Dianna Hall
Bio
I am a writer and blogger of ClinkfromKansas. I love writing and dancing with words from my secret garden, named WindRose. Coffee, my dog Della, interesting people, lasting conversations and clinking, its a thing.
Stories (2)
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I Married A Rich Man
A coffee in hand and the view of a new day peeking in my window at me through shadowed trees I raise my glass to my husband Richard and our love story. The heart and cup holder in the background of these images he made for me last Christmas and in five days from now we will celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary. We said our vows in the living room of his parent’s home on Christmas eve in front of the tree and surrounded by family. To be honest they were a captive audience as we surprised everyone by having a judge just show up and perform the ceremony unannounced. My sister in law Amy made sure we had a cake to cut and our dear friends Karin and Mike stood up with us. Shauna stood right next to me dressed in pink and holding a small bouquet of roses. The moment and vows monumental in comparison to the space and time they were said in.
By Dianna Hall4 years ago in Families
The Cedar Creeks Unabandoned Spirit
The road to the cedar creek retreat or as I call it CCR is on a mostly unnoticed, deserted and dusty back road. The flint hill rock exposed after spring wash outs can cut like jagged glass deep into tires not equipped adequately for back country road driving. The original old homestead lies just off the road with its ghosted frame just behind the skeleton of a burr oak. The oak now a shadow of a once former grand gentlemen welcoming you through the entrance to the property. Twisting and gnarled vines have straggled themselves like long knotted fingers around windowless, chipped and faded window panes of the old dilapidated house. After buying the old place as a hunting retreat and kind of sight unseen it was a bit of a shock once we drove up to discover the level of disrepair CCR was truly in. That first year I rode up with my husband to the land, I barley got out of the truck let alone walk around the nasty and dirty home. I was put off and disgusted by its age, darkness and gray lifeless saddened state. One day years later and out of sheer boredom I decided to walk about the property as my husband was cutting down dead trees and removing limbs. I first walked around to the front of the house, stepping carefully over broken glass and puzzled pieces of roofing lying about and scattered all over the ground. It was hard to look into the face of a structure that was so dead of feature and life. I forced myself to look beyond the cob webs and dirt peering past the front porch looking through for a front door. It was then that a simple door knob caught my attention and maybe because it seemed so out of place, ornate and eccentric attached to its lifeless coffined structure. I felt compelled and moved in closer to investigate further. Pushing cob webs from my face and the crunch of old boards and glass under my feet I reached for and turned the knob. I was shocked by the instant vibration and sensation that flowed through my fingers, palms of my hands and up into my arms. Bewildered and scared I let go of the knob and stood back in shock. I thought to myself, what just happened to me, was that real. Very scared but also intrigued I slowly and gently touched the knob again. This time the sensation was oddly warm, friendly, kind and gentle. Curious I looked down on the knob, I did not recognize the design and features, it was gothic looking, vintage and weathered. Once more I moved my hand away looked about the door frame and noticed that even in disrepair there was this intricate lattice design woven around and in the framework. Every reach to knob opened portals and discoveries I had not seen before in and around the home. Small treasures and charming hints of the former builder’s craft and finish work still woven securely around windows and door frames. I was becoming entranced and drawn into its story and somehow feeling its very energy, history and soul. Just then my husband honked the horn, you ready to leave he yelled. I removed my hand slowly, looking back from the front porch I quietly promised I would return again. On the drive back home, I felt I had left a part of myself there and I just couldn’t explain it away.
By Dianna Hall4 years ago in Fiction
