~ A Child of the Shadows Dwells between Two Places; in the ‘Age of Man’ and ‘Beyond the Veil’ ~

~ A Child of the Shadows Dwells between Two Places; in the ‘Age of Man’ and ‘Beyond the Veil’ ~  

This child is born, unto a time, where Angels cast their light upon the path that must be taken~

During the winter solstice, snow falls soft, melting upon the songs of the Dark-eyed Junco and Nuthatch; that carry the secrets of the forest upon their moonlit wings.

This child of the shadows, found in the darkest corners, is not hiding. This child’s gift is that of a watcher.

Knowing it is weaving a radiant skein; a story for the ‘birthing of moments’ that will find us all, beyond the veil of time.

Down in the forest of a dark December, a bird song is heard upon high. It watches the child in the silver light; breathe forth a lullaby for the ‘Age of Man’.

A child of the shadows, from the dust of man, resounds a story among the winter trees.

The last ray of light will find a path beyond the veil, where the soft whispering of Angels rejoicing, sound like distant fluttering wings among flames of fire.

Ashes drape the heavens, as snow descends upon the children of the shadows; winter birds gather in the dark hours, to take flight and carry the secrets of our becoming, as we dream forth the sibylline story that must be told.

Within our time, we have gathered as children of the Light, in dark places…

 As ancient sojourners, we lay the fabric of our essence and being upon the darkness, upon the memory of all who sleep; like we have done from the beginning, in the Age of Man and Beyond the Veil…

~ I> (=

Copyright (c) 2019- November, 29th – Tommie Flannery Baskis

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The 200 Year Old Historic Flint Ridge Community and the 1827 Church that was the Cornerstone

The Flint Ridge and Mammoth Cave area was a bustling, vibrant community for 200 years. The tight-knit community took care of its own by teaching their young, farming the very rugged hillsides, operated and showed the caves to interested paying parties to provide for their families. The lovely wood church built in 1827, was the ‘cornerstone of the community’.

The church was a beloved place for the residents and the faithful who would walk or ride by horseback, through storm, rain and snow to celebrate joyful weddings, baptisms, worship, homecomings, town meetings, revivals and sometimes a sanctuary for mourning death. Many neighbors gathered here to rest and enjoy ones company from the labors of the day, too.

The Community of people at Flint Ridge would see many changes come about during the development of Mammoth Cave National Park in 1941. There were hundreds of Families in Flint Ridge that would have to sell their homes, some unwillingly, the only homesites they had ever known when the park and caves became a National place. The fields lay barren, that were once farmed to make a living for generations and homesites dismantled had been reclaimed by the large forest. Many of the descendants moved away eventually. There are many that have stayed and have been buried here, at the church. It is known that hundreds of gravestones are hidden among the trees of the forest.

The church building that is here today was constructed in 1927, after the original church was destroyed by a tornado. The infamous Floyd Collins, a resident and famous cave explorer from the 1920’s is buried here.

The Baptist church would still be used up until the 1970’s for gatherings and special occasions by the relatives of the early community.

One of the few pre-park structures that is still standing, is the lovely Mammoth Cave Baptist Church.

I have enjoyed exploring the old abandoned houses, forest roads, cemeteries and lovely natural landscape of the Mammoth Cave Kentucky area and communities for many years; I suppose I will, for many more to come.

I imagine as I wander through the hills and forest, the people that were here before, living their lives through the seasons. I am only able to imagine their joy and hardships because their stories are lost to us. I am able though to see the sizable community they shared by the large amount of gravestones in the cemetery.

I hope you enjoy a piece of history and relive this adventure through some of these photographs I am sharing with you.

(c) 12/30/2020 By Tommie F Baskis


~Merry Christmas~ Wishing Blessings of Joy, Health and Love for Everyone!

One of the most beloved stories that has made an wonderful impression upon me since I was a child is the novella by Charles Dickens, ‘A Christmas Carol’, first published in 1843.

He wrote about many incredible lessons and messages that have inspired us all. Some of these important words ring true to this day. I wanted to include a passage this Christmas Day, for you all.

~ Apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it! ~

Charles Dickens~

Enjoy wonderful moments together with your loved ones. We wish you Blessings this fine Christmas day...
Tommie and Paul

A Civil War Christmas Letter from Isabel Rose to Major General Jacob Stuart 1862

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~ A Civil War Letter from Isabel Rose Stuart to Major General Jacob Stuart, 1862 ~

My Dearest Jacob,

I remember looking through the twilight mist, as your wool coat, like great dark wings, moved slowly as you turned to see if I was watching. I was.

My darling, that autumn eve in the Year of our Lord, 1861, forever changed me. The cold ache in my heart made me aware of an immense deepness and stillness, I never knew existed.

I watched you descend o’er the barren field in the evening; my eyes clouded from tears, as I closed them. It was then that I felt the golden rays of the sun upon my lips. It is there that I see you my darling.

That moment is forever pressed upon my heart in hope that each gentle beat will be a rhythmic lullaby; gently singing upon your dreams, every nightfall.

You wrote me in your last letter, of the trials and tribulations of the battles that have ensued. One has to be thankful that Lieutenant General Stonewall Jackson has claimed many Victorious measures in his and your Campaign. I know the brave men under your charge must be feeling blessed that God shone light upon you all as the Shenandoah Valley was cleared of Federal threats.

It has been hard here on Daddy’s land without you. All of the strong men from our village have gone to fight this war. Only the weak and older men stay behind tending the chores and shoppes. The older women care for the broken-hearted younger brides who have received letters filled with sadness. I smile to think how our sewing circles have kept many a woman sane with comradery and the spread of news among us in the villages that we share and spread to other sewing circles in the distant towns. It is like a secret newsletter that we all create. The men and soldiers must think we have nothing better to do but sew and bake to our hearts content. You have never seen so many lovely quilts, I declare, there will never be a cold soul in this town come winter.

It is just myself, older sister Cora Lee and the help who have not deserted us, that are left to tend all the crops, cure the meats, do the sewing and caring for the ones in need in the parish. I am grateful to be kept busy with chores that fill my hours instead of dread and want. I now spend my days creating Butternut dyes for the soldiers uniforms out of leaves, husks, bark and branches from the large, orchard trees.

One stormy night in October, your sister Annabelle and I came upon a frightful scene. I was taking my usual ride on my horse to the back fields to look for repairs to be made on the fence row. Even though I rode a good distance I could see our house and the chimney smoke rising from the back kitchen. I see Annabelle, doll sized from my vantage, waving what looked to be a red cloth. I knew washing day had come on Monday, and it being Friday eve I knew she wasn’t hanging anything from the two storied porches out back. I knew she was without her rifle but had your Daddy’s smoothbore gun hidden with her sewing. I always take the rifle-musket you gave me when I travel on the back lands. I rode my gray mare, Thunder, quicker than I have ever done before and slowed down as I approached the southern east side of the property along the bramble thickets and large oaks like you showed me to do if there was trouble. I could see a couple of ‘Bummers’ and I heard one of them speaking roughly to Annabelle. She feigned nervousness but I know her strength, Jacob. It is like mine too. You would have been proud.

I dismount and straighten my cotton shift dress and rifle in hand enter through the back kitchen. I see a tall, young Yankee walking down the dark hallway to me. I was frightened, Jacob, but I gathered my wits and pointed my rifle towards him. I asked him what they wanted. He stopped, looking mighty tired and spoke saying he and the other soldier are scouring the neighboring village for salt-pork, covers, ammunition and horses. He promised me he did not want to hurt me or Annabelle. He said you young ladies are like our wives back home. Afraid and left alone. He hoped no harm would come to them by enemy soldiers.

I told him he was bold to impose upon us like this, scaring us to death. He could see I would have shot him point blank if he tried to harm us. He nodded and said “Yes my lady. I am in great need of supplies for our camp and men, never meaning harm though to woman and children.” I was afraid to tell him who you are Jacob and was hoping they did not recognize the photograph of you on the hearth.

I have Annabelle take the other soldier out to the barn and smoke house. I tell them they could have two horses, three salted pork hams. I gave them four quilts, bags of apples from the cellar and a tin of coffee and tobacco. I poured him coffee from the pot on the stove, of which he took gently from my hand. Annabelle and I shared our dinner with them listening to stories of their Families and the war. We are not too dissimilar, I thought, as we sat in silence listening to a whippoorwill call from the forest before the sun was setting. They thanked us and mounted their horses, departed and promised to never return.

It is December now, our cherished Christmas eve; I sit here reflecting on all the time since you have been gone. I watch the snow, ever so silent, fall upon the back orchard. The winter moon is bright and sets its glow upon the branches thick with ice.

My love, I do not know if these words I write will ever reach you; yet the hope and spirit within me is like that of a steady flame, which burns with an eternal light, I hope you can feel in your dark hours.

It is by the Almighty’s special providence that my good faith resides and my prayers are offered to be heard, to make your leadership and path less cumbersome.

Please come home to me, my dear Jacob. I write you this cold Christmas Eve, by the warm hearth fire, where we have laughed, loved and spoken of our treasured dreams that are to be shared as we grow old, together. I hold to my heart, the last remaining letter you gave me. It has been opened and folded so many times it feels like the textured velvet of a moth’s wings. I can hear each written word as if it were coming from your sure, confident voice.

My darling, when I close my eyes before sleep, my dearest wish is that I will see you next to me on a Christmas morning, with the sun rising upon the fields of snow; your strong hand in mine and I hear you softly tell me, one more time, ‘I love you my angel, my everything’…

Your true and forever loving, Isabel Rose~

~A Civil War Christmas letter from Isabel Rose Stuart to her Confederate Major General Jacob Stuart, December 1862~

© 2020 Duskflyer Visions Art and Productions~ Tommie Flannery Baskis


Birthday and Christmas Cheer; In Small Town America

I truly enjoyed our wonderful time with dear friends and Synfuels Team as we celebrated my December the 5th Birthday and Christmas cheer at the only Irish Pub open on this chilly eve.

The lovely Shoppe windows and the trees in the park with their sparkling Christmas lights, wreaths and decorations made our evening very special. We came upon an Irish pub that was open and enjoyed sharing good cheer, laughs and talks about the future. The moments shared felt perfect and joyful.

We always seem to find great adventures. Bowling Green, Kentucky put on a wonderful display for the Season.

We wish all of you a wonderful Holiday Season and enjoy each of those special moments with dear friends and loved ones. Always look for those simple pleasures and make your own magic happen…


Synfuels Assets Management LLC, Duskflyer Vision Art, Draconis Extraction and Draconis Digesters Wish all of Our Clients, Colleagues and Friends a Very Merry Christmas Season!

Synfuels Assets Management LLC, Draconis Extraction, Draconis Digesters and Duskflyer Vision Art and Productions Wish all of our Friends, Colleagues and Clients a very Merry Christmas Season full of Blessings, Health and Joy of Spirit!

Thank you to all of our partners who have put forth much energy, time and resources to make great things happen for us all ! We are so appreciative of each of you.

We have the best Team and Partners assembled and we are fortunate to call each one of you our dear friends! Thank you so much and we look forward to a very bright future and many more adventures to come.

May your Holiday and New Year bring forth special Blessings to you and yours!

God Bless~



The Mothman Story of Point Pleasant, West Virginia on November 12th of 1966 and the Infamous Collapse of the Silver Bridge in 1967

The Mothman Story of Point Pleasant, West Virginia on November 12th of 1966 and the Infamous Collapse of the Silver Bridge in 1967

The Legend of the Mothman sighting stories that have passed on through the townspeople of West Virginia that cold night in 1966 have left an indelible mark upon those who experienced this mysterious and powerful cryptid.

West Virginia is not a stranger to inexplicable events and phenomena with the appearances of the Flatwoods Monster and Indrid Cold, a strange grinning entity of a man who seemed to wear a reflective green or blue suit and had an unnatural grin upon his face; watching and observing people in the town. The townsfolk also observed strange outsiders they refer to as ‘men in black’ in the town.

The dark mystery and testimonies that surround the Mothman is by far one of the most intriguing stories I have researched. It has been noted that the appearance of the Mothman creature foretold of an impending disaster.

We are happy to share with you our adventure, photographs, accounts and stories that have been collected in the Worlds only Mothman Museum in Point Pleasant. It was truly a special afternoon with some of the Synfuel’s Team. The CEO Paul Baskis and I and COO Matt and Carol Wilson enjoyed sharing this adventure and exploring the history and charm of the small town and its folklore.

The Mothman was popularized in the 1975 book by John Keel ‘The Mothman Prophecies’. The 2002 movie starring Richard Gere was based on Keel’s book. The book describes Keel’s account of the strange telephone calls, reports of mutilated pets and the tragic December 15, 1967 Silver Bridge collapse across the Ohio River.

One of the most famous accounts happened on one cold November evening in 1966 when two young couples, Roger and Linda Scarberry and Steve and Mary Mallet told the local police that they sighted a large grey creature with large eyes that “glowed red” reflected by the car’s headlights. They said it appeared as a “large flying man with ten-foot wings”. They said it followed their car while driving outside of town in an area known as the ‘TNT area’ of which was a former World War II munitions plant.

The West Virginia Ordnance Works (TNT area) is North of Point Pleasant and during the World War manufactured dynamite and ammunitions. The land surrounding the Ordnance is mostly forested with grassy clearings that house thick concrete domes they refer to as ‘Igloos’. These Igloos stored barrels of gunpowder. There are many abandoned tunnels that have since collapsed or have been sealed off.

Following that evening, other people within the town started to report similar sightings. One story was of a group of five men preparing a grave in a cemetery for a burial when they saw something eerily strange they could not explain. It seemed to lift off and above the nearby tree line and was a large, brown winged creature. All of the men agreed and stayed to their story that what lifted off beyond the trees was no bird. It appeared to be a humanoid.

Within the museum we found a treasure trove of historic newspaper clippings, testimonies, and memorabilia from the strange happenings in the 1960’s and the tragic Silver Bridge collapse. There were even relics and props from the famous movie, ‘The Mothman Prophecies’ including the original art sketches that were created depicting the Mothman.

One of the many original eyewitness accounts in the museum was from Roger Scarberry who was one of the first couples to see the Mothman. His story starts as follows~

“Tuesday night about 12 O’clock while riding in the TNT area we came upon this thing. It was in the shape of a man with wings. This thing stood about 6 feet tall with wings on its back. It was a light grey in color with red eyes about 2 inches in diameter 6 to 8 inches apart. When we came up over a rise in the road in front of the power house Steve saw these large red eyes. He pointed the eyes out to me and when we all looked it was going around the corner of the building.

This thing runs awkward with its wings out to its side. After we stopped and looked at each other I took off out the road toward the highway. When we came to the traffic circle and turned south on 62 we saw it again. It was on the bank on the left side of the road. This is where we could see it best. But when the car lights shown on it moved its wings out to the side and went straight up into the air.

We didn’t see it again until we were on the straight road in front of the experiment farm when it came over the car. I speeded up to 100mph and it glided over the car till we came to the curve at the armory. Then it was gone.

We came on into town. This thing must have been afraid of lights because it wouldn’t come in to town. We went downtown and stopped. We wanted to tell the police. But when we were going to go back up to see for sure that it was still up the road. But when we were going up through town we decided we decided we didn’t want to go back up. So I turned around at the gate at the C.C. Lewis Farm. When I turned around a dead dog was lying along the road. As I turned and started back down the road this thing came out from behind where the dog was and went back over the car and out through the field on the other side of the road. Then we went down to Tiny’s Drive- In and told Gary and the Police what we saw. Gary and the Police followed us back up the road where we saw it again. The dog was gone. From there we went to the field but didn’t see it again. So we went down to the town. Then we went with the Deputy Sheriff back to the Power Plant and stopped. We sat in the car and saw dust or smoke coming up from the coal yard beside the plant. From there we went back and got in the car and went home. The next day we went back to the power plant and looked around where Steve saw it again in a Boiler inside the plant. Then Wednesday night it was seen at Thomas’s home the same night and found a footprint this thing had made. Thursday we went up to the plant with reporters and went through it. While we were inside Steve shuts the door. When we were outside we heard a loud noise. We went back inside and the door was open.

What this thing looked like it is about 6 feet tall with large wings on its back. It has a shape of a man. It has two red eyes about 2 inches apart. A wing spread of 10 feet. This thing whatever it is, is definitely not a crane or goose or balloon or any of the things it has been called. I have seen it and know what it looks like.”

R. Scarberry stated, “I’m a hard guy to scare, but last night I was for getting out of there.”

For thirteen months the Mothman creature would be would be seen in Point Pleasant. It is estimated that there were over 100 sightings. It has been reported that some of the townsfolk were harassed by Men in Black who discouraged them to not speak about the creature. John Keel’s book claimed that the people of Point Pleasant town experienced precognitions that included premonitions of the collapse of the Silver Bridge.

The Silver Bridge was an eyebar-chain suspension bridge built in the year 1928 and named for the aluminum paint color. The bridge carried U.S. Route 35 over the Ohio River that connects Point Pleasant, West Virginia and Gallipolis, Ohio.

The day of December 15th of 1967 the townspeople would be met with a horrific tragedy as the Silver Bridge collapsed under the weight of too much traffic. There were 46 deaths and two people were never recovered. The collapse was a failure in a single eyebar in a suspension chain. The defect was just 0.1 inches (2.5mm) deep. It was just not meant to carry the weight it was carrying compared to when it was constructed many years ago.

I hope you enjoy the photographs to follow and make sure to follow my blog at https://duskflyervisionart.wordpress.com/blog/ to see more of our adventures on historical places and happenings. Thank you

Copyright October 21, 2020 by Tommie Flannery Baskis


An October Morning, Learning the ‘Old Ways’ of Sorghum Making at Spring Valley Sorghum Mill in Scottsville, KY

(c) October 2020 By Tommie Flannery Baskis

It was one of those crisp October mornings that one remembers as a child; a day that held a promise to be special. The sun glistened upon the dew and the sky was a bright, crystalline blue.

Those who know me understand the passion I have for keeping the ‘Old Story’ alive. I have been writing and photographing abandoned places, historical towns, cemeteries and the ‘Old Ways’ that are still practiced by the Mennonite and Amish Families in Kentucky.

The story that will be told here is from a special October morning. We had the immense pleasure of visiting Spring Valley Sorghum Mill on Strawberry Lane and were greeted by Brothers Andrew and Reuben Habegger who were very gracious with their time. When I asked Reuben if he could share any stories, even funny ones, from days gone by, he gently smiled and began to tell me about the early days.

Join me as I share my story and photographs about the charming moments and laughter we shared with the men, women and children of this community in Allen County, Kentucky.

A little of the age one, Reuben Habegger’s Father moved them from Pennsylvania to the mountains of Eastern Tennessee.

Reuben commenced to tell me that it was hard in those days to make a living in 1965 in the country. His Father did thinking upon what southerners like to buy and on what they would do to earn money. There was no extra money to buy things, Reuben said.

“Eastern Tennessee was hard going,” said Reuben. It was a coal mining community and not many other opportunities.

Sorghum was a popular crop then and southerners liked to buy it. “You could save your own seeds and it cost nothing to plant it.”

Reuben smiled and told me something funny his Father said. In the early days before they perfected their special way of sorghum making, his Dad learned that some of the people who tried their sorghum said it tasted like axle grease.

They found an old cane press in Missouri and used a galvanized pan with wooden sides his Dad made. The first year crop wasn’t a good crop with the weather being dry and planted on a rocky fescue hill.

At the age of 18, after Reuben’s Father passed away his Mother moved the Family to Kentucky.

Reuben’s Mother was a widow now with seven children and three she would adopt later.

He told me how it is a community effort to work the sorghum cane. People have to spend time with one another. If there are differences to air, the menfolk will work them out because you are spending so much time together during the season, Reuben stated with a smile. I noticed that they all did their work efficiently and with ease.

The men folk that work together here including the Habegger, Zimmerman and Troyer Families had a common desire to make the most pure and delicious sorghum from the cane they grew.

Reuben said that his brother and their cousin Joe Troyer happened to be in a store where they were giving away free samples of sorghum from Indiana. They both wondered if it was pure so when no one was looking, he took a sip out of the jar to make sure it was pure. It was.

They stated, ‘If people in Indiana can make good sorghum then we can too.’

That gave birth to them perfecting their sorghum to be lighter and better.

I enjoyed Rueben sharing his stories with me; as we talked one could smell the delicious sweet syrup that was heating in the large evaporator pan where Mr. Curvin Zimmerman tends and cooks the lovely amber liquid that will soon be bottled. The younger sons in the Zimmerman and Habegger Families were very kind to show me how the cane is pressed to produce the sweet green juice to be strained in order to remove the dirt and impurities before it is cooked.

Curvin Zimmerman was kind to show me how the cooking process worked. He said he came to the mill back in 1987. In the 1990’s he started working full time.

Curvin told me a humorous story too. He stated that one particular day Reuben had some errands to run and wanted him to take control of cooking the sorghum. He left and they did not know when he was coming back. Curvin told me he felt like he wasn’t ready to take control of the cooking on his own back then. At this point Curvin starts to grin and I knew a good story was coming.

I listened as he said Reuben was actually sitting behind the bushes in the forest, watching them. ‘From then on I was more relaxed and confident I could do the cooking’, Curvin told me.

I met a few of Habegger’s sons. Cornelius Habegger was a stately young man who has been tending the large fires that are responsible for heating the pans filled with sorghum juice. ‘I have been keeping the fires for 11 years’ he stated. He told me he shoes horses too. He explained the differences between the Belgian and Percheron breeds that they use and own. I enjoyed the things I learned from him.

Curvin skimmed some of the cooked cane juice off in a cup for me to try. It was a delicious treat in the cool morning. We also enjoyed homemade biscuits with butter and sorghum. The taste was pure delight.

The younger sons and daughters were busy bringing in the fresh organic vegetables, herbs and pumpkins that Andrew Habegger and his Family grows. The produce was fresh from the fields and healthy looking. It was a bountiful view of lovely blue potatoes, beans, turnips, greens and many glass jars of pure sorghum, shelved and glowing in the morning sun.

Another highlight I thoroughly enjoyed was when the sons of Zimmerman and Habegger led me to the sorghum mill where the cane that grows to 6 to 12 feet tall is then hauled in by wagon to be put into a roller press to squeeze out the juices. The beautiful Belgian and Percheron Draft horses are the power that operates the steel rollers of the press.

Tommie watching the heavy beams above, that are turned by the Belgian Draft horses

During the harvesting the Families believe that stripping the leaves from the stalks is important because they leave a bitter taste. We then cut the stalks into piles and let sit in the field for three to five days. In the sunshine the plant’s enzymes help it to convert the starch into sugar.

The juice is strained over and again to remove impurities before settling into an evaporator pan. The squeezed green juice is cooked to a clear amber color where it will be strained again. It is then cooled to 180 degrees F and then bottled in glass jars. As the sweet sorghum is further cooling, the jars seal.

Since the 1850’s sorghum has been grown as a crop and processed in Kentucky.

Sorghum is one of the oldest natural sweeteners used by the early settlers. It is a wonderful part of our heritage. It is rich in nutrients such as iron, potassium, calcium and phosphorus. During the 1940’s sweet sorghum was a main ingredient for drinks, meats, confections and baked goods such as bread, pies, cakes, pudding and cookies.

My October journey to Spring Valley Sorghum Mill was a wonderful treasure. I grew up spending time with my Grandmother Virginia in Indiana. I loved watching her in the kitchen and I have always had a fondness for making my own baked goods and recipes. I am eager to add the sorghum I brought home, to my autumn baking.

If you are ever near a country road called ‘Strawberry Lane’ in Scottsville, Kentucky, make sure you stop on by and visit with the friendly Habegger and Zimmerman Families. They indeed make some of the finest, delicious sorghum I have ever tasted and watch how they keep the ‘old ways’ and tradition of sorghum making in America.

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Silent Town

It seemed like time had grown weary of counting the moments for us. The out-of-sync tics, sound lost within a vacuum of time, upon our deafening silent town; that forgot how to listen.

Milkweed and Cottonwood seed are suspended upon the aether; a floating drift, glowing like snow in the late afternoon sun.

My bare feet touch the cool, dirt path through the old canopy of ash and elm trees that loom over the dank ravine. Leading me out and away from our forgotten, Southern town.

I wear a gift, my Mother Dabria, left for me; a long moss green dress; it trails behind me stirring the dry leaves, like cracking whispers.

I have worn this path down through the seasons; so many moments gathered, like the wild plants and flowers for my remedies; the careful placing of memories stored tight and gently pressed, the way one puts precious things in a box.

I see crows gathering in numbers, like a secret coven, flying in swift over the rustling corn stalks; in the fields upon the path’s end.

I step out from the forested path, as I gaze out beyond the shadows before me. The silver light of dusk, shimmers upon the air making the abandoned, clapboard house seem like a distant mirage. Blurred and dreamy, like a child’s watercolor painting.

I have been coming here since I was a child. My Daddy hunted on this land, like his Father Rainer before him. My Grandmother, Orenda Rose, taught me the ways of healing potions and elixirs. Teaching me how to collect and dry, in their seasons Yarrow, Wolf bane, Samphire, Queen Anne’s Lace, Blackthorn, Gentian and so many roots and berries.

We would hang the thickets on black chain, iron hooks to gently sway with the autumn breeze in the dry cellar with fat jars of minced meat and bottles of apple shine.

I am here alone; only these memories fill the space where the silent moments dwell; or so I thought…

From the writing ~ ‘The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Reflections’, (c) 2020 Duskflyer Vision Art and Productions, Tommie Flannery Baskis


The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Shadows

The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Shadows


It happened in a bone-dust, dry August, in the year of our Lord, 2020; that a secret was to be given in trust. A secret upon receiving that would come with a burdensome price.

I will never forget this particular August; it crept upon us like a veiled shadow on the perimeter of the sun’s last rays. The summer felt toilsome and arcane. It is as if, I had been holding my breath, silently, afraid I would not hear the story that was written for me.

It seemed like time had grown weary of counting the moments for us. The out-of-sync tics, sound lost within a vacuum of time, upon our deafening silent town; that forgot how to listen.

Milkweed and Cottonwood seed are suspended upon the aether; a floating drift, glowing like snow in the late afternoon sun.

My bare feet touch the cool, dirt path through the old canopy of ash and elm trees that loom over the dank ravine. Leading me out and away from our forgotten, Southern town.

I wear a gift, my Mother Dabria, left for me; a long moss green dress; it trails behind me stirring the dry leaves, like cracking whispers.

I have worn this path down through the seasons; so many moments gathered, like the wild plants and flowers for my remedies; the careful placing of memories stored tight and gently pressed, the way one puts precious things in a box.

I see crows gathering in numbers, like a secret coven, flying in swift over the rustling corn stalks; in the fields upon the path’s end.

I step out from the forested path, as I gaze out beyond the shadows before me. The silver light of dusk, shimmers upon the air making the abandoned, clapboard house seem like a distant mirage. Blurred and dreamy, like a child’s watercolor painting.

I have been coming here since I was a child. My Daddy hunted on this land, like his Father Rainer before him. My Grandmother, Orenda Rose, taught me the ways of healing potions and elixirs. Teaching me how to collect and dry, in their seasons Yarrow, Wolf bane, Samphire, Queen Anne’s Lace, Blackthorn, Gentian and so many roots and berries.

We would hang the thickets on black chain, iron hooks to gently sway with the autumn breeze in the dry cellar with fat jars of minced meat and bottles of apple shine.

I am here alone; only these memories fill the space where the silent moments dwell; or so I thought.

I have not been to the old house since last winter, when I stocked the cellar with roots and preserves.

I step onto the weathered porch. The sound of the swings rusting chains, move, as if someone has just left it, moments ago. I notice the wooden door is ajar. As I walk over the threshold, the light of dusk, casts its glow around the still objects that remain.

I see the staircase in front of me. Time’s fingerprint has silvered and scalloped the worn places on the steps. For years, I watched my Father climb these steps at night; his pipe smoke trailing behind him, leaving a thin fog. I am mesmerized as I watched the smoke descend, dimly aglow, taking shapes of a spirited presence, moving to a slow lullaby.

The memories of my time feel heavy here; a heaviness that clutches at the silence, before you notice the empty sound.

A sound of a man’s footsteps upon the floorboards above me makes my breath quicken. A shadow slowly spreads out from the doorway. I turn and look at the Grandfather clock, on the landing that stopped years ago, during the 11th hour.

The toothed gears, anchor and pendulum, a trinity of precise forces, to prevent friction, that would bring it to a standstill; now resounds a tick, as the anchor catches a gear tooth before releasing…

Then, a voice rings out deep and firm, to me. I know when I ascend the stairs I won’t be the same when I come back. I go to him in the one place I have always belonged.

At the top of the staircase, all rooms are abandoned except for mine, where his shadow waits with the days last light.

I enter unafraid, the way children trust the hand laid firmly upon them, is for an important lesson and not to harm.

Walking into the room, I notice my surprised reflection in the towering floor mirror. My body is no longer that of a child’s innocence. His shape, tall and silhouetted, stands nearby in the shadows. His presence is formidable.

I can feel his power as a Watcher, all those hours in time, to reach beyond the looking glass; to find me…to move me; beyond my dreams.

He speaks to me, like a resonance that smooths out waves upon a mighty storm at sea.

“My name resides in a place before your time was set. I am Einarr; a Watcher from the only Army that returns to the Light.”

“I have come here for you child; I have come before but you chose to not recognize me; until now…

The light that fills your vessel has been stored within your coded essence, to reflect out and upon every moment beyond time; every thought is recorded upon a flowing current, of what is to come…

Look into this mirror, past the reflection of your eyes that blind you. Do you not feel me, completing you, in the darkness?

Child, do you not desire to pull away the cocooned veil that spreads shadows upon your Light?

Feel your heart flutter an electric rhythm, like a pulse wave expanding upon the silken aether, you touch all that is and that will ever be.

The Time is upon you to accept your gift of awareness and come into your full presence. The very Light that has sent you here, at this specific point in time, is with you.

Time, my child, is like a connected web that branches out into the different memories of the past; leading you into different present and future moments of experience.

These moments you have marked by time and memory, exist simultaneously. The past and future appear upon different corners of the same map. It is the one you focus your attention upon, that you will see.

It is the Choice and not the Timepiece that determines your future; setting into forward motion the untangling of the skeins, that are the essence of your story’s mystery, to fully embrace beyond fear.

The mystery that was given as a gift to you was done in secret, in the Light; to create your way out of the Darkness…forever”


By ~ (c.) 2020 Tommie Flannery Baskis  I> (=


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Tommie Flannery Baskis Interview~ Part One of a Three Part Series; Featuring her Energy and Drive Behind the Patented Technologies, Writings, Science and Art!


Part 1 of a 3-part series with Tommie Flannery Baskis~

Tommie Flannery Baskis ~ Director/ CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies LLC, President of Synfuels Assets Management LLC and Atlas Energy Technologies Inc. and Vice President of Draconis Digester Technology LLC

This week I, Matt Wilson, had the chance to sit down with the talented, multi-faceted and well-rounded CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies, Tommie Flannery Baskis. I took this time to ask and explore about her varied background and current projects within the technology world, especially the Patented Wastewater and Waste to Energy Technology companies she has with her husband Paul Baskis.

Her base of operation is located in beautiful Kentucky where I was able to take time out of her busy schedule to dig deeper into what drives her and Paul, to develop and market this state-of-the-art equipment. Tommie is very knowledgeable in both the arts and science and technology world. In part 1, of this 3-part interview series, we delve into Tommie’s background and what led her in her career to the point where she is now.

(Matt Wilson) Tommie, first off, thank you for taking this time to tell us a bit about yourself, your background and the multiple companies you own and run. So give me a little background on you and your interests.

(Tommie) Let me start off by saying, I’m really excited about the current contracts and future projects that we are rolling out here soon. But I’ll save that for later and talk a little about my ventures I am currently handling. I grew up in Jeffersonville, Indiana by the Falls of the Ohio River. Very cool place to visit! As a child and all through my adult life I have always had a love for the arts. Ever since I was young, I have been writing and painting and then eventually developed an interest in photography also. All these creative skills gave me an outlet to market and share my creations which led me into starting Duskflyer Vision Art and Production. I have had many art exhibits of paintings and photography throughout Nevada, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Tennessee and California.”

(Matt) I hear you are also a published writer, tell me about that.

(Tommie) Yes, I am. I have published a book consisting of three volumes titled ‘The Abandoned Story’ that reflect upon abandoned places and historical accounts. These include my documented photographs and writings of historic cemeteries, old forest roads, rural haunts and abandoned structures that are found in the Mid-west river towns and countryside. Some of my creative writings were selected to appear on Rutger Hauer’s official website and were published in my book.

(Matt) Tell me about another company you own and run, a perfume company correct? How did you develop an interest in that and did you teach yourself about the science behind it or were you educated in it? You have your own lab where you make the perfumes don’t you?

(Tommie) Yes, another passion of mine is creating and designing holistic and natural crafted perfumes and colognes for men and women. I am the CEO/Artisan Perfumer of Angel Blue Perfume LLC, which gives everyone natural alternatives to our perfume and cologne designs. I am self-taught by studying the Shaker-style apothecaries with herbs and the medicinal healings. I Utilize our Patented Polar Solvent Extraction Process that helps me to create holistic, ‘Victorian Inspired’ artisan perfumes. I am proud of Angel Blue Perfume to offer our clients some of the finest choices made from wild crafted essences and oils without the petrochemicals, synthetic dyes, mineral oils, sulfates, parabens and phthalates.

(Matt) And if that weren’t enough to keep a person busy, you hold several positions with the Baskis line of companies you and your husband own. Tell me what positions you hold with these companies.

(Tommie) I hold several positions within our Baskis Companies which develop a line of technology for CBD extraction and Waste to Energy conversion. I am CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies and President of Atlas Energy Technologies, Inc. and Synfuels Assets Management, LLC. I am also Vice President of Draconis Digester Technology, LLC.

(Matt Wilson) Wow, ok, so we will discuss those companies and their technology in detail at a later date in Part 2 and 3 of this interview. But for now, I am thinking that’s quite a bit to handle! How and where do find the time to stay on top of all these businesses and projects? What drives you day in and day out?

(Tommie) Great question! I’m super organized and believe in balancing everything. I stay laser focused by wanting to be the best in each area of expertise for each company. I used my marketing skills I have learned through my art and photography to promote the Baskis Companies. I don’t think of all of it as work, it is a passion, so I love doing what I do every day.

We at Baskis Technologies have a deep passion to be stewards of society. We are building and creating fully automated facilities to use recyclable waste and turning it into renewable energy. I love how efficient our technologies are and mimics the naturally occurring biological designs found in nature. We are creating sustainable and circular economies which puts more power and wealth back into the communities.

But I must say in addition to all of that, I really look forward to my afternoon coffee, always on my agenda, (Tommie says with a smile and laugh). And getting outside to enjoy nature and clear my head, helps me keep my sanity. I like to bring my camera along, also, just in case I stumble across an old building or cemetery, which are my favorites to photograph and write about.

Please stay tuned and follow part 2 and 3 of our 3-part series of interviews from Tommie Flannery Baskis. Part 2 will post (21 May 2020 and Baskis Companies) Part 3 will post (28 May 2020 and Patented Technology).

Part Two: Draconis Extraction Technologies, LLC, Atlas Energy Technologies Inc. and Synfuels Assets Management, LLC, Draconis Digester Technology, LLC.


Part Three: Baskis Patented Technology and the newest Wastewater Patent from Draconis Digester Technology LLC.



~We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light~


She always collected flowers in the forest for her potions, in late afternoon~

Wild plants, with burning hues that glow in the dusty hollow, where the wingless live and have been silent for so long.

I see the wild things fly around her like moths attracted to flame.

I watched her from a hidden place on high as the wind played about her hair; gently shining like gold threaded gossamer~

She held flowers the way lovers embrace. She moved through the forest like an enchanting lullaby~

Moving into the light, as shadows danced behind her; I watched as her thoughts formed all that she could not speak…

I felt her watching me from a hidden place on high; my house had grown dark through the hours. The evening scents of sharp lilac and warm pipe ashes awake me from my dreams, as the last rays of sunlight melted a reflection upon my eyes.

I eagerly await her passing my cottage, returning to her Father.

Her silk gown flows slowly like a damp mist upon the forest floor; before disappearing into the dark trees.

I think ~ “We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light.
The manifested thought is our creation alone. Guide it; nurture it from a place of true wonderment. A place of true desire~


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