Falling Water: Stories & Poetry

By Blaine Coleman

Most of the stories and poems in this collection were compiled from handwritten notes in journals I've kept for many years.
The title story, "The Waterfall", is a powerful study of love and loss, acceptance, and ultimate growth.

In "Butterflies", a young boy learns a lesson about acceptance and appreciation of what he has been given.

"The Lighthouse" is a moving tale of loss and deep, abiding love. The poetic prose sets the atmosphere of the tale and offers a beautifully upbeat ending.

"Grandma Brown" is a nostalgic and emotionally moving tale of familial love.

"A Boy and His Dog" tells the story of a young boy who comes to realize that nothing is ever truly lost.

"Waiting" is a powerful and moving tale of a man's love and acceptance in the face of the finality of dying.

"The Source" is a classic short horror story thrown in for variety.

"And When I Got Home" features a young man finding his own path to spiritual enlightenment.

A short collection of poems ranges from the unusual to the more traditional.

The book closes with "Wisteria", a moving story of a man visiting his now abandoned childhood home and realizing that nothing truly dies. I think there is something here for every taste and hope that all who read these words will find meaning in them.

This eclectic collection of short stories and poems examines the universal truths in every person’s life: living and dying, love and loss, grief, understanding and acceptance, hope, spiritual rebirth and happiness through beautifully written, deeply moving prose and dramatically realistic imagery. Three of the stories in this book were previously published in ‘The Adventures of Roland McCray’ series, but the other works are published here for the first time. The poems were compiled from handwritten notes in my journals. Some of the stories are heartbreakingly sad, while others have a definite upbeat ending. One is a classic horror story, yet it suits the direction of the book, and the poetry ranges from strikingly unusual to the more traditional. This book touches on universal truths in a powerful way.
I think there’s something here for every taste and believe that all who read these words will find something of themselves in them.

"I'm actually reading this as slowly as I can because I don't want it to end! I feel as though each tale should be savored and thought about."
By1D82 Many

“The vivid descriptions are captivating, and I found myself immersed in the rich imagery.”
Estela Vazquez Perez- author of “Light & Shadows”

“The tales will swirl around the edges of your consciousness, striking in their familiarity yet fresh and evocative. From the first well-crafted word to the end of every thought-provoking tale, I remained bemused and seduced. I think you will too.”
J Kelly Accinni Author of the “Alien Intervention” series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blaine Coleman
• Release date: Mar 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311770493

Blaine Coleman

A lifelong resident of Virginia, I grew up in the rural southeastern part of the state with a large extended family. I majored in Religious Studies and minored in Creative Writing-fiction at Virginia Commonwealth University. I now live in a rural area near Richmond where six year old beagle, Leah, and her new companion beagle, Billy, have room to run. I spend my free time with my favorite activity, gardening, participate in Midlothian Wordsmith's Workshop, and read and write as often as possible. At university, I was fortunate to have many incredible writing teachers, the most recent being authors Clint McGown, and Sheri Reynolds, bestselling author of RAPTURE OF CANAAN among others. I learned from Clint McGown that prose can be as beautiful as poetry and I gained a love of southern fiction from Sheri Reynolds.In 2012 I began writing stories about a boy growing up in the south in the 1960’s. Those stories became the collection THE ADVENTURES OF ROLAND MCRAY. All three volumes are also in print and audiobook. My books are available in or can be requested at many Public libraries and paperback versions can be ordered from several major offline book retailers.I also have a new book that is a radical change from the ROLAND MCCRAY series- FALLING WATER (Stories and Poetry)- a well-received collection of unusual short stories and poetry that is also available in print and audiobook (beautifully narrated by Charles Kahlenberg). Among other projects, I'm currently working on a science fiction novel that I hope to complete in 2017.

Book preview

What others have said:

This mixed genre collection is an ingenious way to showcase the author’s broad talents.

This book is something to savor, one story or poem at a time. Take a moment after reading each one and think about the meaning and the visual created by the writer.

I highly recommend this well-crafted and thought-provoking collection! All of these stories are thought provoking, challenging the reader to see life in all its richness.

I’m reading this as slowly as I can because I don’t want it to end!

The author has an easy going style with his story telling. A soft touch that has the reader wanting more, because his words flow easily into each new tale.

…Wander into this book and you’re sure to find something you forgot, something you care about.

Ben Nelson, USA TODAY Bestselling author- The Consega Sequence and more

Falling Water: Stories & Poetry

2nd Ed. February 2018

Blaine Coleman

Text and Artwork copyright 2014, 2015, 2017, 2018

Blaine Coleman All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition- this eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To the reader: Three of the stories in this book- ‘A Boy and His Dog’, ‘Butterflies’, & ‘And When I Got Home’ were previously published in ‘The Adventures of Roland McCray’ series, but the other works are published here for the first time. One is a classic horror story and the poems, compiled from handwritten notes in journals I’ve been keeping for several years, range from the unusual to more traditional Some of the stories are heartbreakingly-sad, but all have an optimistic sense of the underlying goodness of life! I think there’s something here for every taste and hope that all who read these words will find meaning in them!

Blaine Coleman

May 5, 2018

*For this edition, the stories and poetry have been revised, two poems added, and a new cover and all new artwork!

All literature wavers between nature and paradise and loves to mistake one for the other.

Elias Canetti

Dedicated to all who love literature

And life in all its beauty

Table of Contents:

The Waterfall

Butterflies

The Lighthouse

Grandma Brown

A Boy and His Dog

Waiting

The Source

And When I Got Home

Poetry

Wisteria

"The passing now makes time; the standing now makes eternity."

Boethius

∞ ∞ ∞

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

Anaïs Nin

The Waterfall

June 1992

Wow, dad, this is great!

I smiled at Joshua, then walked over and sat beside him on the wall that kept visitors safely away from the cliff's edge. It was the first real excitement Josh had shown all day; the long drive to the mountains had bored him. The rolling red clay hills of the Piedmont, the unchanging panoramas of tobacco and corn fields, pastures with cows, sheep, horses…To me it was idyllic countryside, but for Josh, nothing he didn't see all the time around his grandparent’s farm.

After making the delivery, we’d taken whatever back roads Josh chose at random; some of the roads were dead ends where we'd turn around. But generally, we climbed ever higher into the hills and were now on the western slope of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Now we’d stopped at an overlook where a low stone wall bordered a small graveled lot. Josh took a cold drink from the cooler and immediately started exploring the parking area. He now sat on the wall, looking at the valley below. He was right; the view was spectacular. The valley spread out below us and a small river ran through a town in the bottomland. Around the town, a patchwork of crop fields and apple orchards climbed the hillsides. There was even a little white clapboard church with steeple: a calendar view if I've ever seen one.

It is great, isn’t it? You can see for miles from up here. I pointed at the ridge opposite us. And look over there, Josh, across the valley. You see where that mountain ridge drops off really sharp on one side and those long slopes back up the next mountain?

I think so, he said. What is it?

That’s a pass. It’s where the early settlers first moved west, when they left this valley. On the other side is Tennessee, then, way after that is the Mississippi River.

Oh, Joshua said. What’s a pass?

A pass? I thought for a moment. Well, if you were in this valley and wanted to get out, what would you do?

Josh shrugged his shoulders and replied, I guess I'd go back the same way I came in.

You could do that, but what if you didn’t want to go back to where you started? Or you couldn’t go back that way? Then what would you do?

You’d go across those mountains, he said, and pointed at the ridge on the other side of the valley.

You would if that's where you wanted to go. But if you were one of the pioneers you’d have animals and probably a wagonload of supplies to pull with you and you might not be able to get the wagon over those mountains. So, then what?

He thought about it for a few moments. You’d go between the mountains. He swung his hands together in a ‘V’ shape. Right through the middle of two mountains.

That’s right, I said. That’s what a pass is, a break in a ridge where you can go between two mountains.

Oh, good guess dad, and he rolled his eyes at me. I can read, you know. That sign, and he pointed at a Historic Marker, says it’s Culver’s Pass, and it was named for the man who first explored it and marked a path through. Then the trail was cut wider through the woods, so settlers could make it through. I just didn't know what ‘pass’ meant.

I hadn’t bothered to look at the Historic Marker; they’re ubiquitous and I’d stopped reading them years before. But not Josh; everything was still new to him. He read all that he could about pioneers and settlers, Indians, and the gold rushes. While his friends watched cartoons, Joshua watched the History Channel.

"But why's it called a pass instead of a path or a road? he asked.

I shrugged. Because without a pass, you couldn’t build a road through the mountains and you’d have to go over the mountains to leave the valley, I told him. It’s sort of a shortcut, I told him. A way out.

Oh. Okay. He looked out over the valley below. But why would anybody want to leave this valley? It’s nice here.

Oh, I don’t really know, I said, There're probably a lot of reasons someone would want to leave a nice place. Maybe they couldn’t grow enough food here, or the winters were just too cold. And some pioneers probably didn't like all the towns being built in the valley, so they went deeper into the wilderness. I looked past the town, to the hills that faded blue in the distance. And I guess some people just don’t have a choice.

I stood then, walked to the car and opened the map. I located the Pass, and then the overlook where we sat. It seemed that from here the shortest way out was to follow this road another forty miles or so, to Monterey, and from there take Rt. 250 east where it snaked back through the Blue Ridge.

The only other route back was the way we came and that would add another hundred miles to the drive home. Another hundred boring miles Josh had already seen. Either way, we probably wouldn't get home before dark, so I put the map away and called Joshua to the car.

Looks like we'll have to do the same thing those pioneers did, son, I told him. Leave this valley a different way than we came in... I started the car and we drove on towards the town of Monterey in Highland County. At least Joshua just might enjoy the trip home.

How, I wondered, had our choosing roads at random left us with no way home except through Highland County? When Josh and I left that morning, it had crossed my mind as a destination, but I had rejected it immediately. Yet every random turn we'd chosen, every route we'd followed, had boxed us in and now the only reasonable way home would carry us through the heart of the county. I'd been to Highland County once before; Matt and I had taken a camping trip there one summer… but I didn’t know if I was ready to go back, yet.

June 1987

Matt hadn’t wanted to go, but I didn’t want to go alone so he'd agreed to make the trip with me. I'd grown up with family camping trips in the mountains, but Matt hadn’t and sleeping in a tent wasn’t his idea of a vacation, even for just a weekend. But I couldn’t afford the Highland Inn, so it was settled: we'd camp at least one night in the New River State Park, not far from Monterey.

We'd left home immediately after work that Friday and still didn’t find the campground until well after sunset. The last turn took us through dense woods along a narrow, unpaved road. On the right was a steep drop to a river below with a mountain ridge black against the sky on the other side. To our left rose an equally steep wooded mountainside. Watching the headlights tunnel through the black reminded me just how dark it could be in narrow mountain valleys.

The campground, like the road, wasn’t lit and it took a few minutes to find a lot not already occupied. The mountain ridges there receded on both sides and opened onto a large clearing between the river and the mountain behind us. On the other side, a steep dark ridge rose towards the sky. With no moon, it was dark enough that I could point out the Milky Way to Matt. Like drifting white smoke, it meandered through stars more numerous and brighter than ever seen near a city. It was dark enough that night to be overwhelmed by the sheer number and magnitude of the stars! Matt said he'd never known there were so many stars in the sky, but I had. Growing up on a farm, I'd go outside on clear nights, especially in the winter, walk into the field past the sycamores that towered over the farmhouse, look up and trace the winding path of the Milky Way, pick out the constellations and sometimes spot the occasional meteor. That kind of night sky