They had been stuck in the house for two days. Millie held
her feather, but she was not amused by their jokes.
Sally and Fran had been laughing all the way up the hill,
brandishing their twigs broken off the flower stalks from the garden. Now they will begin a sword fight -and someone- most likely me - is going to end up covered with snow. Maybe I should turn around and go back right now; before my sisters instigate more nonsense!
My morning meditation became about tiny, shiny birds.
Songbirds and all things relating to them- colorful.
Does this apply to TFE's prompt ?
The apse was empty
and so I went out
into the greening garden
and picked up a rake.
Emeralds lead me onward,
" Grriiishhh, rrrisshhh,"
pulling brown tufts away
Suddenly a choral voice
wavered out, gaining strength,
heart rending solo
"Who-?" I whispered
scanning the ring of apple trees,
and far left on the tippy top branch
a little red blob with its beak to the sky
was serenading all around
a washed blue sky.
And so he and I
sometimes in sync and sometimes
I'd stop, lean on the handle
All the way down the long yard,
he sang, I raked,
until I reached the windmill.
Someone mentioned music and how it transports us- (I believe it was Brian
at WaystationOne/ Onestop Poetry)and it reminded me about the clarity and unity
of the experience from childhood.I did write 99.9% of this story yesterday-
then ran out of time and quiet to finish...
over a generous blue rug
a young child
to pick the flowers
under her feet,
the twisting paths,
a heart scaling mountains
sailing rough seas
drew her away;
now she wonders if lines
into a melody someday.
A fire in the works
where dragons lurk-beware.
stillness snakes its head around:
lips rake, in no uncertain terms
a quake's about
to shake this ground.
claws about to gore
new gashes in your hide-
lay their curls
but there is a link
between danger and this girl-