Saw this guy the other day. He sat for a long time just letting me take his picture from several different angles. I'm thinking he might have an eye toward the picnickers behind me. There were a number of them in the park the other day. I think I like this picture best. I really do love my digital camera.
Not too lean a fellow. Looks like he lives a pretty good life, at least this time of year with lots of people out enjoying the good weather.
Looked up some stuff about the crow. Have a little guide book for birds in this part of the world.
Northwestern Crow. Resembles the American Crow, except smaller and more slender. Not sure this guy fits that description. A mobbing sort of behavior. Likes to harass the American Crow. Likes shorelines, tidewater areas, edges of coastal forest. This one was staying pretty close to the water in the local park.
Liked the movie, The Crow, too. Love dark stuff like that, liked the sort of Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers angle, and the revenge, of course.
The Crow animal totem. Information about the crow, associated with the raven. Can be found here. An omen of change, be willing to walk your talk. Symbols of creation and spiritual strength. Keeper of the sacred law.
I pulled down one of my books on symbols, An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols by J.C. Cooper, and alchemically, nigredo refers to the first age of matter in the Great Work. The Egyptian pairs crows to denote conjugal felicity. In Greek, the crow is sacred to Apollo and Athene. In Shintoism, holy crows, messengers of deities, are associated with temples.
Messengers, change, spirituality. If I say it, I've got to mean it. Creation. What was this crow trying to tell me? Must think about it in the context of my life.
I'm working my way through the almost final draft of a WIP that's been making me crazy. I've been having conversations with three of the characters. So, there's Haevyn, who's in a newly-formed special branch of the Regulate military. A very special branch. She's secretive, she has been from the start. She won't even talk to me, the person who's transcribing her story.
"Why him, Haevyn? What is it about him that keeps you coming back?" I take a bite out of the double cheeseburger.
There's a look in her eye, I can feel those secrets there, hiding, cringing in the corner, in the shadows. Her whole demeanor goes still, almost like a statue. I bet she learned that stance when she was in training. But then she slides a glance toward me.
"Do you mean, Grisha?"
"Yes, him," I say, then take a sip of the coke. Mind you, I was having this discussion in a McDonald's at Walmart's. Call me crazy, but she finally opened up about Grisha. Why here, why now, in the middle of a freaking fast-food place, I have no idea. But, hey, I'm going with it. I rummage for the notebook, the pen, I'm ready. "He's just a simple fisherman, really has nothing in common with you."
I see a curl of the lip, but in contrast there's a sheen of tears in her eyes, and she gets that far away look. Whatever memory it is, this seems to be one of the good ones. "He makes me laugh. He makes me...safe."
"Safe?" I ask as I dip the tip of a really salty french fry into the cup of catsup and pop it into my mouth.
A tear rolls down her face. "I've known Grisha since we were school friends. He was there at the most embarrassing moments of my life. He was there...before."
"But he doesn't know everything about you, does he?" I offer her a napkin, which she refuses, lifting her chin, a rather stubborn, set look to her face. The cheeseburger is starting to taste like dust. I so feel for this woman. I have to keep digging because there are so many layers to her.
"He knows enough. I don't need him to know more. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel safe. And in Quentopolis, that's a damned hard thing to do."
"And the other one?" I can't help asking.
"The other one?" For a moment she seems confused and then a look of understanding comes into her eyes. The tears dry and now I see something different. A fire simmering just below the surface. "You mean the warrior...from cockrage. I only met him the other night."
"Yes, but, that was quite a meeting wasn't it? Does he make you laugh?"
A look hinting at different secrets comes into her face, the heaviness of expression, the sensuality is almost tangible. Something darker here, burning in her gut. "He's a warrior, he's seen battle, he knows. And my goddess, to see him fight, to watch him take a man." She releases a shuddering breath.
Is it hot in here or what? I hunt around for the fire extinguishers. I clear my throat. Okay. Keep the conversation going. "What does he know?"
"The secrets. He's been to the abyss. He understands the darkness, the danger. He understands the primal rage that tries to consume you. He's felt it, he's been there."
Ahh, now I'm beginning to understand. These two men are very different indeed. Hmm, wonder how this will all work out for Haevyn?
But, boy, am I glad she finally opened up about the men in her life. Damn, she's been close-mouthed.
Of course, there is that other dude who needs to open up more. Jericah thinks he's too high and mighty to speak with this writer. If he's such a damned powerful sorcerer, how'd he get stuck in such a predicament anyway? In your face, pal, start talking. He's going to have to talk to me one way or the other. I get them all to reveal...eventually. I'm darned tenacious about that. I've got some ideas about his secrets. We'll see how right I am.
In the meantime, I've got to get the groceries. After all, that's really what I'm supposed to be here for.
Today I'm guest blogging at Gabriella Hewitt's blog, talking about my novel, Silver. Take a moment to stop by. Musings from my twisted imagination, one might say. Something to start your week out with. The Erotic Imagination of a Twisted Fantasy Writer.
The thirst for deliverance and absolution are transformed into the explosive flames of a glorious undeniable, and forbidden, passion when a mysteriously charismatic masked man encounters a brilliant and handsome composer. Four lives are intertwined and nothing is as it seems. Only the ultimate sacrifice will satisfy the greedy appetite of fate...
A Bit of Tasty Scene to Tempt You...
"You like being ordered, don’t you? You like men." His voice was a steamy intimate whisper against Carne’s ear. "My touching you is arousing. How many men have you been with, Geraint? And women? Have you a patron among them?"
There would be no prevarication. This man, in some supernatural way, would peel Carne’s secrets from his soul. And Carne couldn’t stop it from happening, he could do none other than yield himself. "I-I think you know my preference, Maître . I think you know it well enough."
His mother had thought it was the music tutor who had ruined him. She blamed herself for Carne’s eccentricities. But Carne had known from an early age, when he’d secretly watched the actors changing backstage, when it had been the men who he fantasized about, not the women. He had understood his predilection for men before his mother’s latest lover had seduced him. But he never told her the truth before she died of consumption in the poor house. He never absolved her of her false guilt.
But the women give you fine jewels, don’t they? Little gifts because you please them so very much. They yearn for you to spend time in their bed, they are eager for you to sleep with them, to show them even more of your secret magic. To ply your command of…instrument in a much more personal and intimate fashion."
Yes, but I don’t give them what they want. I’ll sire no bastards. Ever." He was never going to subject a child to what he had suffered. And since he had no plans to marry, nor a desire to lie with women, he offered them no encouragement to pursue him. "So maybe they want me more because of it. But the men. They can be even more generous than the women." Perhaps so generous because they sought to assuage their guilt for wanting him instead of the beautiful actresses for whom he composed his arias to make their voices shine.
"They can also be more brutal. Is that what you like about them?"
Carne didn’t respond right away. It was that, but there was more as well. "Not all of them are brutal," Carne finally responded. "Some of them are quite…feminine in their desires."
Maitre released Carne. He stepped away and folded his long limbs into an upholstered gold-and-black embroidered wing-backed chair. He crossed his legs and studied Carne. "Tell me," he encouraged in his intriguing smoothly alluring voice. "Tell me about the feminine ones. Stroke your cock while you tell me your stories." He skimmed his long index finger along the globe of the glass containing the absinthe. Carne remembered the taste of that finger inside his mouth.
Carne’s fingers curled around the breadth of his prick, stroked up and down. He’d spent enough time in the company of men to instinctively know what they wanted. How many "patrons" of his technique and talents had there been over the years? They all paled into significance next to this man.
There is a special excitement and anticipation in witnessing a story unfold as I write the first draft , channel the images and voices in my head onto paper (or my computer screen), and then embark on the journey of crafting it, shaping it into a tale of danger, passion, and adventure. As characters comes to life things change, motivations are revealed, and this fictional world reshapes itself.
When I research, I don't always use modern, politically correct, nor whitewashed and redacted materials. I dig into the past and comb through older texts on demonology, on the west through the eyes of those who lived it, on mythology, and on a different form of exotic loving and sex play. Books written in the 19th century and earlier fuel my imagination. I adore crawling through old texts. I flavor with more modern texts, stirred with a bit of having lived and traveled in Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and the like.
I always loved watching old westerns. But I also love watching and reading horror--particularly the classics. And sift that all together with a good romantic relationship steeped high in eroticism. Perhaps I've blended, mixed, flavored, twisted, pounded, reshaped, and then baked this all together. And Deadeye is one of those creatures invoked by...more spicy and peppered tastes.
My latest story, Deadeye, is now available from the Amber Heat imprint of Amber Quill Press. In writing Deadeye, it began as a paranormal shapeshifter story taking place in an old west time period. Well, that was at the point where this story was one-dimensional theory, before my imagination went to work.
The old west was a time of danger, rugged men, adventurous women, dangerous outlaws. In other words a perfect setting for a world of devious, decadent demons and delicious temptation to thrive.
It's only as I really begin to dig into the characters and their backgrounds and lives that the story surges to life. And that's what happened with this one. Who was Vitus? What part did Caecilia play? I knew Justus was special, but I had to dig deeper as to why. I knew these characters were complex and existed in a very dark dominion. And I knew I couldn't be afraid to follow them into Infernia.
The result of that journey, the outcome of that collaboration is here, in Deadeye. What are the motivations that bring these three together? What perils will they face? And how will love triumph in the end? Are you fearless enough to travel with them to Deadeye?
I invite you to join Vitas, Caecilia, and Justus as they traverse the dangerous and exotic world of Deadeye...
Title: Deadeye Author: Darcy Abriel Publisher: Amber Quill Press/Amber Heat Purchase Link: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberHeat/Deadeye.html Genre: (Historical / The Old West / Dark Fantasy / Witchcraft / BDSM / Voyeurism / Exhibitionism / Ménage [M/M/F] / Group Sex / Contains Bisexual [M/M] Activity) Author’s Website: http://www.darcyabriel.com ISBN: 978-1-61124-040-5
Advisory: This book contains graphic violence, hardcore bondage and punishment, torture and blood play. May not be suitable for the more sensitive reader.
Blurb:
Dark and deadly adventure awaits in Deadeye. Vitus and Caecilia must embrace a world of lustful and devious demons in order to succeed in their mission. And Justus, an incubus, son of the demon lord of Infernia, must shed his dark shadow in order to accept his destiny as a Nacraecian Dreamweaver Sorcerer. Three who meet, three who must face their duty, three who risk everything to be free.
EXCERPT:
Caecilia stumbled forward toward the edge of town, the echo of gunshot ringing in her ears, the laughter of evil men chasing her, the taste of dust in her mouth, clogging her throat.
Determined, she tried to step past the city marker but found she couldn’t, her feet were cemented to the spot.
“No!” She tried again, struggled impotently to step onto the Flats, her eyes focused on the Saguaro Forest beyond. She heard the sound of dragging footsteps and turned to see two chained hell-zombies dragging the dead body of the gunfighter behind them. How easily they breached the boundary of Deadeye, soon lost within the prickly trees beyond. She watched, somehow envious of the dead gunfighter.
She felt the pull of the incubus, drawing her away, back toward the town. Undeniable lust building, forcing her to return, to search him out. She fought his control—she fought herself. Her hand rose to curl around the talisman—which was no longer there. She stifled a sob. Waves of intense heat rippled through her. The carpetbag dropped into the dust. Caecilia fell to her knees. Arms wrapped around her as she attempted to still the sexual agony that gripped her.
“Caecilia.” Vitus gathered her up in his arms.
“Oh, Vitus, what have I done?”
He gathered her close, but still the pain would not abate. In this, there was only one creature who could help her.
She tucked her head against Vitus’s shoulder. She didn’t care where they went as long as she was in his arms. He walked for a time, turned and strode down an alley next to the general store. She lifted her head. He set her on her feet, then closed his eyes and waved an arm. The scene changed.
“You have this power?” she said. “How?”
She gazed upon the shimmering scene of where they had first made love so long ago. Back to Rome and the banks of the Tiber River. A time when innocence and passion had once belonged to them. He took her hand and led her onto the lush grass.
“Do you remember, Caecilia? Do you remember how it was? Sometimes—sometimes I think it was only an illusion used by the gods to taunt me. But if it was all illusion, it’s the only thing that kept me from succumbing completely to Zevodious’s total domination.” He looked at her. “When the lust is sated, you are all that is left—all that I hold close. You possess my heart and you maintain a powerful grip. No matter what else happens to me, my love for you is all that really matters.”
“We have not spoken of that time you were sent to Infernia.”
“It is not to be spoken of.”
“Why did he let you go?” She had wondered because Zevodious was not known for leniency. Vitus looked into her eyes. She saw within them the flames of Infernia, ever present inside him. “He hasn’t released me. But I serve two masters, remember? On occasion when Zevodious summons me I’m still forced to obey. He allows only an illusion of freedom, just as Apollo does. He enjoyed the game of cat-and-mouse. The only reason I’m here is because Apollo commands. Even Zevodious recognizes my first obedience to Apollo. A god’s demand supersedes that of a demon’s pleasure. It just happens in this instance both masters are of one mind. How much amusement they must both take from this situation.”
“We’ll never be free. There is no hope for us. I always thought—always believed that someday we would be together. Instead they simply bind us more tightly. First to Diana, then to Aphrodite, and now…my body is enslaved to an incubus.”
He pulled her more tightly into his arms. “I won’t give up, nor will I allow you to do so.” He lay her back on the grass and slowly began to undo her dress. She stilled his hand. “No, it will shame me. I don’t want you to see the evidence of the incubus’s lust.”
“You have been witness to my shame. Do you think less of me because of the mark of Zevodious?”
“No, of course not. You did what you must.”
“In this place there is no shame, there is only us, Caecilia. Only our love.”
She knelt on the grass and reached for the buttons of his shirt. As he removed her blouse, she bared him. He stood and helped her up. She turned so that he could unfasten her skirts, and then her petticoats. He removed the bustle and tossed it aside. He turned her, knelt down, unfastened her boots and removed them. He removed the garters, rolled her white stockings down her legs and then removed them. He looked up at her. She cupped his face.
“Oh, Vitus, this is dangerous. They set so many traps for us.”
He rose, held out her arm, lowered his head and kissed one of her bruises. Her eyes opened wide as there was a flash of red light and when he lifted away, the bruise, and the pain, were gone.
“You have the power of healing?” she said, as she watched in wonder as each of the bruises on her arm vanished at his touch.
He looked at her. “It is a dark gift, nothing more. The bruises will not return, but within an hour the pain will. Such is this gift from Zevodious. I can offer you only temporary ease.” “And this place, the ability to conjure, is that a dark gift as well.”
He nodded. “To lure the innocent. To seduce and capture. Nothing more.” His smile was twisted. “Is it not working? Am I not succeeding in my seduction?”
He drew her close, kissed the bruises on her neck, even as he removed her corset and chemise. “His purpose in this gift is to prolong his games. To gift relief and to take it away. I’ve only found one way to bind it, and I can’t perform the ritual on you. It is a sadistic gift. I only offer it now to provide some measure of relief. I know the…first time you succumb to the darkness in your soul is…shattering. But you can survive it. You will survive.”
She knelt before him, lifted one of his feet, removed his boot, and tossed it aside along with the sock. Then she did the same with the other. She leaned up to unfasten his jeans and shove them down over his hips.
His cock sprang free. Her passion was dark and lustful, altered from what it had once been. She did not take him into her mouth—she dared not for it could not end there. But she inhaled his earthy scent. She smelled him, the grass, the water—all clean scents, remembered images and feelings filled her mind.
“I remember how it was, Vitus. I remember us. You are my heartmate, I recognized you at once. There will never be another for me.”
His fingers threaded through her long white-blond hair. “Yes,” he said, his voice, deep and gravelly. She turned her head and was met with the mark of Zevodious. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the outline of the brand. She traced it with her tongue. She heard his audible groan. He dropped to his knees, cupped her face, stared into her eyes. She saw the fire, saw the war of emotion, felt the heat that burned beneath his skin. His lips drew closer. She licked her own. She closed her eyes. He pressed his lips to her throat, her shoulder, across the ragged marks on her chest. She felt his cock pressed against her, wanting it to be inside her, filling her. She remembered the sweet ache of the first time he took her.
“Vitus.” His name was an ache of need upon her lips.
He wrapped her in his arms, she felt his hot, moist breath against her shoulder. Sighing, he pulled away. “Come lie with me on the banks of the Tiber. As we once did. Let me hold you.” She gazed up at him and finally nodded. They lay near enough to listen to the lulling sounds of the babbling water. She smelled the grass, inhaled its clean fragrance. Vitus spooned himself against her back, flesh to flesh. She felt the strong beating of his heart, heard his breaths, felt his cock lodged against her ass. He stroked her arm, down along her curved hip, again and again, until he had lulled her into a world of dreams where she could once again revel in his touch alone. For the moment the pain and the lust were quieted.
As with all things in Infernia, the illusion didn’t last. Caecilia awoke in agony, a scream upon her lips, as she writhed and clawed at the ground, unprepared for the violent lust that gripped her.
In reading "The Book of Were-Wolves: Being an Account of a Terrible Superstition" by Sabine Baring-Gould, I like the following passage. Sort of makes one realize how civilized we have become or maybe jaded is the better term. But in order to understand the possible foundation of the paranormal, this makes sense on how a primitive species might "create" monsters in the night that carry forward and alter in verbal storytelling.
"...yet we do not suppose that the wind has a voice. The wild primaeval men thought that it had, and because dogs and wolves howl, and the wind howled, and because they had seen dogs and wolves, they concluded that the storm-wind was a night-hound, or a monstrous wolf, racing over the country in the darkness of the winter night, ravening for prey."
The author refers to the "untaught mind." He goes into depth on the possibilities of how certain tales came about -- swans into swan maidens, wolves into werewolves, lightning as a forked, heavenly fiery serpent.
In essence we know too much to really appreciate, perhaps understand, the imagination explanations given to us in fairy tales and folk lore. And we read with an educated mind as in the revelation of "atmospheric mysteries." We have an understanding of outer space far beyond the primitive. We don't need to make up stories to explain "what's out there." But, especially in fiction, where's the fun in that?
Build a tale with the untaught might, bend it, shape it, explore it, twist it, make it come alive in a new and different fashion. But first explore it with the mind of primitive innocence.
5 Nymphs and a Recommended Read!! "From the start, Vampires of Noctra: Blood Bounty is a rush of lust-filled, action-packed story. The writing is superb, and Darcy Abriel draws in the reader with brilliantly-written passages and descriptions..." --Satyr Vael, Literary Nymphs Reviews Only
A vampire with a raging thirst for human blood and erotic pleasure; a man with a secret mission to find and destroy the undead. But lusty midnight passions defy logic, while boundaries and duty hold no sway on the decks of the Night Stalker. Captain Dont Lucienne is the vampire captain of the Night Stalker. His crew is human, men who serve the vampires of Noctra, providing sustenance, as well as loyalty. They are fighters as well as lovers, and devoted to their vampire masters. They would destroy any who tried to kill their captain. Skye Templeton is a man on a dangerous mission. Plucked from the swelling seas by the crew of the Night Stalker, he's exactly where he needs to be. Will he come out alive, or end up as fodder to the lust of the vampirate captain? His duty is clear, at least until he comes to know this licentious crew and their magnetic leader...until he comes under the supernatural, relentless spell of the Night Stalker.
EXCERPT:
Donté felt the tight heat of Vasily's passage wrapped around his prick, sucking him deep inside. The infusion of Vasily's blood thrummed through Donté's body, rejuvenating him, engorging hard dick and hungry veins with new passion. And then Donté shifted his lean hips. He began to rock, his cock frictioning in and out of the slick, hot channel. Donté saw the shadow of Vasily's eyes roll, head dropped back, jaw slack, and his lusty moans drenched the atmosphere of the cabin.
"Open your eyes, Vasily," Donté commanded.
As though weighted by hidden forces, Vasily's eyelids slowly lifted. Donté studied the unfocused, dilated pupils that almost completely obliterated stark white, as the vampire thrust his hips. Droplets of salty sweat decorated the golden, naked body. Donté leaned forward to trace a moist path over the sailor's chest, circling each erect nipple, razing sharp teeth across resilient human flesh.
The vampire slowed his rhythm and circled his hips. Vasily cried out. Donté lifted up, reaching between their hard bodies to grasp the stone-hard prick of the young sailor. Human, hot and needy.
As the ship rocked and swayed, Donté synchronized his rhythm with that of the ship as he thrust into and undulated against Vasily's delectable body. He reached up to where Vasily's arms were shackled about his head and stroked a finger along the warm, supple flesh of the sailor's rigid, ropy forearm, tracing the path of a particularly fat, purple vein. Vasily shuddered beneath Donté.
"Please, Captain."
Donté stroked a tongue over Vasily's bulging pecs, tugged on a nipple, chewing at it lightly. Vasily's cries crescendoed and dropped, rose again and again, like surging waves lapping at the hull of the Night Stalker. Needy, in delirium, far removed from reality.
Donté's fangs sank into the supple muscle of Vasily's chest and the young man cried out, spurting his seed into Donté's hand. The vampire supped on his youthful, vibrant lifeblood, his cock buried in Vasily's ass.
Donté slowly extracted his fangs and swirled his tongue over the puncture marks, leaving faint red indentations in his wake. He studied Vasily's chest, admiring the tracks decorated across his warm flesh. Every sailor in his crew sported the vampire piercings upon their skin, each crewmember having been personally handpicked by either Donté or Donté's vampire sire, Captain Sterling Savoir, to serve as members of their respective crews.
Human, well-mannered, beautiful young men, all committed to serving the vampire masters of Noctra Island.
Donté smoothed a hand over the piercings, listened to the thundering heartbeat, the shallow breaths of his lover for the night. This was the second time he'd fed from Vasily in less than a fortnight and he would savor tonight. His blood was too rich, too addictive. If he fed from him once more before the next full moon, he was likely to draw the young man too close to the crossover. He dared not take the chance.
Pulling his still hard cock from inside Vasily, he lifted from the bed and walked over to the table. It was early yet, hardly a stroke after midnight, and he planned to savor his young sailor until the first misty fingers of dawn cut through the night. At the rate Donté was going he might not last if he didn't slow down. Sips only, no more than a pint of Vasily's blood or he'd push him too close to the edge. Donté poured some of the finely aged French burgundy into a goblet.
He took a moment to glance up, pinning the other bound man on the opposite side of the room beneath a hard stare.
"Do you see what you're missing?" Not quite all of his crew were as well mannered as he liked. "You could have been where he is, Velvet, if you hadn't disobeyed my command."
Velvet, a gunner's mate of unique precision and fortitude, was stretched out, hands manacled high above his head, his hard cock and heavy balls harnessed, a lead weight swinging with each surge of the ship, two more weights tugged at his distended tits.
Velvet was as beautiful as any of the men on the ship, and most of the time he listened to orders. Tonight called for discipline in Velvet's case. A hair trigger temper requiring a strong hand, he'd been less than humble, so certain he'd be the one to entertain the captain tonight. Well, Velvet was entertaining the master all right, but not in the way the rebellious young sailor expected.
Donté would not tolerate jealousy, or assumption, among his crew. The captain treated all of his mates equally and he would not have any of them attempting to usurp his authority and causing dissension on the ship. One day, Velvet would learn his place. Or else spend more time on the wall than in the captain's bed.
Donté walked over to Velvet and trailed his cool fingertips over the man's sweat-soaked chest. He hefted one of the weights in the palm of his hand and then allowed it to drop away. He heard Velvet's long drawn out hiss as it dragged against a tit.
Dropping his head, he razed his sharp teeth over Velvet's flesh. Lines of red tracked his path. But he didn't sink them into his flesh. He didn't feed.
"Please, Master, I'm sorry for what I did. I'll never do it again."
"I wish I believed you, Velvet. But this isn't the first time, is it? Not even the second. You're smart enough to make first gunner, but your temper and lack of self-control are your downfall. Be thankful I didn't turn you over to Margan and have him assign you to the bilge pump tonight--wallowing in stinking water for a night might teach you a lesson. That might have been a more fitting punishment. We'll see what a night of discipline on my wall will do for your manners."
Darcy Abriel delights in the stories that flirt with the dark side of emotion and passion. Going back to the days of Saturday Night Chiller Theaters, series such as Twilight Zone and the Outer Limits, toss in a dash of Alfred Hitchcock and these are the stories that have always fascinated Darcy. That edgy sense of danger that leaves one tingling. Be it a roller coaster ride, a Dracula movie, or a good erotic horror read at the darkest slice of night. Visit the dark side with mystery and passion, eroticism and tingling fantasy. Explore what makes your heart pump faster, your blood run hotter, and the adrenalin surge.
Saw this guy the other day. He sat for a long time just letting me take his picture from several different angles. I'm thinking he might have an eye toward the picnickers behind me. There were a number of them in the park the other day. I think I like this picture best. I really do love my digital camera.
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