Okay, anyone who knows me knows I’m a fan of Eric Kripke’s Supernatural. I’ll confess I came to the show in a roundabout fashion. After seeing Jeffery Dean Morgan as Denny in Grey’s Anatomy (be still my heart!), I locked onto him in his role as Papa Winchester. I quickly became addicted to the show, even though the John Winchester character quickly faded out to occasional appearances. Now I can’t wait to get my weekly dose of Sam and Dean (Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles) battling supernatural forces, vanquishing demons, or more recently, trying to stave off the Apocalypse. (BTW, that season ender was a doozie, huh?!? It’ll have to be the subject of another post, where you can tell me what the heck Eric Kripke is going to do with our boys next season.)

Anyway, long intro to say, how about that Mischa Collins (aka the angel Castiel)?

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I took some photographs the other day, and I’m so excited! The shots I took were in broad daylight on a very sunny Sunday, but my mind is just racing with the possibilities...  How eerie would those fallen trees look on a foggy evening? How would that big dying tree look at twilight? And OMG, how would those mossy logs and gnarly roots look at night with some strategically placed foot lighting? I would love to go back – preferably with a more talented photographer – to take some night pics.

Here is a sampling.

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Yes, yes, sometimes I just can't help myself ... it's like an itch I gotta scratch, an addiction I just have to feed, a primal need that simply must be roared up from the darkest depths of my very soul! (Okay, that's a little dramatic even for me ... er, not by much; I'm dramatic.) But I write poetry sometimes too.

I recall so clearly my sixth grade English teacher (Mr. Neilson) at Sunbury West Middle School reading a poem I wrote (entitled "Towzer" after my Airedale Terrirer) to the class. I wasn't a grade junkie then by any means (that didn't come for many years), but I thought it was kind of cool (translation: I am the coolest kid EVER!) that my poem was good enough to be read out in class.

Well, I've come a long way from "some puppies are big, some puppies are small...." (let's pretend I can't remember the rest, shall we? Oh good.) But I still wind up every once in a while in that amazing and obsessive world where a poem takes over. And now these little poems can find a home here!

My poetry most often leans toward dark, but then again once in awhile, so does life, so I guess that's okay. And in its own way, the fiction of Wilson Doherty leans towards dark. Below is a bit of poem I wrote years ago... 

What is a haunt, but a whisper
what's a fear, but an old chime
and what's today for, but to live it
it all moves on over time 

so, whose voices are those that haunt us
who are they to dare into our dreams
do they barge through the door as we close it
or do we bid them come in, with a scream....
  

Heather the Jane

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So the other night, my daughter brought a metal band home.

Okay, it wasn’t the other night. It’s actually been months since we played host to a touring band. But over the past few years, we’ve hosted a handful of bands, including THE END, STRAIGHT READS THE LINE and FEAR BEFORE.

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I can’t say I’ve had too many woo-woo experiences. Not because I’m particularly sceptical, but rather, I think, because I’m not especially sensitive. But what I have come to appreciate is my intuition.

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