Hollye B. Green
I'm a storyteller through poetry, song, and short stories. I love connecting myth families and expanding on tropes. Our stories make us who we are. I live at Copper Fox Cottage with my fat chihuahua and artsy family.
Infinity Wheel: Chapter 5
Inez sat on the piano bench gripping the sides. She had done all her warm-ups and practice exercises. The music sheet for “Carnival of the Animals” lay open in front of her, but she could not get past the first few stanzas. Her hands cramped and curled rigid. Her heart went quiet like a whisper.
Infinity Wheel: Chapter 4
4. Miss Miriam Miriam Manto perched silently on her piano bench. Her nimble hands rested in her lap. She was listening. The carnival was coming and she could hear the grind of axle and hum of wheels..
A Fabled Connection
Stories make us who we are. From the time I was little, way back in the 1970's, my heart and mind were captured by stories, fables, and fairy tales. I was not a healthy child and my world was very small. There were not a lot of humans in my life and few good adults. But there was an endless supply of stories, legends, anecdotes.
Infinity Wheel: Chapter 3
The mustache was limp. There was no helping it now. The wax was used up and Cosmo had resorted to styling it with lard. Sometimes the lard-coated hairs hung in a sad Fu Manchu over his mouth. Cosmo would endeavor to speak only to inhale them and cough them out. Although the texture was horrid, the taste was not all that bad. Still, it was infuriating. “Curse these bucolic tiny villages and their backwards cretins devoid of niceries!” he thought.
Infinity Wheel Chapter Two
“Chew slow” thought Weety as he clutched the turkey sandwich from Miss Miriam. It was good medicine. “You have to take good medicine slow”. That’s what the doctors told him a long time ago. Bad medicine was different. It hit fast and hard and there was no choice.
Infinity Wheel: Chapter One
It was a few minutes before three p.m. on a hot, weedy August day. The yellow xoysia grass baked its alien shapes into the retreating green fescue. Gnats swarmed around the damp dresses on Miss Miriam’s clothesline. The sun put out a hard radiance that slowed down everyone and everything. Even the fat, mottled spider in Miss Miriam’s porch lattice just sat there with legs still.
When I was little, we spent every June visiting relatives in Kentucky. All their little houses were clustered on one sprawling piece of verdant land called Green’s Valley. It had been the site of the general store owned by my great-grandpa, Les Green. My grandpa was the oldest of Les’s thirteen children. Half a dozen of them never left the lush acreage.
3 Sisters of The Sky - Free Bedtime Book Video to Share
I'm an only child. And a weird one. And as solitary as a stone some days. High up on the spectrum can be lonely. Can be profoundly dark and echoing.