Last night, when my body weighed me down,

I tried to lucid dream.

The last thing on my mind was, can I see myself?

I wanted to know, so bad, what I looked like from the outside.

I wanted to be able to feel my love without him being there.

I wanted to feel my breaths and watch myself breathe.

I wanted my eyes to open and I create what I saw.

I wanted to dance without ever leaving the bed.

I wanted to fly without ever really flying.

I wanted to travel to countries all from my room.

I wanted to be without being.

The weight of the world bogged my imagination and made my eyes force me to dream heavy.

It's not even close. The smell, feel and experience of reading and rereading a book is above and beyond the virtual alternative.

Dog ears and notes in the margins.. Returning again and again to yellowed warm pulped universes. Handing it down to generations or lending a favourite novel go friends. It's magic in my hands.

Then there is the iWorld.. Glass screens that never change while the words are flicked sideways by an overactive thumb..

IMHO kindle etc heralds the downfall of not only libraries but our society as a whole..

Taking care of four little kids under the age of 8 is no small task, even for Marilyn. In her former career, she'd always been ultra-efficient and capable, but these 4 miniature "employers" were challenging, even for her.

She'd been at the top of her game when she surprised everyone by retiring to start a family. With her first baby, she was an easy mom - lounging on the floor reading with him, playing with blocks when he got a little older. She'd made that kind of time for "number two" as well. But, somewhere along the line, and without her even realizing it, she began running her children more like a business and less like the mommy she'd started out to be.

There were schedules, deadlines, prioritized tasks...spontaneity was a thing of the past, lest chaos reign! Or so she believed. Go, go, go. They were always in the car going somewhere. Her smallest, Eve, got dragged everywhere; to Kevin's soccer practice, Mitchell's piano lesson, Kelly's dance class.

Poor little Eve. She was a fixture, back there in her car seat, babbling away as her siblings slid the minivan door open and shut, open and shut, open and shut. Everyone chattered around her. Marilyn, found it impossible to focus, with everyone talking to each other all at once. So she just let their voices wash over her. Especially Eve's, since she was too young to talk.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, and Marilyn had dropped off the last kid before racing to the market. What nutritious dinner would she whip up tonight?

Why did all their activities have to converge on Wednesdays? Hump day, indeed. Marilyn sighed as she lifted Eve from the car and seated her in the shopping cart. She always kissed her whenever she did this. Every time she lifted her in or out of the car seat, she kissed those silky cheeks. Those were their rare moments to quietly enjoy each other.

Eve gurgled and cooed while Marilyn distractedly responded with the occasional "Mm hmm" or a "that's right, sweetie" - offering meaningless acknowledgment as she read labels & tried to remember her chicken cacciatore recipe in her head.

As she was leaning over the mushrooms, she heard Eve say, "Apple!" It was clear as a bell. "Apple!" Eve repeated. Marilyn glanced up to see Eve pointing at something. Following her outstretched arm and finger, Marilyn turned to see... apples, on the other side of the produce department. She was stunned. When did Eve learn to say apple? Did she just say it now? Was it her first word? Apple? Babies don't say "apple" before "mama" and "dada," do they?

She turned back at Eve, who was lit up like a Big Bird night light, and hugged her. "Yes, baby! That's an apple. Here," she handed Eve a zucchini, but realized she was getting ahead of herself and put it back, "Wait, here," she handed Eve a lime. "Can you say 'lime'?"

"Lime!" Eve shouted, completely pleased with herself.

Marilyn didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she decided to do both. Had she been more tuned in, more present, she might have noticed Eve talking before now. And come to think of it, what were her other children saying? How much of their music had she missed?

That night, after pizza, they all sat on the floor and played...and talked...and Marilyn listened to every word.

Hello, I am Stevo, that is what I like to be called. The tag 'Yowwa' was gifted to me by my best friends daughter who is just turned four years old, and she is darling.

I am almost sixty three years old, blind in my right eye and am homeless, living within the small room allotted me by my employer.

I am indeed a fortunate thing, as my job permits me time to write and read upon this, my beloved Prose.

I have favourites among you, lovely kittens that you are, but I love you all in almost equal measure. I am challenged to measure up to the quality and imagination I discover on a daily basis here on Prose, so forgive me if sometimes I fail to equal your output.

I am a devoted lover of chocolate, and despite my doctors advice to leave it be, I refuse to abstain from this delicious repast. I feel that reading and chocolate go together so irresistibly, that I am often to be found on my free days with my head buried deep within Prose, and chocolate fingerprints all over my screen.

I love reading fantasy epics, particularly science fiction, and owe a debt I can never repay to my early devotion to the American comics that found their way to the UK. I loved those early days, my bedroom was a cave devoted to Classics Illustrated, Marvel Comics and the many others that I collected and read over and over, until my mother threw them out, something I never forgave her for.

Like I said, I love Prose. I love so many things about it. I love how I can take part in several challenges at once and chop and change between them without losing your work. I am currently engaged in three separate challenges.

My favourite part of Prose is the comments section, it is here were I am happiest, making and reading comments sounds so dull, but it is vital we all hear the encouragement we need to grow as writers.

We all need critique, how else do know when we put a foot wrong, but it must be couched in encouragement to work, something I feel very strongly about.

I drink tea. English tea (even though that is only a name, we do not grow our own here as far as I am aware). Talking of tea, I do believe it is time I had another cupful, so adieu dear Prosers, and all my love to you all.