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innocence abroad

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.

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  • Home
  • innocence explained
  • adventures arranged
    • photography
      • ardent spirits
        • summer’s last light
        • wistful autumn
        • tattered winter
      • brother sister
        • messes of men
        • the dryness and the rain
        • yellow spider
      • covert operatives
        • the spy who stayed out in the cold
        • TTSS74
      • the swell seasons
        • the only spring
  • writing
    • poetry
  • contact

All articles filed in acrostics

how to be a human

By: littlepeace April 12, 2019
poetryacrostics, national poetry month, national poetry writing month, poems, poetry, poetsLeave a Comment on how to be a human

feel the wind on your face, in your hair …

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poetryacrostics, national poetry month, national poetry writing month, poems, poetry, poetsLeave a Comment on how to be a human

About Amelia


I'm an editrix, a writer, a poet, a photographer, and a wielder of butter. I love Jesus because He loved me first.

Snapshots

Favorite man. #fathersday
The river’s high And the valley’s low But the rain, it rains all day
LOOKING FOR: One woman and two men for a semi-creepy photo shoot. Woman: 17-22ish, somewhat “delicate” looking, OK with portraying a runaway bride in the middle of the woods. And maybe wearing specialty makeup. Man one: 19-28ish, looks like he has some money, OK portraying husband of runaway bride in the woods. Man two: actual age is immaterial if you can convincingly portray someone upper 30s to mid-40s, rough-and-tumble, angry and impulsive. I can’t pay much in money, but I do pay in baked goods and coffee (and fun — plus copies of the images). Send me a PM if you’re interested. (I’m thinking of shooting in July.)
I don’t think I believe in ghosts, as such — but I believe everywhere is haunted. Not with lingering vengeful spirits, but with history, the story of our world and its people and places. I go out into my backyard sometimes and wonder if the travelers on the Santa Fe trail ever wandered off course just enough to cut across our property. I wonder whether Native American groups ever lived nearby. I wonder about the last days of the coral that built the layers of limestone we dig out of the garden every spring. Some people want to forget the past. I want to remember every detail because it made us who we are.

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all writing and photographs, unless otherwise noted or obvious, are the work of amelia m. freidline and may not be used or distributed without permission.
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