Written in Omen and Fortune's Hostage

Check out my two novels, Written in Omen and Fortune's Hostage, in the Voice of the Wind: Shadows of Time series. I hope everyone enjoys them! Thanks.

http://www.amazon.com/Written-Omen-Voice-Wind-ebook/dp/B008J51V24/ref=la_B008KACMBC_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1364057131&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.com/Fortunes-Hostage-Voice-Wind-ebook/dp/B00BE4QOQA/ref=la_B008KACMBC_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1364057131&sr=1-2

 

Cursed in Love, Book 3, in the series will be available later this year.

Written In Omen

http://www.amazon.com/Written-Omen-Voice-Wind-ebook/dp/B008J51V24/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344186685&sr=8-1&keywords=written+in+Omen

Slipping through a Knot of Time

Yes, about that Slip through the Knots of Time last Sunday...

Sometimes all it takes is a certain sound — a note of music, laughter riding the wind — a certain smell that floats upon the air, a certain look of face, mouth, hand, a certain word that jars a lucid memory from the soul’s vast well.

The sun came out Sunday morning; no clouds marred the perfect January sky. I turned my face to the sun, basked in the yellow rays, a straggly wildflower following the light that arced across a fishbowl window.

In the distance, the Carillon bells of a town church peeled and the notes flung me back in time...

To a Sunday afternoon around 5 or 6 p.m. when the bells of the Lutheran Church tolled the call to worship…

To glimpses of a white-tiled Lutheran Church guarded by crenulated, square towers — a church originally moved from its rural location to a couple blocks north of our house. From my bedroom windows, I often gazed upon the white towers rising above the treetops against a backdrop of the Granite Mountains…

To a girl seated at her dresser — a makeshift desk where she draws and colors paper dolls. She hears the bells toll, catches a glimpse of late afternoon sunlight that winks through the leaves of a flowering peach tree growing outside her bedroom window. Sun mote spangles kiss the dresser’s large square mirror and streak the child’s features…

I stare into the reflection of her smooth oval face, gaze into her blue eyes, and through that slipknot in time, I touch her future, to where I stand now, today, walking in sunshine on this early Sunday morning.

If I stretched my hand toward her, I could touch the child in the mirror who gazes back at me. She is here now, but once upon a late Sunday afternoon many years ago, the child wondered, dreamed, and touched the future me.

San and her Eskie paws, and me in my scruffy black boots, squish through a soggy yard. A thin layer of ice cracks beneath my footsteps.

Juncos and chickadees flutter and chirrup from the grape arbor and birdfeeders.

The Carillon bells fade.

The wind blows my hair across my eyes.

I breathe.