African Tomato Nut Pesto Linguini

AFRICAN TOMATO NUT PESTO LINGUINI 1

#AFC GLOBAL

AFRICAN TOMATO NUT PESTO

AFRICAN TOMATO NUT PESTO LINGUINI #4

Made with veggie pepperoni, garlic and extra virgin olive oil. Powerful flavors that pack a powerful pasta punch. Serve with red wine, beer or lemonade! This is my Vincent van Gogh of pesto pasta dishes. Rich, filling, satisfies on all levels.

Serves 6-8

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6 WORD STORIES – seat

That seat is for me, right?






 

That Was Quite A Sneeze

Many years ago while in nursing school and doing my maternity part of schooling, our teacher discussed pelvis sizes regarding ease of birth. She pointed me out and said, “Sharon, you’ll sneeze out your babies” – meaning I had a wide pelvis. At 69 years old I can attest to the fact that I sneezed out 7 dogs and 2 cats.






 

Call Me What?

You can call me anything you want, but I’m the realist writer there ever was.

And yes, I can change my own grammar. The usage of words is what it’s about.

And I’m using the words as I see fit for the occasion.








 

Beavers

I’ve been a busy beaver today.

Building dams everywhere.






 

SWEET WHITE CORN AND SUMMER TOMATOES

Popsicle sticks writing in hot, sticky tar, on hot streets, on hot summer days.

Sitting on the curb with tanned shoulders bending to the ground by the weight of the sun.

Spider webs sparkling in the morning dew.

Cool, summer streams filling the air with rushing sounds of clear running water.

My dog licking the moisture from my eyes with her sand paper tongue.

Mesmerized by rainbows in water hoses.

Sweet white corn and summer tomatoes.

Skipping to the song of my shoes against the sidewalk.

Sailing through the sky, soaring as if with wings, swinging to the freedom ring of my heart.

Lilacs smelling so sweetly in my room. Lilacs dying with sweet fragrance that I’ll never forget.

Raindrops pounding on the old metal awning in the night.

The smell of broken leaves as I walk.

Embracing cool, crisp, autumn days.

Crickets in the twilight.

The smell of sautéed celery on Thanksgiving morning.

Pictures, paintings and old photos.

The sound of crackling ice beneath my feet.

Sparkling lights dancing off the cold, shimmering ice dripping from the trees.

The smell of fresh pitch seeping from fresh cut Christmas trees.

Christmas tree lights. Sparkle days. “Oh come all ye faithful”.

A soft wind and fragrant, balmy air. Night blooming jasmine.

The fragrance of a Florida grapefruit in Florida.

The first glimpse, the first sound–of the ocean.

A million butterflies hovering over my body flapping their wings.

A light, gentle wind flickering, playfully against my cheek.

Pink neon.

The smell of new plastic.

Soft green oceans and purple morning skies in Mexico.

Blue skies in other lands look different.

Black Russian bread, in winter, in Russia.

White paper clouds hanging from Toronto skies.

Fireworks in Waikiki on New Year’s Eve.

The pitter patter sound of dogs walking on linoleum.

Serious talks and drunken dances…Thunder storms in the night.

Till the beat of my heart and the path that I walk become one.

The rose still blooms; even when it’s fallen, it blooms from there.

Prejudice in Cleveland.

Magical walks down ancient tree-lined streets at dawn and dusk.

The making of an angel.

Sweet, sweet success–exhilarating success.

Reaching the top.

Walking in a rainbow.

Radiant.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

I’m Dead

I’m dead. I’ve been dead for a very long time.

No amount of life can infuse itself into my heart, soul or brain to change the death of me.

Still…I walk, I talk, work, write, love.

How can that be – a dead person still standing tall?