Diane Albright
Bio
I am a "Flower Child" growing wild. My roots are deep in the Mother Earth. I bask in the golden sunshine and drink in the rain. It is a long tumultuous road on the "Hero's Journey" to discover my true self, my purpose and passion.
Stories (7/0)
Sophie's List
Sophie’s List Deep in the ole forest, where the trees are tall and wide, and their branches touch the sky sits a tiny wood cottage. The crone, Ava, is chopping a fallen, dead, birch tree into logs. She takes a breath, exhaling mist in the early autumn afternoon, she throws her long, silver braid back over her shoulder, raises the long-handled axe over her head, humming a soulful ancient song: she lets the axe fall, cutting deep into the tree with guttural “Hu” she strikes again and again, until the logs roll apart. She gathers up five pieces in her arms, hugging them close to her body, she carries them to the small cottage, pushes the crooked door open with her round hip; she is struggling to get through the tiny door, when her daughter, Sophie, opens it behind her.
By Diane Albright2 years ago in Fiction
Teen Age Bull Shit
Teen Age Bull Shit 1978
By Diane Albright3 years ago in Humans
Heart of The Bodhisattva
The subway snakes beneath the city. The lights inside flicker. The passengers become nervous. The power grid is straining to keep commerce rolling, the lights on, and air circulating throughout the metropolis. When the subway shuts down passengers are stranded for hours, as emergency power is diverted to the keep the A.I. grid online. They call it G.A.I.A. The Global Artificial Intelligence Actuator. It is massive system of super computers connected with global satellites that control and monitor every aspect of life. After the reoccurring pandemic and the climate collapse, the Global Elite created a new system to track and connect all people through wristwatch devices. Only essential workers are allowed out of their homes: only to go where they are contracted. This is “The New Normal” and there is nothing normal about it.
By Diane Albright3 years ago in Futurism
Mama's Magic Meatballs
Mama’s Magic Meatballs You could smell it blocks away. The roasting garlic, sweet basil, oregano and other secret spices. You could hear the low, sizzling of the meatballs gently being rolled in the frying pan. The big pot of homemade sauce simmering slowly for hours would make you salivate in anticipation. We had to go outside and play. “Stay out of Mamma’s way”. She was stirring up magic in her caldron. The kitchen was her sacred temple. And only when you were old enough for the rite of passage, the initiation into womanhood, you would be invited to watch, and to learn, and behold the secret recipe to her infamous meatballs.
By Diane Albright3 years ago in Families
