~A Summer’s Dream~

~A Summer’s Dream~

The Cicada buzz mounts to a vibratory fury and descends swift, as I watch the mist settle upon the summer fields.

Bull thistle has gone to seed among the barn; white flurries dance, softly, upon the electric aether, before the storm.

I wander a lush and timeless countryside, where feathery mimosa trees blossom, in their sweet sugared fragrance, cooked by a fiery sun.

A peregrine falcon soars from a space on high, overseer of a rolling hillside.

Amish women tell stories as they hang their wet washing in the wind, to press and dry into shape; cotton and linen, sun faded and warmly fragrant, by evening.

In the old house, a slow thunder rumbles the wood clapboards and settles with the dust;

as iced lemon and watermelon waters, are stirred slowly with long spoons deep, into perspiring glass jars, for the evening porch gossip and gathering of loved ones telling stories of the day.

Swift blackbirds among the cornfields take flight, trailing a dusty path towards the lavender heaven above.

Those that have secrets will find each other in the haven of “Old Caedmon’s” tobacco barn, deep into the tree line, where dusk moves like velvet shadows over the living things…

Bare footed and cotton dress, finds me on the dust roads that wind down into Ash Rose Hollow, where I gather wild plants and berries;  horses languish in the field, with the last heated moments of the day.

As the moon finds a path through the windows, I smile, upon cool linen and satin, remembering the day’s blessings, unfold into memories of sweetness.

I secretly listen for the distant whistle of our town train, coming, always before the town clock strikes midnight.

It is a lullaby song for a summer’s dream.


~By Tommie Flannery Baskis~   2019


‘The Weight of Wings in a Dark Forest’



‘The Weight of Wings in a Dark Forest’

The Lady of dust and woods, creates thoughts in dreams, upon the weight of wings in a dark forest.
Thoughts that shimmer and drape, silk white aether, on the cindered soil of forgotten leaf dust.
She, the one they call when shadows no longer follow…
Unfolds for a presence of primal sovereignty, grand and hallowed;
A sure force of wings that are never lost-
Create a stirring of storm sound, as the winged soul takes flight
Upon the last golden arched stream of light,
To be swallowed and silenced by the dark forest

IMG_9846 T blue scarf 44


‘Lady of the Woods’

‘Lady of the Woods’


Shimmering ashes and silvered cloth, drape long and smooth,
Like a slow fog that whispers over the forest path, to adorn the Lady of the Woods.
As the sun lies down before her, a glory of mist in the smoky heaven; the very breath of Angels of the winter land.

Her lullaby… shattered crystals, that resonate bright upon the aether;
rejoice in the gathering of Wood Thrushes that will carry her tune,

To the Knight of her heart-

The stygian corridors of man, where no apparitions dare to quarter,

The Knight will find her.

In dreams, where the ‘Shadows of the Light’ speak the stories that we see,
beyond veil and mist, she will be-

The Lady of the Woods…
shimmering ashes and silver cloth, a formed mystery;

A story foretold

IMG_9349 Spring 4



written by    Tommie Flannery Baskis (c) 2018  Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions


Old Grandpier Primitive Baptist Church

“The watcher knows the mystery in the living, dances close to what we promised to not remember…”

The vision will be dreamed through the season of knowing…

The vision will be passed on to you and me…

Tommie,  I>  I=


Tommie at Grandpier church

Old Grandpier Primitive Baptist Church

It was a very old Baptist Church, settled on the outcrop of encroaching forest.

Old stones crumbled, dusty and sun melted, in too many Midwest summers.

The only reverent melody being sung was by a storm wind…

Rushing in through broken, blue glass windows.

Once was congregation in praise and forgiveness…

Now spider and dust and the darkness, vibrate the aether.


I went back to Grandpier Primitive Baptist church, a country church, on a dusty country road near the Shawnee National Forest in Southern Illinois, several times through the years.

I am glad I have captured some moments here and had this opportunity to photograph a historical and lovely old wood, clapboard church.

It is no longer standing there, today… I am so thankful, more than ever, that I have captured these photographs for my book, ‘The Abandoned Story’.

So many memories, stories…gone from us.  The only way to keep these old abandoned places alive, is by sharing the story with others so that the ones to come after us might remember the days gone by.


Angel Blue & Einar, in Iron Forest (I>) Town (e)


Matthew 10:26

“So do not be afraid of them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed. or hidden that will not be made known…

What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight…”

Matthew 10:34

“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I do not come to bring peace, but a sword…”

Angel Blue & Einar In Iron Forest (I>) Town (e)

by,  Tommie Flannery Baskis


In the sun’s shadows, is where my story lives, in Iron Forest Town; an old town, of old trees and ‘older ways’.

One dusty, long ribbon of a road, was the only road that lead to Iron Forest. A place where kindred and townsfolk alike, knew how to weave a story; knew how to keep secrets hidden;

A place where the days always feel more than what they seem; a child’s day in the sun, lived for the anticipation of the mystery, each new moment brings.

My friends, Einar, Barin, Willow and I, were taught a hard lesson from the ‘Aether’ mystery, that Autumn. The lesson, that some secrets work their way from a dark, thorny place, to cast a shadow upon our souls. A shadow that slowly infects, with it’s presence, every sunlit corner it can creep into; carving a place, deep; for the light to seek out and grow…

I live with my Daddy, Magnus in an old two story house across, ‘Sleepy Souls’ creek bridge; of which I walk daily after collecting wild plants from Caedmon’s field. I slowly cross, tip toed, on small wooden planks just to hear the creaking of the honey aged, wood boards beneath my bare feet. Wood, that is silvered, worn by time, that all the splinters have been rubbed smooth.

My Daddy, Magnus calls me Angel Blue. He said my name was chosen long before I came into being, from the Old Gate Watchers.  I was to be taught the lessons of my natural born gift. Magnus says I am ‘Seer’ on the wing. I could sense and seek out things that needed to be found.

I often wonder, who is watching me … now.

The journey begins, in the small forested Hamlet, where the town’s people have learned to walk in their own light. Magnus says to me, ‘They walk as the ones who came before us Angel, and you must do, too, in your time.”

The Menfolk, like their Fathers before them, were blacksmiths, carpenters, hunters, magicians… Protectors of the Vision  I=  Watchers in the night  I>

The Womenfolk are gilded by sun and storm; shining, nurturing storytellers, walking in their visions by daylight, harnessing the dream energy at nightfall.

The Autumn season came into our town, accompanied by storms and winds that sounded like a freight train lost in the night.

I was up in my bedroom, warm and safe by lamp glow, sewing my Mother’s white cotton dress; the one with little blue flowers that look more like blueberry stains since I have been wearing it.

I tore the sun faded hem this afternoon, as I walked through old man Caedmons fields grabbing for berries, with the briars grabbing me back. Caedmon, lets me walk in his fields; he watches me from his upstairs porch, as he waits out the sun going down, with whiskey and his pipe.

I think this gives him pleasure to see my hair and cotton dress glow in the setting sun; A whippoorwill darts past me and flies toward him as his gaze is steady upon something I cannot see.

He is a man of great wealth, owning much land and lumber. He is ruggedly handsome, like my Daddy, from years of felling trees and blacksmithing. His presence is formidable but gentle. I sometimes see darkness reflected in his light blue eyes, watching me, but I am careful as to not show him I have noticed.

Einar, Barin , Willow and I grew up together in Iron Forest Town with a deep understanding of the secret gifts we would wield one day. Our bond had been silently arranged among the Elders, long ago into the story and birth of Iron Forest.

The Autumn season that had come to our town would test the depth of our souls and the very fabric of our light, forever changing the path that was written for us…and for all.

I must first tell you about the depth of feeling I have for Einar.  He and I chose one another as children, when the Elders allowed the union of two souls to be promised, for the sake of the Seer needing a Watcher, for protection, during the time of visions.

The shadows that envelop Einar are primal, fierce and protective.

Einar is a watcher and grand seer from the first warrior. His lineage was boldly carved in a secret storm; a watcher in the dark, was his seal.

His gift as a seer and watcher, was to protect me in my time of Vision.

This bond was silent but very forceful between us…


The story will be continued, very soon…








” If They Knew our Secret”

Gateways, my ways… stories are a timeless lullaby;

dreamy, I’m forgetting, beyond the veil.

Lucid light, awakens me again.

Suddenly, moments have accountability; suddenly moments in our summer, reign forever…

Will the Angels beyond, smile upon us, if they knew our secret…


___  Tommie Flannery Baskis


IMG_9577 Angel Blue's red dress


‘Dancing in the Doorway, in Featherbed Hollow’

I can still hear the deep throaty sound of the cam on his Granddaddy’s flathead V8 truck, as he ripped through the dusty roads of Featherbed Hollow; one of the roads that led to me, that steamy summer.

I stood in the doorway, moving my hips slowly to the electric hum of cicada, while Billie Holiday’s ‘The Man I Love’ softly whispered from the back kitchen; in the late August heat of an unforgiving sun.

The only witness to a breeze, was the stir of hazy dust floating above the cotton fields.

Featherbed Hollow came to be known in namesake, for its soft and cool down feather beds inside Rose’s Ice House, down in the town valley; my Grandmother Ada, told me.

They call me Tabitha Ruby. My Grandmother says I am at the age between ‘Flowers and Honey’; still innocent and doe eyed but grown into my dresses, in such a way, that make men think of sweet thoughts.

My awareness for discovering things and respecting the true sensual nature of all that comes to us, started very early with me.

My Daddy owned Falcon County’s largest strip coal mine, called Electric Blackbird.

My Daddy, Michael was a large and respected figure of a man. He attracted fortune and the love of my beautiful Mother, Isabelle Iris and other ladies, best not spoken of, the admiration of the townsfolk with his integrity and Southern gentlemen ways.

He also attracted trouble, like the kind that comes in the back door, like a thief, robbing you of everything precious and taking your last breath out with him, quick as lightning.

My Daddy found his last breath, heroically, saving men from the Blackbird 44 mine when a shaft ceiling collapsed upon him and a fire ignited from the coal dust.

The explosion was so powerful, it could be felt in the next County of Silver Seam.

I was 13 years of age when he died. Isabelle was so distraught that Ada would set out with me to pick my Mother’s favorite wildflowers and collect honey to bring back to my heartbroken Mother. I don’t think the orange blossom honey was ever sweet enough and the flowers, one day, just did not make her smile anymore.

That October, my Mother went to a picture show in town, with her best linen dress with the silk lavender ribbon and tiny white flowers.

She never came back…

Ada said my Mother ran off with the ‘travelin’ circus to ease my mind. She knew how fascinated I was with circus folks and that one particular tattooed, strong man with the tall top hat and dark patch over his eye. He always winked at me with his good eye. He looked upon me as if he wanted to tell me secrets; things I suspect I shouldn’t hear.

Somehow, thinking my dear Mother had run off with him, the Magicians and Ladies of the night, did not evoke warm feelings in my tummy, like Ada had intended.

I have grown considerably through the seasons and I suppose this story is really about my 22nd summer of life, in sleepy, Featherbed Hollow; and the mysterious desire behind Drake and myself.

Our town was a place where everyone had a gift they shared with each other. Long hazy days and nights were lived where men worked the crop fields, animals, mines, forests and taught the children discipline and special things.

The women folk of our town took great pride were spirited and nurturing in all their deeds and loving; keeping the internal pattern of Family, fine tuned and enriched with special care. Always instructing the children to be the ‘Seers of their Dreams’.

Dusk was the special time that, where all of the townsfolk would end daily chores to assemble on big porches, men with their finest pipes and stories and slow conversation.

Women gently fanning their sugar, glistening skin as they sipped on lime iced teas, watermelon sugar waters, gently laughing and smiling towards the stars; as children capture lightning bugs in fat jelly jars.

11:00 PM, every night was known as the 137th moment. All of the town knew to offer up one special thought from something that had happened that day. We would focus upon the thought secretly, holding it with deep intention and blessing.

As we aged, we became very skilled and powerful at being ‘Dream Seers’, for the good of all.

My Grandma, Ada taught me these gifts as a girl. She called me her ‘dancer in the doorway’ because I was a dreamer naturally and did my best thinking standing and swaying in the doorway that overlooked the fields, town and valley from our old two story home.

I must speak of the mystery and desire behind Drake and myself that strange summer where the heat was as sticky as taffy and the nights where only cool, when a storm rolled in.

The town that summer, spent many hours in the shadows, apple cellars, spidered church basements, cellars and creeks.

I took my walks that summer at dusk, with bare feet, to feel the cool clay dust like sugared powder kept in the ice box.

One evening I could see the dust rising in the distance behind his truck, as it rumbled and shook from every pot hole in that forest road in our Hollow.

I had never seen this truck before and was certainly from the 1940’s. He slowly approached as I kept walking toward the tree line. We locked our gaze upon each other like we had never seen another human being.

I remember I had never seen eyes like his, on a man before. Eyes like a predator hawk, fierce and powerful. I felt tingly and thought he could see right through my summer dress down to my soul.

His smile was slow and strangely cautious; hair wildly combed by wind or storm, it was sure hard to tell; bleached on the edges by an eternal sun.

Those few moments of recognition, seemed like we had always known about the specialness within each other; it was some powerful force that resided between desire and sweetness.

A desire, that made me feel weak and sad for the moments that would come without him, being replaced with a longing so deep and unknown, it frightened me…

I knew then, all that dancing in the doorway, was just watching and waiting for him to come to me.

I told him my name; because he asked. I asked him where he was going this cool evening.

‘I ride around the back forest roads to cool down and it helps me think and clear my head’ Drake replied-

This man looked so cool and calm I figured he had been driving like this for a week or more.

He asked what I was doing alone, out here by the forest…my reply was similar.

‘I always walk these back roads; I love to look at the trees at dusk, the way they look like dark velvet silhouettes and I do a bit of thinking myself. I live in the Hollow past the old Graveyard going into Featherbed.

He smiled like he understood and said- ‘Get in if you like, we can ride it out together back here on these roads, I think a storm is coming anyway’.

We talked as if we understood each others thoughts before they were spoken. The moon was low, like a fat hanging fruit that glowed in the sky. In the spaces of silence I could feel his masculine energy, the scent of some dark, purple flowers that had sat too long in the sun, the scent of sweet hay from the fields and the watermelon scent of cold creek water.

I felt dizzy with excitement when he touched my hand and asked if I was cold in my dress, he could roll up the windows…

I told him I was pretty warm and would love a dip in the creek. I don’t think a man could have stopped a moving flathead ford any quicker than at this moment.

He came around and opened the creaky, heavy door, saying his Granddad needed to work on the truck some. I really do not think he was thinking much about that truck being worked on…

We walked barefoot in the cool creek water, feeling the slimy mud and rock between our toes. It made me giggle some, creek water always does.

He told me more stories of where he came from and his Daddy was a miner in Silver Seam. He knew the story of my Father and said that was the worst explosion around these parts.

We talked for hours looking at the stars, laughing and teasing each other like children do.

When we had spoken all the words that could be heard, it was silence that found our desire. He pulled me up into his arms and we made our way running through soft moonlit grass to O’Hanlon’s barn where he wasted no time in finding my secrets.

His kiss was warm and perfectly forceful. Touching, we found each other and moved in rhythm on the soft hay mound until we had pressed our bodies all the way to the ground beneath…

That summer was special to us both, as we traversed every back road together; stopping often, to find passion under the sun, storm and moonlight, in every creek, cemetery, barn, abandoned house and doorway that we could find and hide in.

That summer I had many sweet thoughts to hold in good intention and blessing, for the good of all; It came from the truest place.

The place of pure energy and love, the place we come from in the beginning…

IMG_6477 Featherbed Hollow


Written by – Tommie Flannery Baskis  (c.) 2019 Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions








Wild Crafting Plants for Perfume and the Old Way of ‘Staining’ Cloth

“My dream has been to create something truly special, distinctive and lovely from nature;  the scent, that when adorned, would evoke the story and mood of the carefully selected notes and essences that were chosen for each artisan crafted perfume and cologne.

I believe in the power of weaving a story out of natures own roots, flowers, leaves, wood, spices and fruits…”

-Tommie Flannery Baskis-

I was always intrigued by the sensual nature of plants, trees and scents as a child. Since I was young I was helping my Father in the garden, watching him tend his plants, all of the camping and hiking trips growing up we would take and spending time in my Grandmother’s kitchen, enjoying the lovely scents from spices she used when baking; I knew then, I had a true desire to learn and experience nature through wild plants, trees and the great outdoors.

I studied the ‘Old ways’ of the Shaker women and men and set out to learn about the medicinal properties of plants. I would find many interesting plants like wild carrot, Cattails, which the pulp like substance makes a flour substitute. Chicory roots and dandelions were always abundant in the warm spring and summer in the hills of Indiana and Kentucky.

I loved to explore old cemeteries for my books and would also find many wild plants nearby, in the forest. The sumac I am cutting is from an old Kentucky cemetery.

I loved reading the old folklore of my ancestors in the Appalachian Mountains who loved to weave a good story and used plants in many interesting ways. I studied readings and spoke with women that new about early dye making we call ‘Staining’, from berries, nuts, roots and other plants.

I enjoyed staining cloth with Poke berries I would find in summer. The Poke berries make a gorgeous hues of purple red varieties. Raspberries and blueberries also make great stains. Roots of plants and barks also make an array of light tints to use.

It only seemed natural for me to start incorporating my love of plants into creating distinctive scents that are natural for women and men to wear. This inspiration into starting my Angel Blue Perfume LLC company started early and I love to search out wild plants to bring back to my perfume studio.

I also harvest our own honeysuckle for my ‘Lady Lonicera’ luxury perfume that is processed with our Patented Polar Solvent Extraction system.

I hope you enjoy the photographs above and stay tuned for more writings on my journeys for plant and wild flower gathering.

IMG_3603 T cutting sumac in cemetery 2

Beautiful Autumn Sumac – Rhus spp.- I will elaborate a bit on Sumac but will reserve more information about this interesting edible plant for my posts dealing with Wild and Edible Plants.

These are very pretty small shrub like or trees with compound leaf structures, pithy twigs with a milky sap. The fruit berry is in a dense cluster with small, hairy and dry fruit. If you rub the berries gently and soak in cool water for 10 -20 minutes it will yield a vitamin C rich when sweetened, tasting like pink lemonade. You must drain this juice through cheesecloth to remove little hairs and berries. I would find this on almost every deep woods trail I would hike. It is very abundant on Upland open fields in IL, IN, KY, TN and Northern GA.

Sumac is a wonderful light dye to use on soft creamy or white linens.

 The sumac I am cutting in the old cemetery is in Bear Wallow, KY is an unincorporated crossroads village in Washington County.  The County was named after George Washington and was founded in 1792.

The story behind the name of Bear Wallow is that there was a small depression that bears would come to wallow in the mud.


(c.) 2019 Written by- Tommie Flannery Baskis


The Lightning Walnut Tree


The Lightning Walnut Tree

I stand small, in the summer of my innocence, beneath the ancient, lumbering, struck walnut tree.

The shimmery haze of Summer sun, hypnotizes me;  as I dream of a silver winged storm that struck a jagged, cavernous rip, down the black walnut tree above me.

Moving on the lazy porch swing by the river, I remember the pungent green scent of the walnut flesh, as it stained my fingers, prying very eager to enter its inside.

My Grandmother, Virginia Rose, told me what fine Christmas persimmon cookies we would bake with this harvest.

Dusk came with a soft tinkling of the calliope on the supine river…and smiles as we sipped with reverence, her special lemon iced tea;

squeaky, rust chain swing, breaks into the somber silence as the blues and lavender bathed our eyes from the sky.

In my downy coolness of bed, so far up the steps in the old home I see that tree.

It just stands old and knowing; letting some distant storm, stir and sway its children leaves.

I know it will always be with me.


By- Tommie Flannery Baskis  (c.) 2019


Summer Memory at Dripping Springs, Featured on Rutger Hauer’s – Soap Box Poets

Summer Memory at Dripping Springs


© by Tommie Flannery Baskis

Late summer days, linger; in hazy dreams before the door of autumn.

I find in Dripping Springs, an old forgotten rose bush by the white clapboard home; abandoned many, many summers ago.

The rotten bird house still clings to a post at the old, Pickett Cemetery; where many children went to dreamin’, laughing and sleepin’ in another place and time.

Wind moves through the dry poke weed, whistling a tune that sounds like flames cracking.

Poke berries; make the prettiest stain…for my aged, gingham dress

Deepest magenta, I imagine, will stain my hands.

Barn, gone to the trees, sees no one now.  Not even secret lovers.

Hay bales, heavy and sweet smelling, sit fat awaiting the autumn damp and mice.

Summer will leave soon; it will find its way back here again after cold winter moons grow tired…

2018-07-14 22.04.10 flower dress


Thank you,  Rutger Hauer, for all of the wonderful acting and inspiration you have given to others. Rutger Hauer raises money for women and children with Aids and HIV, through his charity organization, known as Starfish.




Marrowbone Town is as Ancient and Orphic as the Memory is Intimate with Secrets…

Summer in Kentucky


Marrowbone town is as ancient and orphic as the memory is intimate with secrets.

Light is the same at Marrowbone in the morning as it is at dusk, when the sun and star shine, upon silver fog, reach the eyes.

One will find many treasures and visions among the souls of townsfolk here. You will find them waiting for you among the thorned, Honey Locust trees, the sun dusted fields of thistle and vines, the river ferry whose secrets are told slowly and the abandoned places of Marrowbone town. These are the truest places when the moon is still and dreams are carried by dark wings of starlings.

Each season bears the weight of a dark sleep and rebirth called the Great Turning.

This is when the sibylline story is shared with spirit among Marrowbone townsfolk.

The story was carved deep, inside, from the dawning by the hand of the alpha light and the first warrior.

All men, women and children have the “knowing” in Marrowbone.

Old man Caedmon says to me “it was never taken from us, just forgotten”

This story is best shared through the eyes and thoughts of two special young souls in Marrowbone,…Angel Blue and Einar-

All townsfolk in Marrowbone live in joyful light and storm, doing what they do best; creating thought for the highest good of all.

This gift was the beginning.

The gift could never be destroyed or taken. It could only be hidden.

Angel Blue loved to form thoughts in the forests, creeks, under winter moons and abandoned houses.

Angel Blue was from the one before the beginning. She is silver light, deepest fire and the most potent thought creator, Einar has ever known.

The dark-eyed Junco, tinkles a silvery song from a high loft, as it watches her presence slowly move close to old man Caedmon’s barn.

Einar is waiting, with silence, shadow clad and cedar smoke.

The shadows that envelop Einar are primal, fierce and protective.

Einar is a watcher and grand seer from the first warrior. His lineage was boldly carved in a secret storm; a watcher in the dark was his seal.

His gift as a seer was to protect Angel Blue in her time of Vision.

This bond was silent but forceful between them.

Even when she lay upon the feathered mattress, listening to the metallic whistle of the midnight train through a dreaming Marrowbone, did she feel Einar’s watching.

He is always the protector of the dream vision, like an invisible silk web shrouding her moonlit flesh.

Angel Blue and Einar walk together with moments bathed in charcoal star skies, smoke scented woodlands, and abandoned places; in the season of knowing.

A Loggerhead shrike glides swift through the aether of falling dusk, capturing a field mouse in its talons.

Angel Blue and Einar watch the dance with death as the Loggerhead shrike impales the mouse on a long Honey locust thorn.

Einar tells Angel Blue “The watcher knows the mystery in the living, dances close, to what we promised to not remember.”

The vision will be dreamed through the season of knowing…

The vision will be passed on to you and me.


By- Tommie Flannery Baskis (c.) 2019

Property of Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions







Jupiter and Lucinda; and the Backbone of a Knucklehead Motorcycle



My Father told me, – ” Desire is a mighty strong and strange force, my child; working its alchemical magic upon our child like, puppet souls.”

I never knew where Jupiter came from that December, southern night, when I was walking that same old, red clay road that lead into Dusty Spirit Springs, mining town…my town.

The power of some mighty aligning stars, must have been positioned just so;

at the moment I felt the low rumble of hot pushrods and rockers of the overhead valve engine of Jupiter’s Knucklehead.

I did not have to turn around on this dark road, to see into Jupiter; I could feel his force coming near, closely watching me move as I sauntered in the dress I sewed together from pieces of silk, linen and ribbon that my Mother left behind; long ago.

I am Lucinda Mae and This is a story of Jupiter, myself and our friends Kane and Leroy Rose. It is best told from the Beginning…

The story still makes me smile, secretly; in a dark place, it burns brighter than the sun-

As he slowed his ride, to speak to me, I caught a glimpse of what my Daddy warned me of; His desire was clear as a winter sky;

Sharply cut, fractured blue glass-

His eyes; Cold and Expansive, in one quick moment of clarity, I see myself-

I smile, from a hidden place. the place where my treasured secrets reside.

His voice has a timbre of deep warmth and I can detect the scent of black walnut smoke faintly upon his skin.

He spoke to me.  “Is this the road into Dusty Spirit Springs? I can give you a ride in girl, if you are going into that town.”

As Jupiter spoke, all I could do was feel his energy rise up in some deep, far way place inside me. A place I have only dreamed of, before…

I knew he was like me; special, growing up wild, not knowing where we come from-

I loved looking at his strong hands, working man’s hands, as they gripped the ape hanging bars. I blushed, hoping he would not see, dreaming of what magic those hands held, if they were to touch me.

I knew, for the first time, the aching desire that I felt would have to be governed from here on out-

I said, “I would like a ride into my town, even though this is the road I walk every evening by the woods, but I am getting pretty cold, quick…”

That was a lie; I could have burned the devil himself, with my heat.

He smiled, ” Well, my people call me Jupiter. I have a brother who lives in Dusty Sprit; His name is Kane. He rides an ole’ Shovel with loud pipes, you know him?”

“I do know Kane.” I said endearingly. “He is a friend of mine and Leroy Rose, she is one of us, too….we enjoy our moments together.”

I knew then, that the dreams that were foretold, would bring a match of power and gift to us; a completion of our union; as the gifts we shared, could only be created when four of us were together.

It was what the energy needed, in order to wield the presence of things to come.

My life riding into our old mining town, was forever changed. a resetting of internal clocks that would alter the destiny of what we were and what we would become, forever.

Jupiter was the President of a Motorcycle Club, a gathering that is not spoken of. They were known as ‘Draconis Sons’. They were thought of often, when good people needed them. Feared, often by those men, that wielded wicked intention upon others. Those stories of reckoning, are whispers in a cross wind. The only thing left is the fleeting moment of fear, felt by someone who met his match…

We rode into town, on that winter, full moon, southern night, close to Christmas; I have never felt such energy, since those first delicious, moments when Jupiter slowly put his strong arm, down behind him, to reach back and touch my leg, gently;

as if to say I have you.

I knew I would make him mine-

We met up with Kane and Leroy Rose, and the union was complete. The alignment that was cast into the heavens had found its place, here, with us…

We played that night, like children anticipating precious gifts hidden from view.

I still smile, warmly remembering us riding into the December night air, finding old Caedmon’s ‘honky tonk’; we played a game of pool on a table that had seen more than pool balls; and warmed up with icy beer, before setting out with a six pack under Leroy Rose’s dress, as she held onto Kane for dear life, as his Shovelhead ripped through the cold night.

The cross wind was so strong, Jupiter’s woolen scarf choked gently on my neck as we blazed a path down old Hwy 111. I worried my homemade dress would tear at the seams before the night was through…

We stopped just outside of town and turned into the winter forest;

This is the place, I found a part of myself that had been waiting in the dark…a sweet place; a story unfolding unto the presence of primal power.

Jupiter and I got to know each other real good that evening; We both understood the specialness and mystery of our union.

He balanced the bike up like it was a toy and slid me close to him on the backbone of that knucklehead bike. His strength was intoxicating to me.

His hands were magical…and I found my place alongside the rhythm of our breath as we kissed.

With our eyes closed, it felt like a warm liquid sun was shining upon us, forever blessing this union; those moments in time, that bound us as Jupiter and Lucinda.

Children, whose souls are set free by the promise of truth in the light.

jupiter and lucinda 4



By – Tommie Flannery Baskis   – (C.) 2019






%d bloggers like this: