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by English Muse

For about three weeks out of the year (starting around now), I really wish I lived in a place where it snows!

I grew up in Albuquerque, NM on the base of the Sandia Mountains. We could always count on a few snow days during winter. I especially loved nighttime after a snowstorm. The ground and sky were illuminated by a white twilight.

It never snows in LA. It only rains and rains…

What’s your favorite snow memory?

Photos from {here}.

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34 Responses to “Snow Day”

  1. Tonia says:

    Sledging down the hill where we live on an old tea tray with the dog chasing us. And our chickens shaking their feathers in disgust, balancing on one leg!

  2. Anna says:

    we used to build tunnels from the house to the barn & have snow ball fights in the hay lofts.
    my farm in the snow

  3. Crystal @ Plush Palate says:

    That is one thing I love about living in Chicago, the snowy winters (though it can be miserably cold)!

    Wishing you a miracle of a snowfall in LA :)

  4. Antonio Barros says:

    I'm in Ukraine right now and I woke up today and saw all snow outside.. just like you saied! It is soooo pretty!!!

  5. Melissa Blake says:

    Gah, there are so many good memories. Growing up in the Midwest, snow is pretty much the norm from December through March. :)

  6. Lorelle says:

    Such beautiful pictures of snow! I love winter and I get my fill of it here in Upstate New York. It's hard to pick a favorite memory–but there was one winter where the snow was up past my waist. I was a child and would pretend that I lived in a snow colony.

  7. un bel oiseau says:

    come to boston. it snowed in october this year!!!

  8. Same New Story says:

    these are so beautiful! we have been getting no snow here (in nyc) but i am heading up north this weekend and i think i may get a chance to play in it then.

  9. Brandi says:

    Actually my favorite memory comes from last year when my boyfriend and I were outside shoveling the driveway and laughing like we always do. It's just nice to have someone to share these little chores with and make them fun. I'm kinda glad San Diego doesn't get any snow, but I just returned to the NJ/NYC area so I hope to see something white fluffy and flaky fall from the sky while I'm here.

  10. Adriana says:

    I've only ever seen snow once, I was in my final year of highschool on a school trip. I tried snow boarding and tore my knee ligament…and I had my end of year dance exam for my HSC that same year so couldnt rehearse for a while, I also ended up doing my final Drama piece on crutches, I had to improvise it into my character…ohhh the memories. I'd love to see the snow again! Frightening and beautiful

  11. mama-face says:

    Beautiful photos; we had our family pictures taken in the snow last year. We were freezing (though at least we had sweaters, unlike that girl :) ),
    and they were the best we've ever had taken.

    I can't think of a favorite memory; only the fact that I love love love the first snowfall of the season; but pretty quickly I can't wait for spring.

  12. The Lil Bee says:

    Oh gosh, these are so so pretty. I have so many memories of sleigh riding in my hometown, where we always had loads and loads of snow days. I put some photos up of NYC snowfalls today (from Jamie's blog) and they are so gorgeous. New York this time of year is my favorite when it snows!

  13. mkendall says:

    I know how you feel. I'm in Atlanta and it used to snow here at least a few times every year, but lately nothing. I miss it so!

    My favorite was when we had a blizzard in march of 93 and school was closed for almost a week. Snow up to my stomach! I love it.

  14. Brian Miller says:

    lovely pics! i so want a snow day…once it snowed sevral feet deep, we built themost amazing forts, had to have a sno plow come up our hill so we could get out, which made some amazing snow mountains…

  15. Jennifer says:

    I grew up in Cali but recently moved to Montana. I am always thankful after the first snow of the season. I put my snow shoes on just so I can tromp around in the snow to hear the crunching sound that it makes.

  16. WrightStuff says:

    Just come back from a meeting in London where… it is snowing!! Not that common a sight really in the City and especially in December. It wasn't enough to make it pretty though and there was a nasty icy wind with it!

  17. DailyDivaDish says:

    Such beautiful pictures! I grew up in a snowy area…and absolutely loved being the first one out, early in the morning after a big snow.

    With the extra insulation of snow….the world was silent. I felt like I was the only person in the world. Loved that kind of peacefulness every once in awhile.
    XO Piper

  18. Seyma says:

    oh dear God Tina!! those pictures literally made my day :) sigh sigh..

    we used to do snow mans every winter but we don't anymore.. i kinda miss those days..

  19. hawthorne girl says:

    I've been following your blog for quite some time and had no idea you were from ABQ. Too funny, that's where I'm from. I was just there and in Taos last week. Taos was cold and snowing and unbelievably beautiful. I'm in Oregon now which is gorgeous but there really is something about NM that is so different. I understand your homesickness!

  20. Louis Duke says:

    I love snow!! It is one of the greatest things in the world!! Unfortinately, like you, I live in an area of the country where the most we ever get is freezing cold rain.

    Also, I love how you rearranged everything. Your sidebar looks so much better now!! I love your new look. It feels so clean and fresh!!

    You also must tell where you got the "Top Commenters" widget in your sidbar, because I want one for sure!

    Did you do the scenes in your footer with links your other blog?? I love them!! They are so great.

  21. Caroline says:

    Love the London shot! I grew up in upstate NY and the day of a fresh snowfall is magical… like powdered sugar coating the trees.

  22. Melanie's Randomness says:

    I love making snow angels. I live in New York so it snows all the time. Aww. If I could put the snow in tupperware I would & send it to ya. We usually get more than enough to share!

  23. Amanda says:

    I've been thinking the same thing lately. I was actually born where it snows and I remember going back to visit family and seeing snow. I really don't have any cool snow memories though :(

  24. Cassara says:

    I grew up in Minnesota, it's cold more than half the year and snowy another third. I miss being out winter break from morning to night, watching the sunset and having my nose ice cold, sledding. I'm in Arizona now. It's 72 degrees outside, I miss the feeling of my nose thawing.

  25. leah bell says:

    my favorite snow memory is waking up at 6AM, staring at the news, waiting for my schools' name to show up on the "snow day" list. when it did, i immediately ran to my neighbors back yard to build an igloo with the other neighborhood kids! :)

  26. erin says:

    it is so lovely, isn't it? if i keep up with my posts about snow, i'm going to have to change the name of my blog. but everything just feels so magical under a layer of whiteness, i can't help myself!

  27. Every Little Counts says:

    ah, and it hardly ever rains in LA. you need to make a trip out to the moutntains- big bear, mammouth, or even closer- just travel up the 2 into the mountains.
    i'm still waiting for it to snow in nyc! i miss the quiet of a snowstorm… no cars on the road, the soft glow of streetlights, there's nothing like it.

  28. Jackie says:

    oh man! I've been wishing to do a snow shoot soon and these are just the right inspiration! lovely!

  29. 2 By Design says:

    I'm an Arizona native so as you can imagine, my snow stories are limited! One December evening though, (looooong ago) I remember waiting with my then boyfriend for ride home from school. It was dark, I was freezing and right as he gave me his jacket, it started to lightly snow. The relationship was less than memorable but thanks to that night he'll always have a piece of my heart!!

  30. Dominique says:

    Woo, Southwest represent! I'm from El Paso. We don't get as much snow as NM, but I always loved running around in the mountains when it did.

  31. Laura [What I Like] says:

    We had a blizzard in New York on President's Day weekend years ago. The whole city was just quiet and soft…

  32. thevoyageofv says:

    I think this weekend might just be my favorite snowy memory!
    I live in Sweden, where it just started to snow and look magical this past week. Then I left on Friday to come home to Philadelphia for the holidays, where we got a blizzard the very next day! My parents didn't cancel their Christmas party and about 20 people were crazy enough to treck all the way out to us in the snowstorm! It's been a beautiful weekend, one of the best.

  33. Ama Livia Reynolds says:

    Growing up, for the most part, in the Sunshine State of Florida, weather mostly consisted of wet blanket heat, heavy summer rainstorms, and a few bouts of sun-filled, windy cold in the winter. My first memory of snow, first site of snow, was my visit to Oklahoma City at the age of 10. We drove slowly from Austin, TX to OKC to visit my grandparents, and when we finally arrived, in the dark, the white of snow on the ground amazed me, the crunch, the quietness, and my favorite part? My Florida mama walking through the snow in her cloth Chinese Mary Janes, soaked through my the time we got to the front door of my recently, dearly departed Grandma Jeanne and Grandpa PJ, the warmth of love and welcoming so much sweeter with that snow outside. Thank you for inviting me to invoke this sweet memory.

  34. melissa says:

    I didn't know you were from Albuquerque! My husband is from there too! (Well, he lived in Roswell, NM when he was younger…) Small world. 😉

    Hope you have a wonderful holiday!!

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• Adopted: 04-30-13
  • Gender: Female
  • Age: 4 yrs
  • Size: 40 lbs
  • Color: Blue
  • Cats: Yes
  • Dogs: Yes
  • Traits: Sweet and bouncy

Brittney is a sweet Blue girl. At 4 years old and 40 pounds, she is well-versed in house manners, such as no counter-surfing, no begging, no chewing on household items.  She is completely house trained. She also knows her basic obedience commands and is learning to sit and wait before going outside.

When Brittney is outside, she is bouncy and energetic and has a ball chasing birds and squirrels around the yard. She is a bundle of energy out there and will run laps around the yard with her foster brother. While she is playful with her foster brother, she does not rough-house with him.

As soon as she comes inside, she is quite the lady.  She is calm and collected, and plops down on a dog bed or the floor and watches over the happenings of the house. Her favorite treat is tapioca pudding. She’ll turn down countless dog treats, but she’ll sit and patiently wait for a share of the pudding. Brittney is a quick learner and has settled into the routine of the foster home. She likes to relax and keep her foster parents company in the home office. She’s a pretty quiet dog, only barking at strange noises or when her foster brother starts to bark at something. She completely ignores the feline foster siblings. They can walk right by her and she doesn’t even bat an eyelash at them.

She loves to go for a walks and hikes. She’s getting better at walking on a leash; she just needs some practice. She thinks a car ride is awesome and likes to look out the window. Brittney likes to meet new people and their pets.  She doesn’t get nervous in new environments at all.

Brittney is learning that it’s ok to crawl up on the couch and snuggle up to her foster parents. She’s finding that it’s awful nice to be petted and snuggled. She sleeps on a dog bed in the bedroom at night, but is fine curling up on the bed as well.

She’s a wonderful and sweet dog that will make a very happy addition to any family.

Debra O'Day wants pretty Brittney to have a wonderful forever home where she can play outside, relax inside and enjoy pudding every now and then!

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Entertainment Gaming Asia to List on the NASDAQ Capital Market

HONG KONG--()--Entertainment Gaming Asia Inc. (NYSE MKT: EGT) (“Entertainment Gaming Asia” or “the Company”), a leading gaming company focused on emerging gaming markets in Pan-Asia, today announced that it has been approved for listing on the NASDAQ Capital Market under its current ticker “EGT.” Trading on the NASDAQ Capital Market is expected to commence on December 31, 2012. The Company’s common stock will continue to trade on the NYSE MKT until the market close on December 28, 2012.

Clarence Chung, Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Entertainment Gaming Asia, commented, “We are pleased to announce our listing on the NASDAQ Capital Market. We believe that the move to the NASDAQ will provide shareholders strong execution and improved potential liquidity through NASDAQ's advanced trading technologies. Further, we believe that it will afford us greater visibility within the investment community, facilitating new opportunities to expand our institutional shareholder base. We are proud to join the impressive list of gaming companies already traded on the NASDAQ exchange.”

About Entertainment Gaming Asia Inc.

Entertainment Gaming Asia Inc. (NYSE MKT: EGT) is a leading gaming company in Pan-Asia engaged in the development and operation of casinos and gaming venues in the Indo-China region under its “Dreamworld” brand as well as the leasing of electronic gaming machines on a participation basis to the gaming industry. The Company also manufactures and sells RFID and traditional gaming chips and plaques to major casinos through its wholly-owned subsidiary Dolphin Products in Australia. For more information please visit www.EGT-Group.com.

Forward Looking Statements

This press release contains forward-looking statements concerning Entertainment Gaming Asia within the meaning of Section 27A of the Securities Act of 1933, as amended, and Section 21E of the Securities Exchange Act of 1934, as amended. Those forward-looking statements include statements regarding expectations for enhancing liquidity, improving visibility and investor recognition, and broadening exposure of the stock to institutional investors of Entertainment Gaming Asia. Such statements are subject to certain risks and uncertainties, and actual circumstances, events or results may differ materially from those projected in such forward-looking statements. Factors that could cause or contribute to differences include, but are not limited to, risks set forth in Entertainment Gaming Asia’s annual report on Form 10-K for the year ended December 31, 2011 filed with the SEC on March 30, 2012 and subsequently filed quarterly reports on Form 10-Q. Entertainment Gaming Asia cautions readers not to place undue reliance on any forward-looking statements. Entertainment Gaming Asia does not undertake, and specifically disclaims any obligation to update or revise such statements to reflect new circumstances or unanticipated events as they occur.

Entertainment Gaming Asia Inc.
Traci Mangini, 312/867-0848

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From: Leon Kaye, Triple Pundit, More from this Affiliate
Published March 22, 2012 06:27 AM

McDonald’s to test Paper Cups for hot drinks

McDonald’s announced it would test paper coffee cups instead of the current foam cups in 2,000 of its U.S. locations. Part of McDonald’s resurgence in recent years was because of their new McCafe drinks and improved roasted coffee. But in addition to giving coffee chains like Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts a run for their money, all those polystyrene foam cups create massive amounts of waste.

In addition to the waste problem, international health organizations like the International Agency for Research on Cancer have suggested that styrene in any form could have links to cancer. And as more consumers question not only the ingredients that make up their food, but the packaging in which they are delivered, even large companies like McDonald’s are taking a hard look at how they wrap and contain their products.

Calls for improved packaging are a familiar refrain for McDonald’s. In the 1980s, growing outcry about those bright polystyrene clamshell burger containers pushed McDonald’s into using paper instead. McDonald’s touts its reduce, reuse and recycle program, and now this is the opportunity for the burger giant to put its money where its mouth is. A change in business practices is important: litter from fast food companies is not only challenging municipalities with their waste diversion plans, but pollutes water supplies across the country, too.

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From: Andy Soos, ENN
Published August 10, 2011 01:11 PM

New Nuclear Reactors

An attempt to build the first brand-new nuclear power plant in a generation has taken a step forward now that staff at the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission says plans to build new reactors in Georgia meet safety requirements. The federal regulators issued two related safety reports Friday that cleared the design of Westinghouse Electric Co.'s AP1000 nuclear reactor and plans by the Atlanta-based Southern Co. to build two of those reactors at Plant Vogtle near Augusta. The NRC's commissioners must still decide whether to give final approval to the reactor design and its construction in Georgia. It's been more than 20 years since the last commercial energy reactor was constructed in the U.S.

Proponents of the AP1000 say it would be safer during a prolonged power outage than the country's existing 104 commercial reactors because the AP1000 relies on gravity and evaporation to run its emergency cooling systems, not electricity. A March 11 earthquake and tsunami that knocked out emergency power at the Fukushima Dai-ichi nuclear plant in Japan led to reactor meltdowns, explosions and radiation releases.

During an accident at an AP1000 reactor, emergency cooling water would be released from a large tank atop a 10-story-high shield building and fall onto a steel shell that surrounds a vessel containing highly radioactive nuclear fuel and other vital equipment.

While the AP-1000 could become the fourth approved model, only two are current designs. General Electric’s Advanced Boiling Water Reactor, or A.B.W.R., approved in May 1997, is available to the industry. The two others that have been approved are no longer considered current: the AP-600, a Westinghouse offering in the 1990’s that no one built but received regulatory approval in December 1999, and the System 80+, based on a design by Combustion Engineering, a company later absorbed by competitors that was approved in May 1997.

There are still opponents, and they may still seek to delay approval. They usually argue that some part of the design is not safe enough or even argue that no nuclear design can be safe.

Nuclear power is the primary source of electric power in France. In 2004, 425.8 TWh out of the country's total production of 540.6 TWh of electricity was from nuclear power (78.8%), the highest percentage in the world.

France is also the world's largest net exporter of electric power, exporting 18% of its total production (about 100 TWh) to Italy, the Netherlands, Belgium, Britain, and Germany, and its electricity cost is among the lowest in Europe.  France's nuclear power industry has been called a success story that has put the nation ahead of the world in terms of providing cheap, CO2-free energy. However, France's nuclear reactors are mainly used in load-following mode and some reactors close on weekends because there is no market for the electricity. This means that the capacity factor is low by world standards, which is not an ideal economic situation for nuclear plants.

So nuclear power does have its advantages.

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From: Andy Soos, ENN
Published November 29, 2011 08:06 AM

New Chemical Hazard Studies

Some chemical information is considered confidential for a variety of reasons. Periodically these reasons are reviewed and the in time confidentiality protection can be dropped. Since 2009, 577 formerly confidential chemical identities are no longer confidential and more than 1,000 health and safety studies are now accessible to the public that were previously unavailable or only available in limited circumstances. In 2010 EPA issued new guidance outlining the agency’s plans to deny confidentiality claims for chemical identities in health and safety studies under the federal Toxic Substances Control Act (TSCA) that are determined to not be entitled to CBI status. EPA has been reviewing CBI claims in new and existing TSCA filings containing health and safety studies.

Consistent with the guidance, the agency will request that the submitter voluntarily relinquish the CBI claims and make the newly available studies available to the public. EPA also challenged the chemical industry to make available information that was previously classified as CBI. To date, more than 35 companies have agreed to review previously submitted filings containing health and safety studies and determine if any CBI claims may no longer be necessary.

The newly available information can be found under a new declassified tab using the Chemical Data Access Tool, launched in December 2010 to assist the public in retrieving chemical health and safety information submitted to EPA under TSCA.

1,014 documents have been added previously bringing the total to 14,166 in the past year. CDAT includes other declassified documents that are now publicly available.

For further information:

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Homework Help

What message does the ending of "Shawshank Redemption" send to society?

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What message does the ending of "Shawshank Redemption" send to society?

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The messages from King's works are fairly powerful.  One theme is the idea that hope is something that is worthy of fight and defense.  Red believes that hope is something that is antithetical to one's survival.  His relationship with Andy is one that allows him to understand the importance and power of hope and belief in something outside of what is.  Another theme that comes out of the work is the humanity needed to view all human beings.  The idea of prisoners being demonized is rebutted by the work.  Prisoners are depicted as any human being, filled with moments of dignity and moments of revulsion.  In the final analysis, the depiction of prisoners is one tempered with the brush of humanity.  In my mind, the final theme of the work is the idea of reflection being critical to one's state of being.  Between Andy and Red, their time in prison is marked by the idea of reflection on the arc of their lives to better understand both their mistakes as well as the potential to living a better life in what is left.  Both characters' ability to reflect on their lives helps bring to light the idea that individuals gain much more when they are able to better understand their actions and the impact caused upon the larger social setting.

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Homework Help

what is it the women do that drives montag over the edge?

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what is it the women do that drives montag over the edge?

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I assume you are referring to Mildred and her "friends" in the parlor, including Mrs. Phelps.

1. They get together in order to watch the parlor walls. Their entire reason for getting together is a mindless television show that is violent and mind numbing.

2. They speak of their children like they are nothing more than a household chore. This shows them as unnatural because they lack any maternal instincts. They talk of the C-Section births as no big deal, and then sending their kids off to school six days a week and then plopping them down in front of the parlor walls when they are home. Not much more difficult than doing the laundry...

3. They speak of their husbands and the impending war in complete ignorance. Mrs. Phelps has been married several times-- her husbands keep disappearing--but still believes the little war is going to be over in a weekend. She has no concept of what fighting a war really means or how it might affect everyone.

All of this leads to Montag reading the poem "Dover Beach" in which the world is described as being void of faith and desolate much like the society in 451.

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Ernesto Cardenal Essay - Cardenal, Ernesto (Vol. 161)

Cardenal, Ernesto (Vol. 161)

Ernesto Cardenal 1925-

Nicaraguan poet, translator, and nonfiction writer.

The following entry presents an overview of Cardenal's career through 1997. For further information on his life and works, see CLC, Volume 31.

Noted as a major contemporary Latin-American poet and literary spokesperson for the political struggles of the Nicaraguan people, Cardenal, an ordained Catholic priest, is known for the unique fusion of Christian theology and Marxist political philosophy in his works. Cardenal's poetry often focuses on Latin-American history and comments on contemporary society, culture, and politics. His poetry incorporates a montage style, juxtaposing disparate voices from history, biblical lore, and contemporary popular culture, as well as interweaving lyrical passages with prosaic lines of verse. His most celebrated works include Hora 0 (1960; Zero Hour), Salmos (1967; The Psalms of Struggle and Liberation), and Homenaje a los indios americanos (1969; Homage to the American Indians). Cardenal's poetry has often been compared to the works of poets Pablo Neruda and Ezra Pound.

Biographical Information

Cardenal was born January 20, 1925, in Granada, Nicaragua. He attended the University of New Mexico, where he studied literature and philosophy from 1944 to 1948, and Columbia University in New York City from 1948 to 1949. His first volume of poetry, Ansias lengua de la poesia nueva nicaraguense, was published in 1948. Cardenal returned to Nicaragua in the early 1950s, where he became involved in political activism in opposition to Nicaraguan President Anastasio Somoza. In 1956 Cardenal converted to Catholicism and enrolled in the seminary at the Trappist Monastery in Gethsemani, Kentucky. Studying under the renowned monk, scholar, and poet Thomas Merton, Cardenal developed a commitment to nonviolence. Due to health problems, Cardenal left Kentucky before completing his course of study, but continued his studies in Mexico and was ordained a Catholic priest in 1965. He subsequently founded his own commune in Solentiname on an island in Lake Nicaragua where he could promote his unique synthesis of religious vision and commitment to social justice. During the 1960s, Cardenal published over ten volumes of poetry. In 1970, he visited Cuba, where he experienced what he called a “second conversion” and developed a philosophy of Christian Marxism that synthesized his religious and political convictions. The escalating political oppression in Nicaragua contributed to Cardenal's renouncement of his former commitment to nonviolence and his embracement of revolutionary struggle. During the 1970s, Cardenal published over twenty volumes of poetry and gave readings of his work during tours throughout the United States. In 1977 he became a chaplain for the revolutionary Sandinista Liberation Front. The Nicaraguan government responded to Cardenal's political activities by destroying his commune at Solentiname and sending him into exile in Costa Rica. In 1979 when the Sandinista revolution overthrew Somoza, Cardenal returned to Nicaragua and was appointed Minister of Culture. He eventually resigned from this post, however, in disagreement over human rights abuses committed by the new government. During the 1980s, Cardenal was criticized for his liberation theology by Pope John Paul II, who considered the poet-priest's politics to be at odds with the philosophy of the Catholic Church. During the 1980s and 1990s, Cardenal published over twenty-five volumes of poetry.

Major Works

Cardenal's dominant themes throughout his four decades of writing poetry have included religious prophecy, Marxism, and political struggle. Cardenal's poetry often explores Latin-American history, from the pre-Colombian native cultures to the era of colonialism, focusing strongly on the latter's relationship to the problems of contemporary governments and modern culture. His early poem “With Walker in Nicaragua” is set during the nineteenth century when an expedition from the United States attempted to make Nicaragua a colony of the Southern Confederacy. Cardenal relates the story of one of his ancestors, a Nicaraguan woman who married a white man from the expedition. The poem is largely devoted to examining the perspective of the white man who renounces the stated mission of his countrymen. “Zero Hour” concerns the assassination of Cesar Augusto Sandino, a Nicaraguan revolutionary leader, in 1933. Sandino, the hero of the poem, employs guerilla tactics in an attempt to expel the United States Marines from Nicaragua. Through Cardenal's portrayal of this historical figure, the poet addresses themes of political resistance and Nicaraguan nationalism from the perspective of both biblical prophecy and Marxist political theory. The volume Gethsemani, Ky (1960) is comprised of a series of short poems based on Cardenal's notes taken while studying for the priesthood in Gethsemani, Kentucky. His poem “Oracion por Marilyn Monroe” (“Prayer to Marilyn Monroe”) is a commentary on modern commercialism as a corrupting cultural influence. The works collected in El estrecho dudoso (1966; The Doubtful Strait) make extensive use of biblical references and the colonial history of Latin America to comment on modern political struggles. Continuing Cardenal's use of biblical allusions, the poems in The Psalms of Struggle and Liberation take the form of Old Testament psalms to express outrage at the social oppression inflicted by modern governments on their constituents. In Homage to the American Indians, Cardenal contrasts the oppression and commercialism found in many modern societies with the spiritual wholeness and pacifism of the pre-Colombian cultures of the Mayan, Incan, and Nahuatl Indians. Golden UFOs (1992), a collection of Cardenal's previously published poetry, further examines the native cultures of the South, North, and Central Americas, once again viewed through the poet's Christian-Marxist perspective. Cosmic Canticle (1993) brings together thirty years of Cardenal's canto poetry in one long, epic poem. The volume covers historical events in Nicaragua and throughout the world, spanning from the origins of the universe to the present day. In these poems, Cardenal contemplates the role of political leaders, oppressed peoples, capitalism, and the Nicaraguan Revolution, among other topics.

Critical Reception

Critics have consistently commented on Cardenal's mixture of Christianity and Marxism in his poetry. However, many reviewers have argued that Cardenal manages to avoid the strident tones and didacticism of other political poets, although his political views are increasingly explicit in his later works. Cardenal has been praised for effectively commenting on contemporary society and politics through his writings placed in pre-Colombian and early colonial Latin-American settings. Critics have also observed that, despite his focus on oppression and human suffering, Cardenal has maintained a strong sense of hopefulness and idealism, as evidenced by his frequent expressions of a utopian vision of the future. Critical response to Cardenal's poetry has often focused on the unique theological perspective of his works. Commentators have frequently discussed the elements of biblical prophesy in his poetry, noting his use of biblical references in his verse which also utilizes contemporary language to comment on history and modern society. Stylistically, Cardenal has been praised for his lyricism, experimental use of form, and well-crafted poetry, particularly his use of the canto form invented by Pound and later employed by Neruda. Cardenal has also been lauded for his montage style of writing, and his ability to juxtapose a variety of voices, including historical documents, colloquial Spanish, pop culture references, and biblical passages to create a decidedly individual poetic form.

Principal Works

Ansias lengua de la poesia nueva nicaraguense (poetry) 1948

Gethsemani, Ky (poetry) 1960

Hora 0 [Zero Hour] (poetry) 1960

Epigramas: Poemas (poetry) 1961

Oracion por Marilyn Monroe, y otros poemas [Marilyn Monroe and Other Poems] (poetry) 1965

El estrecho dudoso [The Doubtful Strait] (poetry) 1966

Salmos [The Psalms of Struggle and Liberation] (poetry) 1967

Mayapan (poetry) 1968

Homenaje a los indios americanos [Homage to the American Indians] (poetry) 1969

La hora cero y otros poemas [Zero Hour and Other Documentary Poems] (poetry) 1971

En Cuba [In Cuba] (nonfiction) 1972

Epigramas (poetry) 1972

Canto nacional (poetry) 1973

Oraculo sobre Managua (poetry) 1973

La santidad de la revolucion [The Sanctity of the Revolution] (poetry) 1976

Poesia cubana de la revolucion (poetry) 1976

Apocalypse, and Other Poems (poetry) 1977

Epigramas (poetry) 1978

Tocar el cielo (poetry) 1981

Wasala: Poems (poetry) 1983

Vuelos de victoria [Flights of Victory: Songs in Celebration of the Nicaraguan Revolution] (poetry) 1984

With Walker in Nicaragua and Other Early Poems, 1949–1954 (poetry) 1985

From Nicaragua with Love: Poems 1979–1986 (poetry) 1986

Golden UFOs: The Indian Poems/Los Ovnis de oro: poemas indios (poetry) 1992

Cosmic Canticle (poetry) 1993

Henry Cohen (essay date summer 1981)

SOURCE: Cohen, Henry. “The Image of the United States in the Poetry of René Depestre and Ernesto Cardenal.” Revista Review Interamericana 11, no. 2 (summer 1981): 220–30.

[In the following essay, Cohen compares representations of the United States in the poetry of Cardenal and of the Haitian poet René Depestre.]

It is especially important at this particular time for students of interamerican affairs to know how the Haitian René Depestre and the Nicaraguan Ernesto Cardenal have portrayed the United States in their poetry of the past quarter century. First of all, by virtue of their extraordinary political status they are opinion leaders, respectively, in Cuba...

(The entire section is 4710 words.)

Henry Cohen (essay date November 1981)

SOURCE: Cohen, Henry. “Daniel Boone, Moses and the Indians: Ernesto Cardenal's Evolution from Alienation to Social Commitment.” Chasqui: Revista de Literatura-Latinamericana 11, no. 1 (November 1981): 21–32.

[In the following essay, Cohen explores the development of Cardenal's sense of social commitment as expressed through his poetry.]

Jose Luis Gonzalez-Balado has stressed the importance of the Poundian element of el exteriorismo in the poetry of Ernesto Cardenal. As a student at Columbia University in New York during the period 1947–49, the critic writes, the Nicaraguan adopted as one of his prime models Ezra Pound, whose influence is most obvious in...

(The entire section is 5637 words.)

Jorge H. Valdés (essay date fall–winter 1983)

SOURCE: Valdés, Jorge H. “The Evolution of Cardenal's Prophetic Poetry.” Latin American Literary Review 11, no. 23 (fall–winter 1983): 25–40.

[In the following essay, Valdés examines the development of the theme of prophesy throughout Cardenal's poetry.]

In a frequently-cited interview with Ronald Christ in 1974, Ernesto Cardenal, when asked about his guiding esthetic, maintained that his later poetry, «is above all prophecy in the Biblical sense of guidance.»1 Guidance, he added, is based on «‘wisdom’—in the Biblical sense of wisdom, in the sense the prophets gave to the word.»2 Although he does not say so, Cardenal's...

(The entire section is 6224 words.)

Edward Elias (essay date 1984)

SOURCE: Elias, Edward. “Prophecy of Liberation: The Poetry of Ernesto Cardenal.” In Poetic Prophecy in Western Literature, edited by Jan Wojcik and Raymond-Jean Frontain, pp. 174–85. London: Associated University Presses, 1984.

[In the following essay, Elias discusses the themes of religion and political struggle as expressed through Cardenal's focus on prophecy and Latin-American history in his poetry.]

Ernesto Cardenal, poet and priest born in Nicaragua in 1925, has used his art to speak for the liberation of politically and economically oppressed peoples of the world, particularly those of Latin America. During his entire adult life, Cardenal has been...

(The entire section is 6662 words.)

Claudia Schaefer-Rodriguez (essay date July 1985)

SOURCE: Schaefer-Rodriquez, Claudia. “Peace, Poetry, and Popular Culture: Ernesto Cardenal and the Nicaraguan Revolution.” Latin American Literary Review 13, no. 26 (July 1985): 7–18.

[In the following essay, Schaefer-Rodriguez analyzes Cardenal's response to the Nicaraguan Revolution of 1979 as it is expressed through his poetry.]

The events occurring in Nicaragua in the decade of the 1970's, particularly the revolution which finally ousted the government of Anastasio Somoza in July of 1979, attracted the attention of many, from multiple points of view. Among the various aspects which stimulated interest was that of what the response—literary and...

(The entire section is 5046 words.)

Ernesto Cardenal and Margaret Randall (interview date summer/fall 1986)

SOURCE: Cardenal, Ernesto, and Margaret Randall. “Talking with Ernesto Cardenal.” Fiction International 16, no. 2 (summer/fall 1986): 47–60.

[In the following interview, Cardenal discusses his literary influences, his religious conversion, and his views on Nicaraguan politics.]

Ernesto Cardenal has become a legend in his lifetime. More important, he has been a prophet in his land: the first Nicaraguan priest to join the struggle of the Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN), back in the late sixties.

The second son of a wealthy family in the conservative city of Granada, he took part in an attempt to overthrow Somoza García, in 1954. A...

(The entire section is 6800 words.)

Reginald Gibbons (essay date spring 1987)

SOURCE: Gibbons, Reginald. “Political Poetry and the Example of Ernesto Cardenal.” Critical Inquiry 13, no. 3 (spring 1987): 648–71.

[In the following essay, Gibbons critically examines Cardenal's expression of his political views through his poetry.]

Perhaps the subject of political poetry is so inextricable from specific poems and poets at particular historical moments that one can discuss only examples. Ernesto Cardenal is an interesting one, not least because the cause for which he long spoke, the release of the Nicaraguan peasantry from the oppressive burdens of economic exploitation and arbitrary rule by force, was victorious; the Sandinista victory gave...

(The entire section is 10862 words.)

Ernesto Cardenal and Michael T. Martin (interview date spring 1989)

SOURCE: Cardenal, Ernesto, and Michael T. Martin. “On Culture, Politics, and the State in Nicaragua: An Interview with Padre Ernesto Cardenal, Minister of Culture.” Latin American Perspectives 16, no. 2 (spring 1989): 124–33.

[In the following interview, Cardenal discusses his role as minister of culture in Nicaraguan politics and his opinions on popular culture.]

In this modern day it's a vulgarity to call yourself a modern man or woman if you are not a revolutionary.

[June Beer, in LaDuke, 1986: 39]

Before the triumph on July 19, 1979, of the popular Sandinista revolution,...

(The entire section is 3480 words.)

Terry DeHay (essay date 1994)

SOURCE: DeHay, Terry. “The Kingdom of God on Earth: Ernesto Cardenal's Salmos.” In Postcolonial Literature and the Biblical Call for Justice, edited by Susan VanZanten Gallagher, pp. 48–59. Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi, 1994.

[In the following essay, DeHay assesses Cardenal's synthesis of Christianity and Marxism as expressed in the poetry in Salmos.]

The Nicaraguan poet Ernesto Cardenal, a Catholic priest and a political and social activist, served as minister of culture in Nicaragua's Sandinista government after the success of the revolution in 1979. His life and poetry reflect his commitment both to active political reform and to...

(The entire section is 4903 words.)

Juan Carlos Galeano (review date summer 1997)

SOURCE: Galeano, Juan Carlos. Review of The Doubtful Strait, by Ernesto Cardenal. Studies in Twentieth Century Literature 21, no. 2 (summer 1997): 512–15.

[In the following review, Galeano describes The Doubtful Strait as an epic poem of Latin America's early colonial history that offers a moral lesson regarding contemporary social struggles.]

The English speaking public, especially Americans, have been informed through TV and newspapers of the political events in Nicaragua and its neighbors without knowing much about the countries' past, particularly about the first years of the Spanish presence in Central America. Cardenal, a Nicaraguan poet, now...

(The entire section is 1432 words.)


text:
Night Walker ONLY

a Night novel by Lisa Kessler

2012 San Diego Book Award Winner Best Published Fantasy-SciFi-Horror
2012 Romance Through the Ages Winner Best Paranormal and Best First Book
2012 “Book Seller’s Best” Double Finalist for Best Paranormal Romance and Best First Book

He gave up his soul for a second chance to love her…

Two and a half centuries ago, Calisto Terana lost everything when a zealous priest murdered the woman he loved. Now, desperate for another chance to love her, he wants redemption for the mistake that cost her life.

She’s haunted by dreams of her own death…

After catching her fiance with another woman, Kate Bradley returns to San Diego to clear her head. The last thing she needs is romance, but after meeting Calisto she’s drawn to him in ways she doesn’t understand.

They’ve waited in the shadows for centuries…

Calisto has no doubt Kate is the reincarnation of his lost love, but the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo has a new watcher with dark ambitions of his own. As old enemies re-emerge and a new threat arises, the betrayal that enslaved Calisto to the night might destroy the only woman he’s ever loved again.

Title: Night Walker
Series: The Night Series, #1
Author: Lisa Kessler
Genre: Paranormal, Paranormal Romance
Length: 352 pages
Release Date: May 2012
ePub ISBN: 978-1-62061-228-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-62061-231-6
Imprint: Select

Price listed is for the U.S. digital format. Please confirm pricing and availability with the retailer before downloading.

The NIGHT series:

Book 1: Night Walker (Calisto & Kate)
Book 1.5 Night Thief (Kane & Rita)
Book 2: Night Demon (Lukas & Gretchen)
Book 2.5 Night Angel (Colin & Juliana)
Book 3: Night Child (Issa & Muriah)
Author’s note: While all the books can be read as stand-alone stories, you’ll likely enjoy reading the other Night books as well.

Praise for Night Walker:

★★★ stars. “In the first of her Night series, Kessler tackles a love that has waited 200 years. While the tale is tender and poignant, readers will sigh both in dreamy acceptance of a love that never dies as well as exasperation for the secrets the characters keep from each other.”
– Sabrina Cooper, RT Book Reviews

“Hot romance and cool characters make Night Walker an all-night read.”
~ Kelley Armstrong, #1 NYT Best-Selling Author

“A stellar first novel with heart-stopping suspense and a hero to die for.”
~ Angie Fox, NYT Bestselling author of THE LAST OF THE DEMON SLAYERS

“Lisa Kessler pens the kind of lyrical romance we all want to experience!”
~ Linda Wisdom, national bestselling author of A DEMON DOES IT BETTER

“Night Walker is a wonderful tale about the power and magic of a love that transcends time.”
~ Linda Thomas-Sundstrom, author of the Vampire Moons series

“A soulful, timeless love story and an engrossing new take on immortal
mythology—if you’re looking for a touching paranormal romance, Kessler’s got
one for you!”
~ Christine Cody, author of the Bloodlands series

An Excerpt from:

Night Walker
by Lisa Kessler

Copyright © 2012 by Lisa Kessler. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Kate couldn’t remember the drive home or walking from her car to her front door. Her mind kept replaying Tom’s surprised face, the way he jerked his hands free of the woman’s tight sweater, and the flushed cheeks of his grad student. Her knuckles ached from clenching her fists, struggling to control her emotions. Blood smeared across the palm of her hand where her fingernail broke the skin.

She could still hear his footsteps echoing behind her in the desolate parking lot and the pleading in his voice. “Please, can’t we talk about this?” His desperation made her nauseous.

What could he possibly explain?

After three tries, she finally managed to calm her trembling hands and unlock her apartment door. Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, she steeled herself for what awaited. The eight-by-ten engagement photo smiled at her from the side table. Her knees threatened to buckle under the weight of betrayal.

Leaning against the door, she struggled to understand. Their wedding was less than a month away. All their plans, their dreams, tossed away for a pair of most-likely-fake double Ds.

How could she have been so blind? She almost married him.

For the third time since she’d sped away from the university, her cell phone buzzed. She powered it off and tossed it aside.  The bastard could call all night, send flowers, beg on his knees, but nothing would change the fact that she’d never walk down the aisle in the designer gown that he insisted she buy. She’d never move into the new condo they’d had their eye on. And she would never trust him again.

It was over.

She wiped her nose and glared at the photo on the table. Shouldn’t she be jealous? Did she even care if he’d slept with this woman? Was she devastated because she would miss Tom, or because her life wasn’t turning out the way she thought it should?

Puzzled, she pushed away from the door and turned the frame facedown on the table.  Her gaze locked onto her parents’ photo. Nearly two years had slipped by since the accident. She’d worked so hard to distance herself from the pain of their loss that she’d avoided dealing with the remainder of their estate. She still hadn’t sold their house.

Instead, she’d pushed her relationship with Tom forward, avoiding her emotions by planning a wedding to a man she wasn’t certain she loved.

Gripping the frame, she tilted the photo to cut the glare from the overhead light. Her mother’s warm smile brought a swell of heartache—real heartache, not this shock of betrayal and sudden change that Tom had delivered.

“I wish you were here, Mom.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You probably would’ve seen right through his sexy, crooked smile.”

She waited, half-expecting to hear her mother’s voice telling her she deserved better.

Because she did.

“I think it’s time for me to go back home. I’m through hiding, Mom.”

Once she returned the photo to the table, the tightness in her chest loosened its grip. This wasn’t the end of the world. In fact, it was a chance at a new beginning.

She’d call her school in the morning and let them know she needed a leave of absence. Then she’d get in touch with the caterers and the perky wedding planner.

She could be on the road by the afternoon. She lifted her chin a notch and dropped her engagement photo in the trashcan. Tomorrow, she would take control of her life and her future, and this time she wouldn’t rush into anything.

Chapter One

When they parked at the Mission de Alcala, Kate stared up at the bells. Although she grew up in San Diego, she’d never played tourist and visited this famous landmark, which she admitted now was a shame. The white arched bell tower of the first Spanish mission in the New World stretched toward the heavens, oblivious to the changing landscape around it. For a moment, she felt like she’d been transported back in time.

Edie hefted her camera bag over her shoulder. “Hurry up! We don’t want to end up standing for the service.”

“I’m coming.” Kate ran up the uneven tile steps after her friends.

When they entered the white adobe sanctuary, her breath caught in her throat. The natural pine ceiling arched high above them, voices echoed in the cavernous space, and soft chords from the pipe organ at the rear of the hall floated down. The music washed over the congregation, filling the church with its somber peace.

Her mother would have loved this place.

Lori grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her across the sanctuary to a pew by the opposite door. Candlelight filled the chamber with a warm glow, and soon the only sounds were the soft chants from the priests. Images of Christ’s crucifixion lined the walls, and the quiet hymns from the choir added to the poignancy of the Mass. Bittersweet sorrow swelled in her heart. This would be her second holiday season without her parents, and her first without Tom. The Mass felt like a solemn reminder she was alone in the world.

The room blurred behind a wave of tears.

“I need some air. I’ll be right outside,” Kate whispered to Edie.

Edie gave her an are you all right look, and Kate managed to smile and nod before slipping out the door. As the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her, she stepped into a lush courtyard with centuries-old adobe crosses rising through thick ferns that threatened to swallow them. More candles flickered around the garden. Shadows moved across the surrounding walls, mingling with the darkness that gathered in the corners and alcoves.

The cool night air filled her lungs, calming the storm brewing inside her. Seeing the families and couples in the sanctuary stirred up heartache. She had erected protective walls around the spaces her parents and her ex-fiancé used to fill, but now they crumbled. Kate took another deep breath and stared at the pale moon. She could almost hear her mother’s voice telling her to stay strong. Keep moving forward.

Just as she’d promised herself she’d do.

Clearing her throat, Kate focused on her surroundings and followed a worn tile path to a weathered sign. The courtyard, and the crosses within it, honored the Native American neophytes who worked at the mission in its early years. Kate scanned the garden again, finding even more of the half-hidden handmade crosses peering at her from a thicket of ferns. Most of them now leaned to the side, weathered from years of exposure to the sun and rain.

The once-strong angles of the markers now drooped as though they wept.

She followed the path deeper into the garden and found another cross nearly engulfed by the foliage and flowers that grew around it. Though the path here was unkempt and the aging monument covered in moss, a simple floral wreath adorned the neck of the cross.

How many Native Americans died at the mission in its early years? She wondered if anyone really knew. She learned about the missions in elementary school, but her teachers never discussed the relationship between the missionaries and the local tribes. Was neophyte a fancy word for slave?  She didn’t know, but whatever their role might have been, it was encouraging to see the indigenous people who had lived at the mission had not been forgotten.

When the service concluded, the murmur of soft conversation broke through her solitude. Mass was over already? Kate frowned. How long had she been outside?

Car engines started and brakes squeaked, the headlights drowning out the candlelit shadows. Beyond the black wrought iron gates, small groups of people departed together until finally the floodlights over the parking lot blinked off. She would have worried about Lori and Edie’s absence, but she knew they had plans with their digital cameras after the mass.

According to her friends, Dia de los Muertos was the perfect night for ghost hunting. Lori and Edie always enjoyed ghost stories when they were kids, and their fondness grew until they considered themselves amateur paranormal investigators. What better place to find them than in the oldest building in San Diego on the one night a year reserved for the dead?

Kate didn’t share their zeal for spirits, but she had no problem waiting for them to have their fun. She was happy to have a few minutes to herself anyway.

The candlelight glimmered around her, the flickering flames left to burn out sometime before morning. The warm glow made for eerie light, casting long shadows of the weeping crosses over the garden. It was exquisite and melancholy in the same moment.

She caught a sudden chill. The longer she lingered, the more her sadness mutated into unease.

The back of her neck prickled. Kate crossed her arms and walked toward the sanctuary doors. She suddenly felt exposed and alone. Before she reached the doors, Lori and Edie came up the path at the other end of the courtyard, snapping pictures as they walked, until Lori disappeared from view.

When Edie saw Kate approach, she grinned. “Oh, you should see some of the great shots we got tonight. We had lots of orbs in a couple of pictures of the bell tower. There might be even more when we can look at them on a larger screen.”

“You’ll have to show me once you get them on the computer.” Kate glanced around the courtyard. “Where’d Lori go?”

Edie turned around. “She was right behind… ”

“Edie… Kate.” Lori’s voice, a loud and insistent whisper, emanated from the shadows.

Kate flinched when she heard her name. She had no idea why she was so jumpy tonight. They tracked down Lori and found her kneeling by one of the crosses. She beckoned them closer.

Edie rushed over with an eager grin, camera at the ready. “Wow. Look at this.” She squatted beside Lori.

The cross was smaller than most of the others, weather-beaten and canted. There was a single letter in the center, a T, and a single candle burned beside a bundle of large white blossoms.

“Who do you think left those?” Lori whispered.

Kate shrugged. None of the other crosses had fresh offerings. “Probably the priests, right?”

“I don’t know.” Lori glanced at the other crosses. “Maybe this person’s relatives still visit every year.”

“Can you imagine?” Edie whispered. “Being remembered like that?  I hope someone’s still bringing me flowers after I’ve been dead a couple hundred years.”

Kate thought about correcting them, telling them these crosses were memorials to the Native Americans. But she didn’t. Something about the cross held her rapt. The conversation around her faded away as Kate moved in closer to the fragrant blossoms.

She’d never seen flowers like these with huge, beautiful blooms of white, silky petals and a center like pure sunshine. And the scent.  It was the primrose-like perfume that made her reach out to touch them, entranced by their spell.

Had she seen these flowers before?

“Kate? Are you okay?”

Kate looked up at Lori, her brow furrowed and mouth pinched in concern. “I’m fine,” she said, yanking her hand away from the flowers. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

“We’re almost done. We need a couple more pictures around the front by the steps,” Edie said.

“All right.” Kate straightened, still unable to pull her attention away from the cross and its bouquet. “I’ll wait for you here, okay?”

Lori continued to frown, but Edie said, “No problem. We’ll be right back.”

Kate watched them wander off before kneeling closer to the cross. Unable to stop herself, she traced her finger along the T in the center.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat. Kate jerked her hand away and shot to her feet. When she turned around she found a tall, dark-haired man staring at her.

Her cheeks flushed with heat. She hoped he hadn’t witnessed her touching the relic. She waited for some kind of admonishment, but he didn’t say anything.

Not with words.

Something in his dark eyes captured her. His gaze wandered over her face like a tender caress, and strangely, instead of screaming for Lori and Edie, she caught herself imagining his touch on her skin.

“I hope I did not frighten you,” he said.

His deep voice resonated through the empty courtyard, and the intimate tone weakened her knees. The hint of a Spanish accent didn’t hurt, either. Nervous laughter escaped her before she could contain it.

Her face warmed all over again. “Just a little startled. I didn’t see anyone else out here.”

He stepped closer without encroaching on her personal space, his eyes locked with hers from beneath thick lashes. “Forgive me.”

She swallowed hard and prayed she wasn’t blushing. “No problem.” She looked away before she embarrassed herself even further, focusing on the cross. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

Si.” He nodded slowly. “Yes, it is.” His barely there smile made her think he wasn’t referring to the flowers or the cross. “I am Calisto. Calisto Terana.”

Expectation hung as heavy as the scent of eucalyptus, as if he waited to hear something more than just her name.

“I’m Kate.” Instead of offering to shake his hand, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Kate… ” His accent colored the vowel in her name. It had never sounded more beautiful. She reminded herself to breathe.

When he hesitated for a moment waiting for her to speak, she realized she hadn’t shared her last name as he had. She flipped through a rapid pro and con mental checklist, and decided it couldn’t hurt. Maybe they would meet again.

“Bradley,” she said.

A sexy smile curved at the corners of his lips. “I hope this will not be our last meeting.”

She glanced around the shadowed courtyard, feeling vulnerable, and almost gave in to her first instinct—to run. But she remembered her promise to herself. Be strong. Take action. She lifted her chin and said, “I guess you never know.”

With a smile that said he had every intention of seeing her again, he tipped his head.  “Buenos noches, Kate Bradley.”

Her heart raced and her palms sweated when she realized he meant to leave. No man made her palms sweat. Ever.

His gaze held hers for a moment, full of unspoken promises she didn’t understand. Without another word, he walked away.

Kate willed him to turn toward her one last time. It would be easy to get addicted to the way his gaze caressed her, entrancing her with his full attention. She wet her lips and shook her head slowly, struggling to break the spell.

A strange man had flirted with her in a dark courtyard. Hello! Huge danger signal for a woman alone.

But she never felt threatened. As if she’d met him before.

“Who was that?” Lori tucked her camera inside her bag.

“He said his name was Calisto Terana.”

“He looked sexy from where I stood. Yum!” Edie grinned.

Lori nudged her with her elbow. “Looks can be deceiving. Why was he loitering after Mass and hitting on Kate?”

There went Lori, being overprotective, like Kate was her younger sister instead of a peer. Kate rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t hitting on me. He was a complete gentleman.” She paused, glancing in the direction he’d gone. “Old fashioned.”

Lori hooked her camera bag over her shoulder. “You didn’t give him your number, did you? Old fashioned or not, you don’t know anything about this guy.”

“Yes, Mom! I’ve been a single adult just as long as you have, remember?”

Lori hooked her arm through Kate’s. “I still worry about you. You’ve been through a lot lately. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.”

Kate relaxed, though she still chafed at being treated like a child. “Believe me, I don’t want that either.”

Part of her was shocked she even considered looking at another man. A couple of weeks ago she wanted to wipe all the bastards off the face of the earth, and then tonight a gorgeous guy with an accent and a healthy dose of manners suddenly had her heart racing. Go figure.

They started toward the car. Kate peeked over her shoulder, wondering where Calisto had gone. No doubt it was for the best that he walked away when he did.

But secretly she wished he had asked for her number.

Edie unlocked the car. “What kind of name is Calisto anyway?  It doesn’t sound Mexican.”

“Maybe Spanish?” Lori said.

Kate replayed the way he said her name. “He did have an accent. Not quite Mexican though. Maybe he is from Spain.”

“Oh, I love accents.” Edie pretended to shiver. “Why don’t I ever meet handsome foreign men in dark courtyards?”

“Get in the car already.” Lori smiled.

Their banter continued as Lori pulled out of the mission’s parking lot toward Old Town, but Kate wasn’t listening anymore. At the other end of the lot she saw him standing in the moonlight.

He stared right into her eyes. Even at this distance, the heat of his gaze flushed her skin, and her breath caught in her throat.

What if she never saw him again?  A knot of panic tightened in her stomach.

He watched them roll down the driveway, bowing his head before turning to walk back into the shadows. Kate sighed and finally faced forward, chastising herself for acting like a love-struck teenager. The last thing she needed right now was a relationship. She’d just been burned so badly that she took a leave of absence from her teaching job and left the state of Nevada.

How could she stomach even looking at another man?

She stared out the window and smiled in spite of herself. Calisto didn’t seem like any other man she’d ever met. Against her better judgment, she caught herself hoping they would meet again.

She was dead.

Part of him still could not, or would not, believe it. Even now as he covered her body with dirt, he imagined this was a foul dream. Still clothed in his missionary robes, Father Gregorio Salvador prayed he would awaken to the sound of her laughter, or see her dark eyes sparkle with shared humor again. Tala had the most beautiful dark brown eyes with a tiny hazel crescent at the bottom of her right iris.

She used to smile at him every time he told her she had the moon in her eyes.

His jaw clenched. He would have his vengeance.

As he laid the bundle of large, white Romneya flowers over her grave, his tears fell onto the freshly turned soil covering her body, like raindrops darkening the sandy dirt. The sight brought him to his knees.

He knelt at her grave, silently begging the God he once served for answers. Was it wrong to love her? Was God so unforgiving of their sin that He sought to take her life and damn his soul? They had hurt no one. He had broken his covenant with God, yet she was forced to pay his penance with her life? Why punish her?

But he already knew. What greater punishment could he suffer than to go on living without her? He was certain no deeper pain existed.

Surely God knew he had been no more than a naive boy when he took his vows in Spain.

He buried Tala at the edge of the cliff where they met in secret during the warm summer evenings to watch the sun set over the water and color the sky. He hoped her soul would find peace there. Taking the rosary beads from his neck, he laid them over the flowers covering her final resting place. He would never touch another rosary. God had forsaken him, punished him for loving her, and he wouldn’t serve Him any longer.

Kissing his fingertips and touching the flowers, he whispered, “My love forever.”

He tugged at his collar, and then stripped off his robe. Clothed only in his black wool pants and sandals, Father Salvador walked into the darkness of the hills. He couldn’t bear to look back.

Calisto watched her until the car faded away into the night. The Old One’s promise had finally come true. With his heightened vision, he had seen the lighter crescent of color in the lower corner of her iris. He recognized her in an instant. She had the moon in her eyes.

Tala, his love, lived again.

Her features were familiar, but not exactly as she had once been. Her skin was lighter now and the angle of her jaw softer, but her long black hair and her eyes had not changed. Hearing her voice, seeing her smile, brought back memories of a life they once shared.

The sound of her laughter was like a burst of sunlight in his endless night.

But Kate Bradley wasn’t Tala. She had no memory of him. It was a bittersweet moment to see her face again, yet be unable to touch her. Although she didn’t seem to fear him as a stranger, she also didn’t recognize him as a lover.

He knew nothing about her life now.

The desire to touch her had overwhelmed him. He yearned to taste her lips and hold her in his arms. There would be time for that later, he promised himself.

It would have been simple to reach for her thoughts and learn her secrets, to become exactly the man she desired, but he denied himself the intrusion. He vowed not to use his preternatural power to entrance her or to listen to her private thoughts. He’d given up his mortality, his soul, for this moment, this second chance, and if she fell in love with him again, he needed to know it was real. No other person had ever touched his life like she had. Though she was no longer Tala, surely a piece of the soul he once loved lived inside of her.

Calisto walked into the shadows, wondering if she still sang with a voice that rivaled the angels. Would she dance with him in the waves of the Pacific as they had centuries before?

He was anxious to find out. How long had it been since he’d been eager for anything? A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Kate Bradley.

He would see her again. Soon.

Clearing his thoughts, Calisto opened himself to his animal spirit, allowing the raven to take shape in his mind. Gradually, the air around him sparked with energy as his body shifted and changed from a tall, dark-haired man into a large, jet-black raven. Fully changed, he shook his body and stretched out his wings before launching himself into the air. Silently, he soared with the wind and winged his way through the night sky.

Chapter Two

Blood marred the stone wall of his modest dorm room. His knuckles stung each time his fist slammed into the rough rock. Pain cloaked the bitterness and rage that festered inside him.

The monsignor had passed him over. Denied his chance at his destiny.

It would be Brother Cardina who would fly across the Atlantic Ocean to San Diego. Brother Cardina would watch over the Night Walker and witness immortality with his own eyes.

Grinding his teeth together, he struck the wall once more, imagining it was Brother Cardina’s pious face, but he held back, careful not to hit too hard. Bruised and bloodied flesh could go unnoticed within the ancient walls of the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo, but broken bones would not help his cause.

Pain burned up his arm, calming him. He stepped back and basked in the ache.

Brother Cardina was no match for an immortal blood drinker.

He moved closer to the wall, drinking in the earthy scent of his blood. He would get his chance. Staring at the fresh crimson stain, he stuck out his tongue and allowed himself a long, slow lick. He closed his eyes and smiled, resting his cheek against the wall. For now, he would be patient.

Clenching his raw fists, he opened his eyes and stared at his pencil sketches of ravens.  His chance would come.

“Go with God,” Calisto whispered as he tossed the lifeless body into the ocean far from the shore. Although he had forsaken religion centuries before, his victims might still find a merciful afterlife in spite of their many sins. He hoped, for their sakes, they would.

The Pacific waves lapped at the Southern California beach. The ocean was a perfect disposal for his meals. The sea drank them into itself, and the bloodless corpses sank to the depths of the ocean, food for the marine life. In the cold waters, it took weeks for the bodies, or what remained of the bodies, to float to the surface. If they did wash ashore, the decomposition made it virtually impossible to determine the exact cause of death.

Not that it mattered. If pathologists did discover the true cause of death, he doubted they would link the deaths to someone with no boat and no records of accessing one. And how would they explain bloodless victims with no discernable wound?

No one spoke of Night Walkers anymore except as merely folk tales.

Blood drinkers in Europe had called themselves vampires years before Calisto ever heard the word, but they knew nothing of what it meant to be a true Night Walker. He despised the glamour that went with the ridiculous name they adopted. He found very little romance in death, even less in immortality.

As the years passed his strength and power grew, making him less of a man and more of a monster. He’d slowly changed into a hunter stalking his prey. He fed on the refuse of humanity, killers, drug lords, and child abusers, then gave his victims’ bodies to the sea.

Vampires were for movie screens and romance novels. And he would never think of himself as one of them. He was a Night Walker. But it didn’t matter what he called himself in this modern world. No one believed in his kind, regardless of the label they used.

He wouldn’t believe it himself if he weren’t already living in endless night.

But tonight his existence changed forever. After over 200 years of waiting, he saw Tala smile again, heard her laughter. He felt more human than he had in centuries. Though newfound hope lightened his spirit, he had to remain patient and proceed with care and caution.

He needed to get to know her again, and for her to know him.

But what if she didn’t fall in love with him this time?

He stopped walking to look at the moonlight shimmering on the waves. Could fate be so cruel to show him her face again, to let him know she lived once more, only to have her push him away? As many times as he had dreamed of this day, it never occurred to him she might not want him.

His jaw tightened. She smiled at him tonight. She’d seen him watching her as she drove away. Something inside of her remembered him. He felt it.

Or was he blinded by hope?

Calisto continued down the sand until he reached his home. He wanted to see her again. Surely after waiting lifetimes for her to return, he had been patient enough. He didn’t want to endure one more night without her.

Music blared, interrupting his thoughts. Through the windows of his home, charity patrons mingled and laughed. He’d hoped the benefit party would be over before he got back. He was in no mood to entertain a room full of wealthy mortals. Not tonight.

Tonight he wanted to relive the moment Tala smiled at him. He had forgotten the way the moon sparkled in her dark eyes, and the way her full lips curved in a welcoming smile. If only he could have touched her.

With a determined sigh, he closed his eyes and focused his thoughts. As he approached his front door, he straightened his clothes. Certain no traces of his victim’s blood stained him, he pulled open the door.

“Calisto! What a wonderful surprise.” Betty took his newly warmed hand as he entered. “I was afraid you might not make it. The party has been a huge success. Come, I’ll introduce you around.”

“No. Forgive me, Bettina.” He raised her hand to press a kiss to the back of her fingers. She enjoyed hearing her full name with his Spanish accent. Flattery came easily for an immortal with the power to persuade and years of practice. Although he regretted toying with her, tonight it was a necessary evil. “I do not mean to be rude, but I am too weary from my business trip to entertain guests. Please continue to make use of my home, but I must retire to my room and rest.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” she said with an almost giddy smile. “I’ll start wrapping up the party down here. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I never do.” He went upstairs to his room, and closed the door behind him.

Within a half hour Betty’s heels clicked against the Spanish tile foyer floor, echoing through the empty house. She had cleared the guests, proving again the wisdom of his decision to elevate her to Director of Foundation Arts. Not only was she intelligent, loyal and hardworking, but her infatuation with him also made it easier to hide his true nature from her. She rarely questioned him, and for an immortal to live among mortals, it was imperative they take him at his word.

However false it might be.

“Calisto?” Betty knocked on the door.

He already knew what she would say. Her thoughts were an open book to him, but he thought it best to keep up appearances. “Come in, Bettina.”

His dark hair hung loosely around his face, freed from the band he used to keep it tied back. He sat on the edge of his king-sized bed as she opened the door. Betty was the only person to ever see him in such a casual state.

She tried to hold back a smile. “The house is all yours again. Everyone’s gone.”

“Thank you. I wish I had been a better host for you tonight.”

She smiled and shrugged a bare shoulder. “No problem. Everyone was thrilled to be inside your home. We raised close to one hundred thousand dollars tonight.”

“You did a wonderful job.”

Her expression said she hoped for more from him, but he couldn’t focus on small talk.

Leaving flowers at the mission in memory of Tala usually left him feeling despondent, but tonight had been the opposite. Tonight, he wrestled against hope instead of bitterness. Fate finally offered him a second chance at love and happiness.

“Well, I guess I’ll go then,” she said. “I’ll be in the office in the morning.”

“I will be out of town again, but perhaps we can set a meeting for Tuesday night? You can update me on anything needing my attention.”

She pursed her lips for one brief second and then assumed her usual professional expression. When he hired Betty, he explained she would probably not work with him often. Even so, he knew she didn’t expect his frequent trips, but she kept her opinions to herself. Working for an influential philanthropist, she expected some eccentricities. He paid her well, and it wasn’t her place to inquire of his whereabouts. Every once in a while, he mentioned details about trips abroad to his homeland in Spain, and she seemed satisfied with his explanation.

“Tuesday night is fine,” she said. “How about six o’clock? We could meet somewhere for dinner.”

“Perfect. Just leave a note to let me know where I am to meet you.” He loathed computers and e-mail.

“I will.”

He stood and worked at the buttons on his shirt. “Good night, Bettina, and thank you.”

Her all-business nod indicated she realized he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. “Goodnight. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

And then she was gone.

He waited until he heard the front door close and the lock turn before leaving his bedroom. He had trained her well.

When the soft purr of her car’s engine faded into the distance, Calisto went downstairs and sat down at his grand piano. Playing was one of the few activities of late that helped ease the loneliness plaguing him. The music surrounded him in a calming embrace, like a child wrapped in his mother’s arms.

Over the years, he had become a virtuoso, a product of having centuries to practice. In that time, he had memorized countless masterpieces by Chopin, Mozart, and Beethoven, but right now Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalise” poured from his soul, through his fingertips, making the grand piano ring with emotion.

The music spoke words he couldn’t recite, and he played with fervor and accuracy only an immortal being could achieve. Tonight the piano sang, not with the bitter ache of emptiness but with hope and the promise of love. Passion built in the melody, and in his mind he saw her eyes shining as he bent to kiss her lips. He closed his eyes as he played, envisioning her body pressed against his, her warm skin enticing him to hold her tighter.

At the final cadence, his hands remained frozen over the keys, suspending the final chord as it echoed through his empty house. When silence crept around him, Calisto rose from the keyboard and made his way to the secret chamber buried deep within the cliff of his beachfront home.

He would find her again. Tomorrow night he would search for Kate Bradley. For the first time in decades, he was anxious for another night.

As the dawning sun warmed the earth above him, he settled into the cold depths below. Closing his eyes, his ancient heart quieted and his lungs let out a final breath.

Blood trickled down her arms and legs, but she couldn’t stop to nurse her wounds. Not now.

She ran, breaking through the bushes as they tore at her flesh, never slowing her pace. Thorns stabbed her bare feet, and the pungent smell of sagebrush filled her lungs as she forced herself to move faster.

Deafening wind tugged at her buckskin dress and pushed her back, but she continued to run. Her life depended on it.

Scrambling through the brush and over the rocks, she ignored the pain as the rough terrain ripped at the bloody soles of her feet. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw him closing in, his face veiled in shadows.

She ran faster, her lungs aching with pain. Her heart raced as erratically as the rabbits that darted in front of her. Blood from her split lip burned the back of her throat.

How much longer could she stay ahead of him?

“Tala,” he yelled, his voice loud enough to startle her. He had drawn closer. “Hay en ninguna parte funcionar.”

She didn’t agree. Escape was still an option. If she reached the boulders, her pursuer would have to abandon his horse or risk the animal losing its footing. If the Spanish guard were on foot she would have the advantage. He didn’t know the terrain as well as she did.

The pendant around her neck thumped against her chest with every stride. Her arms and legs felt weighted with stones as sweat rolled down her face and stung her eyes. Clinging to hope, she pushed herself, pounding her aching heels into the rough dirt and pumping her arms faster.

Until her foot tangled in an exposed root.

She hit the ground hard, knocking the air from her lungs. Gasping, she scrambled on her belly, her fingernails scratching into the dry granite soil as she tried to drag herself away.

The thump of his boots on the dirt spurred her on.

She had to get away.

Before she could struggle to her feet, he grabbed her ankle. She kicked his wrist with her free foot, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

When he flipped her over, she screamed until he covered her mouth with a dirty, calloused hand. Tala stared at him in shock. She recognized the guard from the Mission de Alcala, but the lustful hunger in his eyes was new and turned her stomach.

She slid her bloodied fingers over her slightly rounded abdomen and murmured a soft apology to her unborn child.

He pressed a knife to her throat and tore at her dress with frenzied, rough hands. She struggled to break free, but his weight pinned her to the ground. When she scraped her broken nails across his cheek, he grasped her wrists with one hand and held her prone. And then he violated her.

She closed her eyes, praying for the spirits of her Kumeyaay ancestors to guide her soul.

Kate screamed, waking herself from the dream. Her nightshirt stuck to her sweat-drenched body. Coming to San Diego brought back the nightmare that had haunted her since childhood. She shuddered, pushing her hair back from her face. She thought by now it wouldn’t terrify her so much, but the dream felt real, the scent of sagebrush, the ache in her feet, the panic.

Too real.

Shaking off the dream, she got up and did her best to get a jump on the last few items on her to-do list. Since the renters moved out, she had the perfect opportunity to get her parents’ home ready to sell. But instead of making calls to carpet cleaners and painters, she surfed the web on her laptop, searching for Calisto Terana in San Diego.

The search engine’s hourglass turned over and over like it used a hamster running in a wheel as its only power source.

“Oh come on.” She clicked the refresh button again. Maybe he wasn’t from San Diego. He might’ve been a tourist visiting from Europe or something.

Finally the screen shifted, and she stared at the page in shock.

All of the search results showed a Calisto Terana, philanthropist and founder of Foundation Arts, the same charity her mother had supported. The same charity slated to inherit her mother’s piano. Kate glanced at the baby grand sitting in the corner and sighed. She’d tried to take care of everything last year. As the only child, no one else stood beside her to help with the loss, the loneliness, and the demands. In the end, it was too much too soon.

Losing both parents at once, without warning, left her bereft and barely functioning. Lori and Edie helped her box up most of their things and put them into storage, but Kate fell apart at the thought of selling the house. She didn’t make arrangements to donate her mother’s piano and sheet music, or many of the things her mother requested in the will.

In the end, she left the house furnished, rented it out, and left Point Loma for her new life in Reno. She’d deal with the rest of the estate later when her emotions weren’t so raw, she’d told herself.

It was definitely time to finish up her parents’ trust.

She set the laptop on the table, deciding to walk off some of her excess energy. It was a small world. What were the chances the founder of her mother’s favorite charity would be at the Mission de Alcala at the same time as her? What were the chances he’d be at the Mission at all?

And what were the chances he’d be gorgeous?

She sighed, remembering the way he approached her with the confidence and stealth of a jungle cat. He’d worn khaki slacks and a sage button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up loosely, exposing his muscular forearms.

It seemed plain to her that he was successful and professional, but there was something more she couldn’t put her finger on.

She reached up behind her neck, rubbing at a tight muscle. If she closed her eyes, she could still see him staring at her with dark, brooding eyes that warmed when his lips hinted at a smile. His broad shoulders and narrow waist made his athletic build impossible to ignore.

He had a European air about him, and even discounting his accent, Calisto didn’t strike her as a San Diegan. He wore his dark hair just past his shoulders, but rather than allowing it to hang in his face like a La Jolla surfer, he tied it back. And despite his olive skin, he didn’t seem particularly tanned.

The way he looked at her still haunted her thoughts and sent a shiver down her spine. Somehow Calisto had made her feel like a priceless treasure without ever saying a word. He hadn’t even touched her. And when he said her name…

She shook her head. Snap out of it.

In the den, she sat down at her father’s empty desk. She pulled her mother’s worn address book from her backpack and dug through it for the Foundation Arts phone number. Her mother wanted this, she told herself. She was fulfilling her mother’s wishes, not concocting a ploy to run into Calisto again.

Not much of one anyway.

What would be the harm if she happened to see him again? He was sexy eye candy. It wasn’t like she was going to marry him.

Now she sounded like a moonstruck fifth-grader. Great.

Kate rolled her eyes at her excuses and flipped pages in search of the number for Foundation Arts.

Her mother supported the arts around San Diego for most of her life. Kate hadn’t been shocked to discover she left her baby grand piano and collection of rare sheet music to her favorite charity. On some level, it did hurt a little that her mother didn’t leave it to her. She was by no means a virtuoso, but she knew how to play, and a piano would have been handy for her job as a choir director. She could’ve used it to plan the music for her classes and student choirs.

It didn’t surprise her, though.

Her mother lived to support the foundation, to support “The Arts.” As if Kate’s work was less than art. Her mother had her own set of goals for Kate’s future. You have miles of potential, she’d tell her. She really wanted her daughter to be a performer of some kind. Although Kate aced her vocal performance juries in college, teaching was her true passion.

The disappointment was plain in her mother’s eyes the day Kate turned down an offer for graduate school to study voice. Instead she entered the teaching credential program. She’d found her calling. She wouldn’t live her mother’s dream, but she wished her mom could’ve seen her work.

If she had been able to witness the joy on the teens’ faces when they sang together on stage for the first time, maybe then she might have realized Kate hadn’t settled. She might have understood Kate was an artist, and better yet, her work ensured an ongoing love of music in the next generation of art lovers.

If only.

Finding the number, she went to the phone and made the call.

“Foundation Arts, this is Betty.”

“Hi, I’m Kate Bradley. My mother left her piano to the Foundation—”

“Oh Kate, I’m sorry for your loss,” Betty said. “Martha was a wonderful woman. We all miss her. She spoke highly of you.”

Kate was more than a little surprised. “She did?”

“Of course,” Betty said, a smile coming through in her voice. “You’re a choir director in Nevada, right?”

Kate’s surprise morphed into shock. “Yes. I teach middle school chorus.”

“I’m sure it takes a lot of patience.”

“Yes, it does.” Kate collected her thoughts. “Um, the reason I called though…  My mother left her baby grand piano and her sheet music collection to your foundation. I just wanted to find out who to call about the piano moving.”

“I can handle all of it for you. I’ll need your signature on a few documents, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

Kate raised a brow. “You’ll handle finding piano movers?”

“Sure thing.”

“Great. How soon can we get this going?” Kate asked.

“Well…” Kate heard pages flipping on Betty’s end of the call. “I have a meeting at six o’clock tomorrow night. I can be a little early. How about five-thirty at The Fish Market? It’s the one near Seaport Village, on the bay.”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.” Kate placed the phone back on the receiver with a little smile. Maybe her mother respected her work more than she ever realized. Too bad it was too late to tell her how much it meant to her.

Gregorio lived with the tribe for nearly three months before they took him to the Old One. He still mourned Tala’s death, unable to move past the pain and emptiness weighing down his soul. He drank very little and ate only when someone reminded him.

The pain of her loss became his only reality. Shadows and loss colored every part of his world.

Every time he saw the Romneya bloom in the valleys, he ached with memories of Tala, of the way she wore them in her hair and how they perfumed her skin. The sight of the ocean waves where they learned each other’s customs now tore him apart.

As the weeks passed, he found some solace in the tribal beliefs and eventually became involved in spiritual discussions with the Shaman about death, spirits of the dead, and the belief they might one day live again.

The night of the full moon, after the tribal ceremonies ended and embers were all that remained of their community fire, the Shaman told him stories of the Old One. The white-haired man lived on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. They believed he could delve into the minds and hearts of men. If the Old One found Gregorio worthy, he would bestow on him a new title, and Gregorio would become a member of the tribe.

The Shaman honored him with his invitation to meet the wise old man and make Gregorio a part of their tribe. But it did little to raise his spirits. A new name, a new life, it didn’t matter. Tala would not be part of it, and his soul would still be empty.

Each night when he slept, he saw her, held her, tasted her lips, and drank in the sound of her laughter, and each morning when he woke, his loss felt raw.

He began to hate the sun.


text:
Jive Gives IM a Jingle

By Ted Stevenson | Mar 22, 2007 | Print this Page

New VoIP solutions are coming at us from all directions these days, reflecting a variety of approaches, contexts, and technologies. The word pervasive comes to mind.

This week, Jive Software, creator of the highly successful enterprise-oriented real-time collaboration (read: instant messaging) application Openfire, announced the enhancement of that product's latest version with voice communications.

(Actually, to avoid confusing readers already familiar with Jive and its products, the real-time piece has, up to now, been known as Wildfire; the name change coincides with the beta release of version 3.2, with its new voice capability.)

Voice over instant messaging protocols is nothing new, of course. Skype, GoogleTalk, and other Web-based VoIM services have been around for a while now. But Openfire 3.2 is different—especially from Skype—in two important respects.

First is that it is built on open standards—most importantly, XMPP (eXtensible Messaging and Presence Protocol)—and is an open-source, open-architecture solution. Jive has implemented voice using Jingle, the XMPP protocol extensions designed for transporting rich media.

The second is that, unlike any of the popular, Web-based solutions, Openfire is "built from the ground up as an enterprise application," according to Jive CEO Dave Hersh.

What does that mean? It means that, unlike Skype, to pick on the most visible example, Openfire is fully under the control of an organization's IT staff. Security, authentication, configuration, reporting and administration are all in-house. It handles archiving for regulatory compliance. Those control and management issues are vital for the enterprise.

"We've been through the enterprise ringer," Hersh told VoIPplanet.com. "We work with a lot of large companies that have driven the product development to support the needs of medium to large organizations—which can be pretty intensive."

In other words, Jive's product development is highly customer driven. In this case, "what our customers are looking for is a way to add voice to a richer collaboration environment," Hersh said. "Rather than trying to own voice, we're just doing what our customers are asking for, which is building voice into an open and flexible framework where they can apply it to the things they need."

Why start from IM? On the most basic level, as Hersh puts it, "IM is everywhere. Over 90 percent of organizations are using IM capacity. Users love it." So weaving voice into the same fabric makes some obvious sense.

But there's another dimension: Jive regards the IM client as "extremely valuable desktop real estate," according to Hersh. "We think it's the last desktop client to survive the Webification of everything. Web clients [browsers] now simply cannot keep up with the rich notifications and interactions you have to do if you're talking about real-time applications," he explained.

Indeed, going forward, Jive will be adding more real-time communications capabilities—whiteboarding, multiparty audio conferencing, and video—into Spark (the company's IM client).

Hersh did not mention a timetable for these developments. But he was at pains to make clear that, officially, Openfire 3.2 is still regarded as a beta release. You can download it, and it should work as advertised, but Jive will not officially support it for another several weeks.


text:
The Enterprise, Brockton, MA
  • Easton's OA Seniors take part in 'Day of Kind'NESS' Friday in memory of Devin Ness

  • OA Seniors take part in second annual "Kind'NESS" Day to honor Devin Ness, an OA senior who died of an aneurysm last January.
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  • EASTON – Nearly three hundred seniors from Oliver Ames High School wore bright blue and gold tee-shirts to school Friday.
    he tee-shirts have the words “Day of Kind’NESS” on the front and more than one hundred names on the back. It’s a tribute of community service to honor Devin Ness, an OA Senior and wrestling captain who died of an aneurysm last January.
    This is the second year that the seniors, town businesses and many families have taken part in a day of volunteering. Friday morning students spent time  raking leaves and mulching flower beds at the schools, washing fire trucks and police cruisers and taking part in other helpful services where needed.
    More than 140 businesses from Easton and surrounding communities and many families donated money for scholarships that will be given out to graduating OA Seniors. Nearly $10,000 has been raised so far for scholarships.
    For more details, photos, pick up Saturday's Enterprise...