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Quote by Cheyenne McCray

“I could picture how Caprice was before we lost her. Dark hair, beautiful smile, intelligent hazel eyes, quick wit. Now gone. Just gone. Like a chessboard where suddenly one of the knights disappeared. A blank spot on the board of life that could never truly be replaced because no two things were alike, no two beings alike.”

Quote by Cheyenne McCray

Book:Demons Not Included
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Demons Not Included

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Author

Cheyenne McCray
Cheyenne McCray

Cheyenne McCray, born in 1965, is a talented author whose works span various genres and have won the hearts of readers. more

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“The Provider Several crows were lined up along the ridge of a quite ordinary house. 'These ridge poles are a good idea,' said a young one. 'Who dreamed it up?' 'This place of rest is a fortuitous gift from the moon,' said a raven who was mixing with the hoi polloi today. 'The moon is a relative of the roc, a distant cousin of mine. Believe me,' he said, stretching his wings out to their full advantage and pushing the crows at the end off balance, so several leaped into the wind and cried, 'caw' . . . 'it depends on your original stock. I've got a piece of the roc.' The moon rose spectral and drained, a gossamer imprint of her nighttime self, a reminder of crystal fracture, the load of swinging primitive stones, the ancient hairy arms with slingshots. A sudden explosion and the sky was defined with flapping and cawing. 'What was that?' cried the young one who was addicted to awe. 'Who knows?' replied the raven. 'Often the moon demands a sacrifice. As a close relative, it is now my duty to go and eat the meat. For it is said, nothing is wasted; nothing is without purpose.' And the raven rose and flew toward the hunters.”

PoetrySacrificeMoonDescriptionCrowsIn The Next GalaxyRuth StoneAnthropomorphismParableProse Poem
Book:In the Next Galaxy
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“By 1854, when the search was called off, almost every corner of the Canadian archipelago below the 77th parallel had been traversed, drawn, and recorded on large maps carefully tipped into the papers. So fragile now they hardly bear touching, they are still in their spare precision beautiful and moving, the tangible result of the toes and fingers lost to frostbite, the starvation and profound exhaustion and sometimes the death of me dragging heavy sledges over rough ice or through deep snow, skirting the edge of human endurance.”

SacrificePolar Exploration
Book:The Man Who Ate His Boots: The Tragic History of the Search for the Northwest Passage
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