Frozen Flight

It had been well below freezing for more than a week when she finally took out her old skates and cleaned the blades; she had not been on the ice since she was a girl, yet her mother had kept them. She'd seen them in the hall closet when she hung up her coat; every time she opened that door, they winked at her. It was not a trick of the light; those skates actually winked.

Someone had already swept the snow from the ice, creating a large oval arena; she noticed a few holes further out where fishermen had drilled; the ice was obviously thick enough for them. Nevertheless, hearing her father's voice in her head, she picked up the largest stone she could manage and dropped it onto the ice about a foot from the edge of the lake. If the edges held, the ice was still strong. No cracks.

She brushed some snow off a bench and began to lace up her skates. Her fingers moved quickly, strong and sure; they remembered. She stood up awkwardly, a little nervous, and stepped gingerly onto the ice. She stood there, waiting for something, and then took a tentative baby step. Before she could talk herself out of it, her knees bent and her legs moved in a deeply buried, nearly instinctual way; carrying her out across the lake.

Eyes bright, she flew.

© 2008 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork by Robin of Something New 4 You. Hand fabricated.

Tamesa Aestuarium

The river Thames ran long before we came, and it will run long after we leave. It has run under many names; its waters have nourished and carried many people, from well before recorded time until now; there is no reason to think it will not see many more generations.

It is an estuary; the river flows into the North Sea and the sea rises in turn to meet it. Its tides have brought people from many lands to its shores. Beneath the river lies the evidence of many lives; tesserae from the Roman occupation joins the skeletons of fish consumed in Celtic times and create homes for the peculiar denizens of the brackish waters.

They keep their own counsel, these waters; they have seen the rise and fall of more than one civilization.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork by Donna Millard of Fyrebeadz. Hand fabricated.

Hello again

He looked familiar, but not totally so. Perhaps he just reminded here of someone she knew, but she couldn't quite put her finger on who it might be. She had the oddest feeling that she'd known him well; but, if that were the case, surely she'd remember.

Nope, better just forget about it; she was far from home and the chances of running into someone she knew were slim to nonexistent. She was probably just projecting her homesickness onto the most attractive man in the room.

She glanced around the room again; yup, he was definitely the best looking man there. Did it really matter if she knew him or not? She wanted to know him now. She walked over to his table before she could change her mind.

"Hello, again!" She said, merrily. "Remember me?"

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork by Glass and Splinters Lampwork Art. Hand fabricated.

Leaf Frost

Fall lingered late this year; the leaves turned very slowly and took their own time leaving the trees. Our first snow came long before the leaves fell, just an early morning dusting, but the backdrop of red, orange and yellow made the fat flakes look very exotic and unexpected.

It melted before I thought to take a photograph; but even now, when all the leaves have fallen, I will picture them behind the next snowfall.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver and lampwork earrings. Hand fabricated.

Searching for hope

It was the dust, more than anything, that wore us out. It coated everything. Even the water we sipped got muddied from the dust on our lips. We held out as long as we could; cursing the sky when the promise of rain was delivered to other parts, the clouds building, and then vanishing, before our very eyes.

Every day we woke up to find more people gone. It seemed they'd decided at bedtime and took off before the sun rose, too worn out to stay, and too embarrassed to say goodbye. We didn't fully understand until it was our turn. We left the same way they had, the pre-dawn darkness hiding our shame, the truck filled to bursting with household goods and children.

We vowed not to stop until the land gave us flowers.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork by Melissa Vess of Inner Realm Creations. Hand fabricated.

Glacier Lakes

I had been climbing for hours and there was still a lot of mountain in front of me. I had been promised a great view from the summit, but I seriously doubted I would get there. I raised my hand to shade my eyes, tipped my head back, and looked up. Way up.

I ran through the entire motion, backwards, and looked down at where I'd been. I looked at my watch and did a little mental math. I couldn't fool myself into believing that I could significantly pick up my pace; the climbing was getting harder, not easier. And even if I pretended that I could come down the mountain at four times the speed I'd gone up, I was not going to make it. Not before midnight; and, even though the trail was excellent, and well-marked for beginners like me, I was not keen to be going down the mountain in any sort of dark, let alone pitch dark.

I looked around; it was too early to give up and head back now; but going forward just to fill the time seemed pointless. Aha. A trail marked in blue branched off the the right; that would do.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Earrings; sterling silver, lampwork by Gail Kops of Beadles. Hand fabricated.

Blowing Bubbles

It was 1969 and she was ten years old. Two numbers. She thought she probably ought to feel pretty grown up by now, but somehow she just didn't. She looked longingly at her little sisters, dressed in shorts and crop tops, and pulled angrily at her own dress. Stupid thing. It was so short that she was afraid to do anything, but she'd begged and begged for a micro-mini dress, so now she had to wear it. After all, she was ten now. Practically grown up. Too old to make mistakes.

The little girls squealed and laughed as they blew bubbles, and she'd have given anything to be nine again.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, freshwater pearls. Hand fabricated.

In private collection

Tied up in Chains

"Well, so they're metaphorical. Doesn't really change anything, does it?" Amelia was sitting across from me, her raspberry chocolate frappachino whispering sweet nothings to my taste buds, when I suddenly realized that I hadn't really been paying enough attention to our converation. I had no idea what she was talking about.

I sipped my black coffee (I hate dieting, but it's necessary) and tried to get back into wherever our conversation had gone while I was communing with her drink. "Chains?" I echoed. "Really?"

"Tied up." she said decisively. "Bound and delivered."

"She's just a baby!" I laughed.

"Yeah . . ." she said with this weird little smile, looking down at the bundle in her arms while the whipped cream melted down the side of her untouched frapp. "But she's mine."

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, faceted corundum. Hand fabricated.

Fuchsia ballerinas

Every year it was the same. She'd round the corner at the nursery, thinking only of mulch or tomato plants, and there they'd be; a corp de ballet of flowers, wearing pink and purple tutus; pirouetting down the sides of their pots, their fluffy little skirts twirling in the breeze. One look, and she was ten years old, helping her grandmother with the shopping. She could not resist touching them, running one finger, very gently, down the side of a blossom.

"Will you get one, Grammy?"

"They look like little ballerinas, don't they? Oh, my, yes, I think we must have one for the patio."

Grammy's purse did not have so very many coins in it, but she always found a few for the flowers she loved.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, tourmaline. Hand fabricated.

Spread your wings

It wasn't the work she minded, she'd always believed that work was a good thing. There's nothing quite like the satisfaction that comes from a good day's work; she'd always loved tidying up her desk at the end of the day, filing a few stray papers; returning the last emails, and scheduling tomorrow's calls.

No, it wasn't the work.

It was the atmosphere of the place. She'd joined this company a few weeks after it was started, and had enjoyed watching it grow and become successful. But somewhere along the way, things had changed. She remembered staff meetings where they'd gleefully posted pins in a map to represent new installations; the champagne brunches to mark milestones reached ahead of schedule. But now, the owner had lost all joy in their success; he was afraid of losing what they'd created.

He haunted the halls, listening to conversations, stirring up suspicions, upsetting the kids in the mailroom with his tantrums. Senior people began to disappear; one at a time at first, and then in droves. She didn't want to leave the nest; she wanted things to be the way they were, even as she carried the last box to her car.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, opal, white sapphire. Hand fabricated.

don't make waves

The water was soft and cool as it swirled around her ankles; she waited for it to recede, pulling the sand from under her feet as it did. She sank imperceptibly lower, and waited again, this time for the water to return. The next wave was curling, green and blue as she squinted into the sun; she watched it break, churning white, and speed toward her. For one irrational moment, she thought the water would be deep when it reached her; deep enough, perhaps, to knock her knees out from under her and cause her to slip backwards into the sea as it returned back from whence it came. But it barely grazed the sand, barely wet her ankles, barely touched her at all; yet she sank deeper into the sand as it pulled the earth out from under her.

If she stayed here all day, how deep would she sink? Would the tide rise, and swamp her? Or was it already at its highest, and, as it went out, would she be left in the sand to dry like ropes of kelp?

She did not have the patience to find out. She kicked her toes free from the sand and walked on, skirting the waves, not wanting to know.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, hessonite garnet. Hand fabricated.