Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

A Memorable Day

By Cheryl Moore

We had arrived in Mashad, a city in north east Iran, the night before. It is the site of the holy Shrine of Imam Ali Reza, the eighth Imam, a site where the followers of the Shi’a branch of the Islamic faith make pilgrimage.

The mosque was a beautiful, gleaming white structure with four minarets, one at each corner. Women must cover up with a chador to enter. As I didn’t own one, I had to borrow one, but it only came to my midi-calf, not my ankles, as it did on Iranian women. My pale skin and blue eyes gave me away as a foreigner. I couldn’t just blend in. Before entering we had to take off our shoes and leave them outside on the steps. I hoped mine wouldn’t be stolen, I didn’t fancy walking barefoot on the sun-scorched ground the rest of the day.

It was beautiful inside, the walls decorated in glowing geometric patterned tiles of dark and light blue, white, tan, yellow, black and green. No human or animal images are allowed. Many heads turned to stare at me as we were swept along around the central Imam’s tomb with the flow of pilgrims. I hadn’t ever been in a mosque before even though there was a tiny neighborhood one very close to where I was living in Tehran. Coming out into the daylight, I was happy to retrieve my shoes.

Later that day we drove further into the Central Asian steppes to visit an outdoor market where live animals were bought and sold. Turkoman tribesmen dressed in sheep skin and domed hats still used moveable yurts as they followed their herds, speaking a Turkic language unlike the Farsi I was more familiar with in Tehran. For me it was as close as I’ll ever get to the famous Silk Road trade route. I imagined traders crossing these dusty plains day after day with camels, donkeys and their swift ponies, occasionally camping near caravansaries at oases. Such vast open spaces probably unchanged since Marco Polo came this way.

All too soon it was back to big city Tehran with its crowds, street vendors calling out their wares, and the morning and evening blare of a loudspeaker calling the faithful to prayer.

When Cheryl Moore came to California in the early 1960’s, she realized she’d found her home. Then moving to Petaluma in the 70’s, she was as close to paradise as she’d ever get. Travel has taken her to Europe and the Middle East, including living four years in Tehran. She has written on these memories as well as on the flora and fauna of the local river and her own garden.

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

A Simple Building

By Cheryl Moore

A simple building lacking in flare

Why am I so often drawn there?

Roaming its shelves, tasting its wares

A whole wide world available there

Journeys take me around the world

And when I no longer want to roam

Work on gardens, on business

On cooking and art

And English lit and Shakespeare

To keep me smart

Not to mention poetry

To suit the fussiest muse

So much to read, no time to lose.

Cheryl Moore grew up in the mid-west, went to college in San Francisco, then lived in foreign lands before returning and eventually settling in Sonoma County.

In recent years, she lives in a house and garden where deer nibble on roses,  raccoons dine on fallen figs, and her bird feeders are busy.

A nearby river offers opportunities to observe waterfowl.

Seeing and writing about these miracles of nature are adventures in living.

By Cheryl Moore

Despite the pandemic, despite the looming drought, despite the growing tensions in the world—we are living in a wonderful time.

On clear mornings, I see the warm pink in the eastern sky where the sun is about to rise.

This time of year, April, it rises between two tall palms across the street—in June it will rise behind Sonoma Mountain.

This is the most beautiful time in the garden —leaves on trees just breaking open, giving a lacy feel against the blue skies. Rose buds are opening and iris unfolding on their tall stalks.

California poppies are everywhere and fields are full of mustard.

Bird song fills the air as males find mates and begin nest building. Soon there will be small yellow ducklings trailing their parents down at the river and fishermen will sit on the bank to see what the incoming tide will bring.

 Besides a cozy house and garden, I have good health, enough funds, and loving family and friends—so many blessings. I cherish them all.

Cheryl Moore grew up in the Midwest then lived in San Francisco to finish high school and attend college where she studied biology. During the late sixties and into the mid-seventies she lived first in Sweden for a year, then for four years in Iran where she served as librarian in a small research library for wildlife biologists.

Nature and science have always been among her interests. Since returning to the U.S., she has lived in Petaluma and has dabbled in writing stories. Since retiring from employment at Sonoma State University, she has taken up painting