Dance 'til dawn

Analisa smiled as she pulled the zipper up the last few inches and fastened the hook at the top. She spun around, feeling the silk of her skirt swish and swirl around her thighs, gently caressing her skin. Holding her arms as if the man of her dreams were in them, she danced around the room; the walls fell away and candlelight replaced the harsh overhead lighting in her bedroom.

The dress was magic.

She slipped on her shoes, and fastened a bracelet around her wrist. Tonight was her night to shine; the dress promised romance, and she believed.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Tribangle

Emilyanne loved to dance.

She loved to throw her head back, close her eyes and feel the music moving through her, wild and free. She made up the steps as she went along; she moved as though her muscles were a viscous liquid beneath her skin. Her arms were stringed instruments; her feet, percussive.

There was no difference between sound and movement when Emilyanne danced; she was the music given shape, she was the dance given voice. There was no beginning, there was no end; there was only now, right now.

She never wanted to stop.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Lampwork beads by Melissa Vess, Seed beads, bead-woven.

Flowers from a friend

Eleanor opened her eyes and took stock; she was still here. Not that here was a bad place to be; all in all, she was glad to be here, she just couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment with her life that had been plaguing her lately. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on; nothing was wrong, exactly, it just wasn't quite right, either.

She sighed.

She couldn't even do depression right these days. That was it in a nutshell; she just didn't feel right about things any more. Everything was just a little bit off; not enough off to make it worthwhile to call attention to it and do something about it, but just enough off to make her sigh instead of smile.

She just wished that someone would notice her; she realized with a start that she desperately needed flowers from a friend. Since she couldn't make someone else send them to her, she decided to send flowers to someone else who might want them, and, perhaps, make their day. With a wry grin, Eleanor launched herself out of bed and arranged delivery.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Polymer Clay bead by Ivy Koehn of iKandiClay. Beadwoven.

Toroidal Space

As long as she didn't try to make sense of it, Donna was fascinated by mathematics. It boggled the mind, actually; she was quite sure that it was really an elaborate fraud perpetuated by mathematicians; they all just pretended to understand it and laughed over jello shots in bars whose entrances were designed with fractal geometry and were therefore invisible to the rest of the world.

Donna had lots of interesting theories.

True, her eyes glazed over at the mere mention of statistical anomalies; she wouldn't know a standard deviation from a non-standard one. But she felt things. Deeply. She was a true mathematician, in a non-linear way.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel based on the Ionic Polyhedra Cube by beAd Infinitum.

Fairy Ladder

Once upon a time, when the world was young, and Ireland was populated only by Celts, five little fairies were sent out into the world to gather dew for the queen's breakfast. They were each given a little white cup, and they promised faithfully, on their honor, to return at dawn with their cups full.

They left early (as fairies never know what will happen en route) and, as luck would have it, they arrived with plenty of time to spare. They tied their cups to a blade of grass and frolicked in the field, having a grand time. They were quite little girls, and none of them had any idea how to tell time, so of course, they played too long.

Suddenly, the sun appeared in the eastern sky in all his glory, and the fairies rushed back to collect their cups. Alas, the cups were stuck fast to the blade of grass, and no matter how hard they pulled, they could not break them free. Luckily for the little fairies, they had a godmother who loved them, and she brought each of them a new cup before the dew dried, and tied a big green leaf to the blade of grass to hide the cups that were stuck fast.

The little cups on the blade of grass looked like a ladder to the little girls, and they could not resist coming back, night after night, to play on it; climbing up the ladder and sliding down the great, green leaf. Sadly, after a couple of weeks, the little cups fell off the blade of grass and their game was over.

Until next spring, when the entire field was magically filled with lilies of the valley, just waiting for the littlest fairies to come and play.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel The pattern for this bangle is available in my Jewelry Tales shops.

Twelve Bar Blues

Derry picked up her guitar and ran her fingers over the strings, feeling the frets under her fingertips, picking out a melody she'd known most of her life. She didn't have to be down to play the blues; but it helped. The music took the place of tears; it always had.

In her own mind she heard the rest of the band; the bass pulling the rhythm, the harp like a train in the distance, and her on the guitar. It had been years since she'd been on stage, years since they'd played together, but they were always together in her head. In a voice as rough and as nicotined-stained as her fingers, Derry sang the blues.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Lampwork beads by Melissa Vess. Bead woven.

Hugs and Kisses

When her children were small, she loved to stroke their cheeks and kiss them on the tops of their heads; their hair smelled so sweet, and their skin was softer than she thought anything could be. As they grew up, she reveled in sticky kisses and exuberant hugs; even the ones that nearly knocked the wind out of her and prompted her to remind them to be gentle, telling them that mothers can break if they're not careful.

She missed grabbing them as they ran by and swinging them into her arms; she missed their childish laughter and shrieks of delight. When they were little, they were part of her; affectionate gestures came as easily and as naturally as breathing.

Now that they're grown, she has to think before she hugs; she has to judge their moods, and wait for invitations. Someday, she hopes, they'll have children of their own; children whose heads she can kiss, instead of just remembering.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Lampwork beads by Melissa Vess. Bead woven bangle; pattern available in my ArtFire and Etsy Shops.

Balancing Act

She caught her handbag as it plummeted off her shoulder before the cup of coffee she was holding spilled all over her new suit. It was going to be a good day; that was the best omen she knew, even better than arriving in front of the elevator bank and finding an empty car waiting for her.

She set her cup down on her desk and put her kamikaze purse into her bottom drawer. She lowered herself gratefully into her chair and kicked off her shoes; they were gorgeous, but they pinched. Thank heavens for desks that hid everything from the waist down; her feet could recover while she checked her messages.

She dealt with her email swiftly; the delete key was her friend. Phone messages were a bit stickier; if people actually bothered to call, they usually needed some sort of a response. She was in a race against time to clear them out; her next meeting started in less than an hour. Leaving them for later was not an option. Later, there would be more.

Downing her coffee before it went cold, she set to work.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Personal Use and Teacher's Editions Tutorials are available in my ArtFire Shop.