books, tiny house, What's New....

Tiny Greenhouse Autumn Mums

Much work has been done over the past few months, and the Mums and Asters are ready for Autumn!! Just waiting for the colors to bloom! Padre Yellow, Padre White, Darling Pink, Jubilant Red, Lucky Purple, Magic Pink Asters and Believer Purple Asters all very close to flowering. Poinsettia have just arrived and going into the Tiny Greenhouse for December Holidays! Thank you for supporting Indie Authors!

What's New....

The Many Masks of Magzinnia Poetry…Tinyindiewhimsy

The Many Masks of Magzinnia

She goes by many faces, many masks,

You are twirling, dancing movements in the Autumn breeze,

Childlike and whimsical,

Fresh and untainted by the torments of humanity,

The beating down of one’s soul by the familiar and unfamiliar alike,

No, you, sweetest Magzinnia, you wear the mask of Mercy.

The many guises I wear are unmoving,

They will not be lifted by the wind

But weighted by the mists of time and malevolence.

They are ingrained into my soul as one sweeping transgression,

Which only the Almighty will absolve,

Allowing me to once again wear a new mask

Of tolerance and absolution….

by Tina M.E.

What's New....

Tuesday Tell All…Tinyindiewhimsy

Tuesday Tell All… Tell something you would never know about yourself to another…

My tell all is I am a Holy Witch…(I am part Catholic part Wiccan)….

Holy Witch

I inhaled the moon’s gaze upon me, as I touched upon the jagged stone. I felt my soul emerge through time, here to the place I felt so drawn. It had taken me from the sea to a canopy of green. I saw my likeness once etched into the stone. I knew nothing then, yet it was my reflection staring back at me, purged of sin only to be thrust into the depths of Hell.

I’ve come for him above the hill and beyond the mountain, where our destinies crossed, lost alone, yet I am here. My soul is ancient, so I must heal from within. My heart is pure so I must bleed alone. When I came through the veil I had left everything I once knew behind. I was the saint, the sinner, the Holy Witch. Left to the task of making sense of this past life and my place in it.

I held the fragile thread of life barely in my grasp. The tears of heaven grew higher it seemed, and I tasted of sin, and witchcraft and sorcery, and of damnation. Breathing became a task I forced myself to master.

I found myself back at the tree in the glen, the memories rushing through my essence. I wavered, hoping I would recover from the madness. But it did not go. I touched upon the pages of the book and began writing in words ancient and strange, unheard of in my time yet so familiar, they filled the parchment with my story.