I wrote that it snowed Sunday night and most of Monday. Well it snowed again yesterday evening for several hours, fine fluffy stuff. I went out this morning and cleared a space where I could sprinkle birdseed. Now I see it’s snowing again. As usual we’re happy to have precipitation, though we wouldn’t have minded this as rain in late September. Anyway, digging around in my DropBox I unearthed this poem written in Jan 2015.
Grandpa’s Weather Vocabulary
Grandpa never gripes at weather
he observes when we’re together.
Some’s “unique” and some is “curious”;
some is “needful”; some is “serious.”
Some is “cheery”; some is “better”;
some is “warmer”; some is “wetter.”
Yet he finds it all relaxing
though we others call it “taxing.”
The Ragtag Daily Prompt this morning is FROST and here are two mini verses in response. Not quite haiku. 🙂
frost-dusted scarecrow
shelters a chickadee
under his collar
a friend in need
a thick frost
glistens on the lawn
my cat sits at the window
rethinking his dream
of mousing this morning
Good morning everyone. We’ve been looking out at a snowy yard for the past couple of weeks, I thought I’d better change my header to reflect the change of scenery here. Found this wintry image on Pixabay, by photo artist Picoflop.
Time for a tale — and today I’m going to respond to two prompts. the Ragtag Daily Prompt word this morning is VOLUTE. Think SPIRAL:
Or think of Jane Kenyon’s verse about “the involute rhubarb leaf, like a mad red brain, thinks its way up…” She wrote some great verses!
I’m also going to respond to GirlieOntheEdge’s Six-Sentence prompt, where the prompt word is ETERNAL.
Grandma’s Story Mat
How fondly I recall the times we sat by Grandma’s rocking chair, on this same volute mat; I’d rub my fingers over the scratchy surface and find comfort in knowing Grandma made it with her own hands. Every month it was a bit rounder as she continued to braid and attach new coils – telling us it was a good past-time now that Grandpa was “resting” and she didn’t have him to look after anymore.
The mat lay near the hearth, so the warmth of the fireplace toasted my back as Grandma wove her stories for us. Only later did we find out what she was up to, and were all amazed when a book written by our grandma appeared on Amazon one day.
Seems she had an eternal fount of stories in her mind, tales of ages past that she’d learned as a child, stories from her own life; she entertained us for hours while Mom was off doing the daily shopping.
When I was ten, sitting by her hearth, feeling the comfort of her love and listening to her tales kept me from despair when Dad was in the hospital – palliative care, they called it – and Mom was spending most of her time with him, sharing their last days as best they could.
I was awake and reading into the wee hours, and the full moon was up, too, lightening the landscape. It was still with us at 7:30 am, shining through misty clouds in the early morning light. What would our night sky be like — or our tide-less oceans — without the moon! And how many billion verses has this same moon inspired through the centuries?
Here are some of my MOON haiku:
majestic moon arrives to preside over the stars benevolent governor
midnight verses when sleep won’t come only the moon is clear
even to the drunkard snoring in the alley the moon is kind
moon heads west
drawing the tides
dreams see the light
Christine's Collection 