amiblackwelder's profile

    Copy Written by Ami Blackwelder2009 http://amiblackwelder.blogspot.com             Month one: March Evelyn I remember the first time I saw her, meandering like a ghostly vision up the hallways of Green Mountain Falls High. Her snow brown boots cover her feet and her high white socks stick out over the top. Her white leggings are snug and tight, wrapping around her small legs until they disappear underneath her light blue jean skirt. A small bit of...

-The Day the Flowers Died- Friday, September 25, 1931 Autumn in Munich is always the most beautiful time to her. The leaves change colors and fall beneath her feet. She loves to walk over the orange, yellow, and brown irregular shapes on the cobble stone sidewalk near her home and listen to the sounds of the leaves crunching. The skies are filled with chalky white clouds and streams of variant blues. She hops off the sidewalk and onto the wet patty grass, lowering to the rose bushes aligned a...

An award winning story from the Best Fiction of UCF, Cypress Dome of 1997. Additionally, a semi-final of the Laurel Hemingway contest 1997. From Joy We Come, Unto Joy We Return The sky is a dark and heavy rock about to drop. Her light blue shade bleeds violently with grays and dark blues. I am kneeling before my open window. ‘You are wisdom. You are law. You are our heart, soul, and breath.’ Fattened clouds roll eastward, but she is quiet. Fields of rice, reaching across acres...

A Collection of Personal Shorts by Ami Blackwelder   Falling From Mecca 'I was once told that a journey starts with the first step, so this was my prayer: for my husband to walk in my shoes.' On the borders of Iraq and Iran there is a line that divides two kinds of people, two different traditions, cultures and ways of life. This relationship might be something akin to the lines drawn between the man and woman. Inside these white mountainous, lush green lands bordering the Turquoise P...

A Sacred Part I’ve held the most sacred part of life under a burning sun A dark blue sky with white brave clouds Lazily laying upon trampled green grass freshly cut Wrapped only with a quilt made of yellow-purple patches And bits of unraveling thread Surrounded by smells of honeycomb and honeysuckle Telling me that I am tasting something So sweet, so delicate, so unique It could only be found here between you and me And it couldn’t be found anywhere else on this earth Or away from...