Out for a walk and what do I see?
This little face staring up at me!
The Eve of Spring
On the eve of Spring,
the earth is a dirty place!
A rowdy Fall seems to have
flung things here and there
and Winter stubbornly refused
to pick them up.
The result is a sad chaos
of decaying leaves, abandoned nests
and an impressive assortment of litter
from some drunken teenage party.
Twigs and broken branches
are strewn like tiny corpses
on the ground.
Emerging from the dead,
Spring instinctively will come
bringing with it
an elixir of cleansing rain.
Following the purge,
rejuvenation is conceived.
Every long-forgotten seed
soon starts to grow, and the
landscape will change
before our eyes.
But for now, trees bend
like little old men,
crippled by harsh winds
and the burden of snow.
From their stooped position,
they lift their weathered faces
toward the sun – as we all do,
on the eve of Spring.
Foto Friday #34
I grew up a country girl, so the hustle and bustle of a big city rarely appeals to me, but there is something about the freeways, waterways and railways in this photo of Glasgow, Scotland that make for an interesting picture. If the train (with its bright blue cars that match the water) had not been passing at the exact moment I snapped the photo, I suspect it would have been just another ordinary cityscape.
Photo taken from hotel room at Jurys Inn in Glasgow.
for Nancy Merrill Photography A Photo A Week Challenge: Cityscapes
Foto Friday #33
There are a number of colorful patterns in this picture taken in the lobby of the Rendezvous Grand Hotel in Auckland, New Zealand, so it works for Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Patterns
Winter Wonderland
Hello… Spring? This is Winter. Are you ever coming back???
Photo taken with cell phone
Foto Friday #32
for Nancy Merrill Photography A Photo a Week Challenge: Meme-Worthy Photos
This Meme-Worthy Photo was taken at Isle of Capri, Italy
Once There Was a Warrior
His hut is the farthest from the fire.
It makes him feel brave and independent.
He built it out of timbers, straw and stone
with sticks for a door to impede intruders.
His people are hunters and gatherers,
reliant on wild game and edible plants.
His hunt takes him deep into the wilderness
where adventure stirs his spirit and enriches his soul.
Though he’s content to share the air with all living things,
he realizes sacrifices must be made.
When day is done, he brings his bounty to the fire
which burns in a circular pit lined with stone.
The aroma of roasting meat fills the air
and beckons those in their hut to share his food.
In praise, their gratitude becomes a song
composed and chanted in rhythm with the wind.
The fire that moments ago was a tool for cooking,
now bears a mocking resemblance to the sun
providing warmth and brightness to the night.
Around a smoky campfire the stories begin
bouncing back and forth across the flames.
Like kindling, words spark imagination.
Truths lead to legends and myths are born of lies.
Tall tales come to a halt when the embers die
and people wander quietly to their home.
His hut may be the farthest from the fire,
but stories fill his dreams and he is never cold.
Poem prompted by photo taken at Stonehenge in Wiltshire, England. The hut is a replica of one lived in 4,500 years ago by those who built Stonehenge.
