Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
Bio
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
Achievements (1)
Stories (318)
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Farewell and Remember
Looking back I desire to share what I've learned Of winding rivers, upward spiraling trees, Monumental mountains and icy blue streams. I will write it all down, my memories great The silvery scales of rainbow trout, the bear, The Alaskan eagle that sores, and the mouse. Becoming a father, afraid and excited Holding the baby you were, guiding the child So proud of the young woman you are, so proud. I have seen the world, its wonders, and secrets Jerusalem's Dome of the Rock, Egypt's great Nile, Mexico City for three years, and France. I've written it down in the Story of Me. I have time yet, to share what I know and don't I bequeath my old quill, parchment, and black ink. Write what you have learned, the good, the bad, the sweet. I give you my journals, my notes - you must read. Read to your children - remember me and smile. My gift to you has been my love, light, and truth. The love of life, the light of knowledge - pure truth.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales3 months ago in Poets
Morning Love Song
A Morning Love Song The sun, not yet in the sky I wake with you on my mind I wake with you on my mind The still, blackness of the room Brings pleasures for me to groom I wake with you on my mind Not yet time to rise: I lay silently searching for your eyes I wake with you on my mind The light begins to change from Black to blue I wake with you on my mind Then the rays find their way Into my room. The sun beams erasing you You, no longer on my mind.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales3 months ago in Poets
The Room That Waited
“A forgotten room, a family’s unfinished inheritance, and a door that never truly lets you leave.” The lane to the manor narrowed until hedgerows brushed the car on both sides, hawthorn needling the paint like a warning. Mist clung to the ditch water and lifted in torn veils whenever a wind found its courage. By the time I reached the final bend, the sky had shed its color, and the house stood in a patient gray, high-shouldered and watchful, its windows reflecting nothing of the world that faced them.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales3 months ago in Fiction
