A New Plan

Good evening, dear readers. It has been my habit to turn on my computer as soon as I get up. First off I check the daily prompts and notifications from blogs I follow. For some reason “just a quick peek” at incoming e-mails ends up taking a good part of my morning. Who’d have guessed?

My energy level isn’t really high these days so, in order to finish my work-in-progress and do some serious housecleaning, I’m trying a new daily plan this coming week. I’ve already scheduled some posts for 8 or 8:30 am but I’m going to leave my internet alone until evening. Going online first thing will be a tough habit to break. Will I succeed or won’t I? But I fear unless I make some drastic change, my important writing may never get finished.

Now for some things more interesting than work habits. It may be -21 C as I type this, and the predicted high tomorrow is -22 C, but we can always dream of spring.

Cherry Trees

Glorious cherry trees!
Blossoms burst  forth in spring
to animate the bees,
inspire a thousand poets,
intoxicate the breeze.
Where would this old world be
without those cherry trees?

Interesting nature note from our yard:
I often toss organic kitchen trash like peelings, limp greens, carrots and such, into the poplar trees on the west side of our driveway. After all, these bits are biodegradable. Yesterday I tossed a sweet potato well past its prime — and flushed out a white rabbit. It didn’t flee in terror, rather hopped into the nearby field and seemed to be waiting. I wonder if this bunny has been dining on the greens I toss?

Canadian rabbit: David Mark — Pixabay

Hope is a Thing With Mice

Monday Morning Musing

Good morning everyone. Time for a brief update and maybe a few haiku. Last night I was reading a book about the early masters of haiku. According to an old legend one of them, Ihara Saikaku (1642-1693) wrote 23,500 verses in a day. Can you imagine writing almost a thousand verses in an hour – using Japanese characters? Legend is a wonderful thing.

Would any of those be of sterling quality? (STERLING being the Ragtag Daily Prompt word this morning.) I was inspired to do a few myself, but for sure mine aren’t very sterling. It’s not hard to dash off words, but it takes me time to write something that will even make sense.

winter nipping
a mouse squeezes into the warmth
heaven or hell
?

When the winds blow cold and there’s a nip in the air, hopeful mice are wont to creep into houses, hoping to find a cozy home for the winter months, hopefully with a food source not too far away–like a bowl of cat food on the floor. Last Friday I was sitting in my recliner reading, while my black cat dozed contentedly on my lap. Glancing up, I spotted one such hopeful mouse creep out from under our wood stove sitting in the corner of our living room. We have poison set out, but this must be a clever mouse.

brave mouse scurries
under my wood stove
wee Napoleon.

“Mouse, Angus! Mouse,” I screeched, and the mouse quickly disappeared. Angus opened his eyes and gave me a “What are you on about?” look. It didn’t take long, though, before both of our cats caught on about those little mouse feet scrabbling on the stones. I’ve moved the cat food elsewhere and our cats spend time by the wood stove these days, hoping for a Waterloo.

Fresh Snow

Winds are definitely whipping and winter is nipping today. After a mild spell most of last week, the temp dropped yesterday evening and a north wind picked up. Snowflakes were falling by the time we left church, just before 9 pm, and before long we had the makings of a storm. Fine flakes blew through the air all night; we’ve a nice amount this morning and more is falling as I write this.

“Hope is a thing with feathers…” In this case sparrows hoping for a few grains have found a bare spot on our driveway somewhat out of the wind. Our sidewalk is blown in ankle-deep, I learned as I waded out a bit ago to scatter seed for them.

lame magpie
bullied by his own finds peace

among the sparrows

Poetry Reading

“Hope is a Thing With Feathers,” the famous poem by Angie Dickinson, was one of the verses read at our Poetry night Saturday evening. I was hoping for a bit larger crowd but, apart from the readers and their partners, only five others attended. Hopefully next time… Renaming it “Literary Night” might draw more interest. I read a mixture of my own poems and short stories myself.

Click here to read one of them.

So Tomorrow Will Be Twitter Tuesday?

Now that Black Friday sales are basically done, I received half a dozen ads this morning telling me that today is Cyber Monday. Can anyone explain that? No, never mind…

I’m hoping this will be a better week for me. I was pretty wiped out last week, not sick but very weary. Energy level 2/10 kind of thing. I suspect my white cell count is on the rise, but we’ll see how this week goes. Hope is a thing with energy… 🙂 I’ve another phone visit with my oncologist Dec 12, which should give me a better idea how things stand.

Speaking of energy, it’s our youngest grandson’s 12th birthday today.

Image: Dessie Designs — Pixabay

Haiku Views 4

splashes of rain
on the autumn wind
sad story sniffles
faintly the moon
shows up before sundown
sibling rivalry
lost on country roads
new territory to explore
GPS complains
discarded antlers
one last hard knock
sheds the load*

*In these parts, discarded deer antlers are called sheds, and there are some people who go around gathering them for decorations or crafts. Gathering sheds you’re apt to get lost on country roads. 🙂

Socks and the Fox

The Ragtag Daily Prompt today is FOX. A nice simple word; a creature we’re all familiar with even if we haven’t personally made one’s acquaintance. Since my Socks tale was well liked, I’ll do a second story about the beloved pet pig who saves the day — and include the illustration I drew just yesterday. 🙂

Socks And The Fox

The crow watches silently as a fox slink its way along the fence, aiming for Farmer Rushton’s chicken coop. Hope springs eternal and, to the fox, smells like chicken dinner.

But here comes Rushton’s pet pig, Socks, lumbering around the corner of the barn, sniffing the air curiously. Now, what can a pig smell besides pig? Fox, evidently. Socks gets a whiff of the different scent and lets out a questioning squeal.

Fox freezes. Socks, curious about this odd scent, snuffles her way toward its source, stopping now and then to peer around with her small piggy eyes. When she finally catches sight of Fox she squeals like a banshee and dashes toward him.

Fox has been blessed with a natural adroitness, so he scrambles up the fence rails and sits on the top one, glaring down at Socks. Putting her front hooves on the first rail, she’s staring up at him, snuffing and grunting like half a dozen magpies.

Now the crow joins the katzenjammer. In spite of the racket, Fox’s keen ears catch the sound of the farmhouse door slamming and human voices approaching. Fox has no fear of this knuckle-headed pig, but a human is another creature entirely. Recalling the loud crack crack that often came with the farmer, and seeing puffs of dirt explode all around him, he leaps off the fence and dashes for the nearby woods.

No chicken dinner tonight. He might have made it, too, if it wasn’t for that disgusting pig!

Image by Viola — Pixabay

Socks Our Hero!

It’s Thursday and high time for my response the Six Sentence Story prompt, hosted by GirlieOnTheEdge. This week’s word is TERM. If you go to her blog you’ll see the InLinkz button to click on so you can read the other responses to this prompt.

Here’s a story I’ve been wanting to write for awhile. Someday I’ll planned to flesh it out more but for now I’ll squeeze it into six (okay, some very long) sentences to meet the writing challenge. Hope you enjoy it.

SOCKS, OUR HERO

Sheriff Wilson, trying hard to look stern, explained to Farmer Rushton, “I’m here to investigate a complaint made by some fellow who came here last night that you have a – his term was ‘vicious wild boar’ – running around your farmyard.”

“There’s nothing vicious about Socks,” Rushton exclaimed, “and furthermore, she’s a sow, not a boar. But our Socks is as friendly and playful as a puppy; you know yourself she’s been Tommy’s pet ever since she was the runt of the litter last year – and she loves to meet our farm visitors.”

“Well, this fella stopped by last night when you folks weren’t home and says he was just having a look around – I’d use the term skulking myself – when he came past the barn and suddenly this vicious pig was charging at him, screaming like a banshee.

He ran but hit some slime, slid, and went head-first into a huge puddle of ‘barnyard sludge’–” Sheriff Wilson couldn’t hold back a chortle “– and the ‘berserk beast’ came wallowing in right after him so that he barely escaped with his life – and without whatever else he might have been hoping to take away, I might add.”

Rushton grinned, then shook his head and said, “Well, I’ve sometimes grumbled about how much water my kids use when they make a mud puddle for Socks to cool herself off in, but I won’t begrudge Socks her beauty baths from now on.”

Original image by Iris Hamelmann at Pixabay