigue in the Far East, which he solves with his usual calm and skill.
To young Wilson Hitchings, just out from home to learn the business, is entrusted the commission of going to Honolulu to wipe out a blot on the Hitchings escutcheon; his arrival in this exotic capital is the signal for the touching off of fireworks -- and of a romance -- which will hold you tense from beginning to end. Under the mysterious Mr. Moto's skillful counter-plotting, events move to a surprising and powerful climax which will appeal to every mystery-story addict and which will add innumerable new admirers to Mr. Moto's already enormous audience.
No matter how much decluttering you are required to do, and no matter how convenient ebooks, there are some things you just can’t part with.
The first John Buchan book I read was Prester John when I was about 12 years old, and I haven’t looked back. Be warned however, you need to detach yourself from the views and attitudes of the times they were written, and just enjoy a “ripping yarn” for what it is.
William Earl Johns (5 February 1893 – 21 June 1968) was an English First World War pilot, and writer of adventure stories, usually written under the pen name Capt. W. E. Johns: best known for creating the fictional air-adventurer Biggles.
This adventure novel involves how Joam Garral, a ranch owner who lives near the Peruvian-Brazilian border on the Amazon River, is forced to travel downstream when his past catches up with him. Most of the novel is situated on a large jangada (a Brazilian timber raft) that is used by Garral and his family to float to Belem at the river's mouth. Many aspects of the raft , scenery, and journey are described in detail and the novel features illustrations by Leon Benett.
“Treasure Island” spins a heady tale of piracy, a mysterious treasure map, and a host of sinister characters charged with diabolical intentions. Seen through the eyes of Jim Hawkins, the cabin boy of the “Hispaniola,” the action-packed adventure tells of a perilous sea journey across the Spanish Main, a mutiny led by the infamous Long John Silver, and a lethal scramble for buried treasure on an exotic isle. Rich in atmosphere and character, “Treasure Island” continues to mesmerize readers and it has had an enormous influence on popular perceptions of pirates, including one-legged seamen, tropical islands, treasure maps marked with an X, and pirates with parrots on their shoulders.
A popular film adaptation of “Treasure Island” was produced by Walt Disney in 1950:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVX5ZfTcGNU
"The Master of Ballantrae" focuses upon the conflict between two brothers whose family is torn apart by a Scottish uprising in 1745. The uprising had the aim of returning James VII of Scotland and the House of Stuart to the throne of Great Britain. One brother joins the uprising while the other joins the loyalists. The older brother, James Durie (Master of Ballantrae), joins the uprising and becomes the rebel, while his younger brother, Henry Durie, remains in support of King George II. The uprising fails and the Master is reported dead, but Henry soon learns that his brother is alive and sailing with pirates.
The novel was made into a 1953 film with Errol Flynn as the Master.
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
“Treasure Island” spins a heady tale of piracy, a mysterious treasure map, and a host of sinister characters charged with diabolical intentions. Seen through the eyes of Jim Hawkins, the cabin boy of the “Hispaniola,” the action-packed adventure tells of a perilous sea journey across the Spanish Main, a mutiny led by the infamous Long John Silver, and a lethal scramble for buried treasure on an exotic isle. Rich in atmosphere and character, “Treasure Island” continues to mesmerize readers and it has had an enormous influence on popular perceptions of pirates, including one-legged seamen, tropical islands, treasure maps marked with an X, and pirates with parrots on their shoulders.
A popular film adaptation of “Treasure Island” was produced by Walt Disney in 1950:
The original French edition of “In Search of the Castaways” was published by Hetzel in 1867-1868 as “Les Enfants du Capitaine Grant” (The Children of Captain Grant). It included 170 engravings by Edouard Riou which are also present in this 1873 English-language edition.
The book tells the story of the quest for Captain Grant of the “Britannia.” After finding a bottle the captain had cast into the ocean after the “Britannia” is shipwrecked, Lord and Lady Glenarvan of Scotland contact Mary and Robert, the young daughter and son of Captain Grant, through an announcement in a newspaper. The government refuses to launch a rescue expedition, but Lord and Lady Glenarvan, moved by the children's condition, decide to do it themselves. The main difficulty is that the coordinates of the wreckage are mostly erased, and only the latitude (37 degrees) is known; thus, the expedition would have to circumnavigate the 37th parallel south. The bottle was retrieved from a shark's stomach, so it is impossible to trace its origin by the currents. Remaining clues consist of a few words in three languages. They are re-interpreted several times throughout the novel to make various destinations seem likely.
Lord Glenarvan makes it his quest to find Grant; together with his wife, Grant's children and the crew of his yacht, the Duncan, they set off for South America. An unexpected passenger in the form of French geographer Jacques Paganel (he missed his steamer to India by accidentally boarding on the Duncan) joins the search. They explore Patagonia, Tristan da Cunha Island, Amsterdam Island, and Australia (a pretext to describe the flora, fauna, and geography of numerous places to the targeted audience). They face many challenges on their journey– avalanche, hurricane, flood, tornado, erupting volcano, wolves, head-hunters, cannibals, you name it. It’s one of Verne’s most exciting adventure stories.
This adventure novel involves how Joam Garral, a ranch owner who lives near the Peruvian-Brazilian border on the Amazon River, is forced to travel downstream when his past catches up with him. Most of the novel is situated on a large jangada (a Brazilian timber raft) that is used by Garral and his family to float to Belem at the river's mouth. Many aspects of the raft , scenery, and journey are described in detail and the novel features illustrations by Leon Benett.
Flash Fiction: A style of fictional literature or fiction of extreme brevity. (Usually 3-10 pages in length, though that is not a hard rule.)
Paranoia
Danger is everywhere.
My paranoia knows no boundaries of normal or over the line. Everything is almost lethal.
My flame retardant sheets threaten to strangle me as the brain melting waves of my alarm clock jar me from sleep. The shock makes my heart race, which might bring on a stroke, and my fingers are threatened by splinters as I brush the end table to silence the potentially ear shattering noise.
My bare feet are swallowed by soft house shoes made in a country known for adding lead to their products and the ultra violet rays from my reading lamp try to pierce me with skin cancer as I head for the bathroom.
The water in my shower may burn me if I stay in too long and I can feel the unfiltered chemicals sinking into my bloodstream. Without knowing if I may develop an allergic reaction to the material, I dry and dress, eyeing the damp floor warily.
Signs/The Others
Not just one story of aliens, but two! Follow a famous political figure through a nightmarish escape and then read the Signs of the coming invasion in these chilling stories.
Mother Sarah
Set during the early American settlement of the United States, when fear of the unknown was rampant, this tale of a mother's love takes you on a ride of desperation. Mother Sarah is on the hunt for Vampires. Find out why.
Determination
Publisher won't accept your manuscript? Sure you're the next star but no one knows? Don't do what this writer does when she receives a rejection letter. Determination isn't always a good thing.
A 2012 Journal
This story is directly connected to Life After War, portraying a woman's desperate attempts to find the teenage son that was taken in the draft.
13 horror stories from Dark Fantasy author, Angela White. Get yours today for just $.99!