Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
Bio
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
Stories (325)
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The Nest Slowly Empties
"I Miss His Voice" I miss his voice and sharing ideas about writing - the major theme: Truth. Calling once a week to share my most recent paper, poem, or prose. Sharing my triumphs and asking for his advice were the highlights of my week. Then his voice was stolen by the cancer. Just to be near him, I drove twelve hours every four to five weeks. He still had words to share with me - I would read and weep - looking up every few lines to see the tears in his eyes. And then we would sit in silence - drifting off to sleep. He would clasp my hand and rest our hands on my knee - squeezing my fingers as mine wrapped around his. Then one day the words stopped forever - I still pick up his unfinished allegory - just so that I can hear his voice once more. The last time we spoke was so long ago.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales3 years ago in Poets
What Comes In Threes
What Comes In Threes They say death always comes in threes. I am not sure about that. I am sure about the disease. First diagnosed with prostate cancer, he fought. The chemo and radiation, a part of his routine. I didn't know until he was cancer free.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales3 years ago in Poets
The Well-Spring - Chapter 3
Link for Chapter 2 - The Clearing Chapter 3 - Scorching Sands The bright sunbeams thrust through the dense boughs of ancient trees. The light reflected off the leaves. The constant breeze rustled the leaves: green sequins against a brown canvas.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Fiction
The Well-Spring - Chapter 4
Chapter 3 - Scorching Sands Chapter 4 - The Great Battle Galadriel ran down the hall her footfalls echoing on the stone floor. When she arrived at the doorway of Arwen's room she met the worried gaze of the physician. Galadriel gasped when she noticed her daughter's blazing red cheeks and parched crimson lips. Arwen no longer lay peacefully as she had the night before. Writhing in obvious pain, Arwen appeared to be struggling for breath.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Fiction
I Am The Many Lives
I originally wrote this poem in Spanish for a college Spanish language class and later translated it into English. The Spanish version of this poem is lyrical and when read out loud it has a soothing effect. However, the Vocal moderators would not allow it...
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Poets
Morning Song
I remember the day I came across the poem, "On the Pulse of the Morning" written by Maya Angelou. I discovered it when I had been doing some research on patriotism for a speech that I was writing for a Toastmasters'Competition. I had come across an article talking about her and this poem. After reading the entire article I searched for the poem. Her poem became the framework for my speech. Shortly after returning to college to finish my degree, I enrolled in an English composition course and was exposed to another of her poems: "Still I Rise". This time, it was introduced by the professor during the lecture, as we watched Maya Angelou perform this piece. I was captivated.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Geeks
The Well-Spring - Chapter 2
Link to Chapter 1: Morning Song CHAPTER 2 - The Clearing Alana opened her eyes to the sound of locust chirping and the cool dampness of dusk. Her skin was already moist from the tiny droplets of dew that covered the ground and surrounding foliage. A chill from the ground beneath her seeped slowly through her clothes and into her back. Conflicting with the cool sensation was a warmth that radiated from the top of her head. Lazily she reached up and found Sebastian curled around her head. She smiled to herself realizing that he must have found her while she napped that afternoon. Alana gazed up at the sky, still flat on her back, and witnessed the dawning of the night sky. Each new star, like pinpricks through paper added light and beauty to the night.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Fiction
