It feels cold but its only 50-degrees. I dump a pile of leaves on the garden where self-sown edible pod peas are already a couple inches high—past the sprout stage. Very early. Usually they germinate in April or May.
The thin pale sun can’t burn through hazy mist suspended high in the southern sky.
Day after day, the new book series evolves, called the Origin of the Human Hybrids.
Sha Li has completed the first draft and analysis of the first two novella length books, meant to be read sequentially with a third coming in a boxed set.
In which genre is the story told?
The dismal view of the future suggests Gothic without the cliched horror of Poe. The romantic sexual relations which the characters resist and crave suggest Soft. The third person active voice, speaking in the present or in the now as the Taoists say, expresses Passionate Realism. Keywords: SciFi-Post Modern-New-Weird-Speculative-Fiction.
These images are shared now, acknowledging the overwhelming support I receive on my site for the Bonsai and Penjing pages. I traveled with Diane Twitchell who was President of the Redding Bonsai Club. The trip was organized by Kora Dalager and Bill Valvanis. These new pages are up and running at the CherylPetty.com site.
Philosophy of Accents
For spring match blooming branches of flowering plum (prunus mume) or quince (chaenomeles) with austere and patient dark green conifers, pines or hemlock (tsuga) or Japanese cypress (chamaecyparis). Together with other blooming plants such as hydrangea, they can make their own mini-bonsai arrangements. Summer is a good time to show zelkova with hosta and succulents. These could be each in their own pot or combined in the same one.
Fall color dominates with branches of elm and beech, ginkgo, berries and grasses, and equisetum (horsetail rush) is paired with curled pines. My favorite is callicarpa bodeneri (Beauty Berry) violet berries paired with a red berry companion or miniature Japanese chrysanthemum.
For winter little conifers of cryptomeria and chamaecyparis combine well with osmanthus, a variegated holly, bamboo, fruited citrus and cactus.
Mai Martin lies quietly in a hotel room made up as a hospital room. The whir and click of the EKG monitor’s white noise washes over her in the dim light. The equipment LEDs cast a cold glow upon the sterile ceiling and walls.
Her rustling in the bed wakes Dr. David Ludwig lying on a cot beside her in a lab coat and with his long hair tied back with a rubber band.
Ludwig flips on the lights and watches Mai’s lips twitch with clinical interest. She jerks, convulses, goes rigid and convulses again. Sitting up she gasps for air, choking with each painful breath. She doesn’t process that it’s Ludwig who holds her arms. To her he’s a white coat. She feels the baby kick.
“Where am I? What’s going on? Who are you?” The questions spring forth in rapid fire from her lips.
“Mrs. Martin, please lie back. You’re fine. This is Dr. Ludwig.”
He calls his assistant, the loyal Mr. Trung. It’s this moment that Mai breaks his grip. At the sight of the IV in her arm, she yanks it out screaming, “I said no needles! Where am I?” she repeats, her panic accelerating.
Ludwig, grasping the serum bag swinging on a wheeled rack, urges her, “Please, Mrs. Martin, stop struggling. You’re hurting yourself. You need that,” he shouts, meaning the serum. “Stop that! No! Not that!” He reaches for the IV tube as Mai elbows him and jumps off the bed.
Trung and a Japanese doctor burst in, followed closely by Ron Zhao, her lover, and Rick Martin, her husband. Ludwig has Mai around the waist and drags her to the bed. She rakes her fingernails across his cheek, drawing blood. He yelps, dropping Mai onto the floor.
“Put her on the bed,” screams Ludwig, dabbing blood with a tissue he’s fished from his coat pocket. Suddenly sweating and red-faced, he mops his forehead with the same tissue.
Mai shouts, “Stop!” The faces of those around her shift into familiar focus. The large man in a white coat is Dr. Ludwig. Relieved, she sees her lover, Ron and her husband, Rick, surrounding her.
“Get him outta’ here,” she chokes panting, her red face getting redder and her eyes bright with blue sparks.
Ron strong-arms Ludwig to the lobby while Rick pushes the others out the door, but he stays behind with his wife. Mai crouches on the ground on all fours, quivering in her hospital gown printed all over with azure shooting stars.
“Give me a hand up, Rick. And tell me what the fuck is going on! The last thing I remember is lying in warm spa water,” she says standing, suddenly collapsing again, hitting her head on a bed rail on the way down.
The door flies open, Ron takes in the scene.
“Help me lay Mai on the bed,” snaps Rick, bending over Mai’s backside. Her flimsy hospital gown falls open and exposes her spine, curving at the sacrum and disappearing into the cleft of her gludes.
Dr. Ludwig pushes into the room, “How is she?”
“Passed out again. Stood up and fainted, hit her head here,” answers Rick, gesturing to the chrome rail.
“I must complete the injection,” asserts Ludwig.
“She said no needles,” reminds Ron, turning his attention to Mai’s breathing, rubbing her cold hands.
“This procedure is incomplete. There’s only 20mL left in the bag. Let me finish this,” pleads Ludwig. “Her life is dependent on completing this as planned. Gentlemen, allow me to finish!”
Ron and Rick exchange looks and back to Mai’s blue lips.
“Dui, okay, do it,” concedes Ron.