
What I wouldn’t give
for a pair of wings to lift
me past the sunset!
Photo by: Osquer
(Click on photo to enlarge.)
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure…We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?… There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do…as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same." ~M.Williamson
Jessica decided there was only one way to deal with such a mistrusting child. Understanding him better than those who had known him all his life, she gave him the one thing no one ever had, the truth.
“Honestly,” she smiled, “I don’t really feel like a lady. Perhaps you would rather call me ‘Cousin.’”
Jessica was about to speak when unexpectedly someone else did from the doorway. “Is that her?” The speaker was a blond boy of about 10. Both his face and his voice were sullen.
“Archie,” answered the Duke, “This is your cousin, my daughter, Lady Jessica.”
“She doesn’t look like a lady.” the boy replied rudely.
“It has become apparent that Miss Iris Applegate is not going to keep her appointed interview for the position of young Master Archibald’s tutor.” intoned Andrews as though there was nothing at all odd about the fact that Jessica had entered the house under that guise or that the missing heiress should suddenly be home.
Andrews regained his composure with a rapidity of which only English butlers seem capable. He schooled his features into their customary imperturbable coolness and strode into the room. “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” he nodded to the duke, “Your Ladyship.” Jessica was startled to be addressed so naturally by the title she had not yet reclaimed.
* * * * * * *
It was the first photo I ever posted to my blog.
Well, here's what The Determined Pointsettia looks like today:
And believe it or not, it's actually trying to bloom again!

Photos by: Osquer
Andrews stood in the doorway with his mouth agape, an expression unfamiliar to his face. He could hardly be blamed when before him was the image of a once familiar tableau. Then he realized, with hardly less wonder, that it was not the ghost of his former mistress talking with His Grace, but her daughter.
Raindrops meander
down the window glass like your
fingers caressing
my freshly shower moistened
skin. What a lucky window!