Road Trippin’

A road trip this year was never the plan – the plan was international travel! Our European river cruise was booked over a year ago, but COVID-19 put an abrupt halt to all non-essential travel so our plans had to change. Just like everyone else, we were disappointed about the things that would never be, and we struggled to understand the new “normal”. Being stuck at home 24/7 for weeks and weeks did have one advantage – it gave us plenty of time to come up with Travel Plan B. Instead of packing our passports, plane tickets and cruise vouchers, we will load up the car with hand sanitizer, face masks and disinfecting wipes, and hit the road for a good old-fashioned summer driving adventure. We will roll down the windows, crank up the music and social distance to the point of being rude! Why not – gas is cheap! So, take care everyone. We’ll chat again in a few weeks.

It’s Only Words #7

The Quiet Battle

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We left home several years ago in the wee hours of a January morning to attend a 10:00 funeral that was 3 1/2 hours away. On the drive we passed a beautiful farm where the morning fog was just beginning to lift. Last week we made the same trip for yet another funeral and we passed the farm again, but this time it was a bright summer’s day. I took both photos through the car window with my cell phone. Same farm, different season, years apart!

The following is a re-post of a story I wrote the first time I saw the farm:

THE QUIET BATTLE

Morning fog invades a lovely Kansas farm in the pre-dawn hours of a clear winter day. The fog will lie low for a spell, transforming rest into stubborn courage for the fight that looms ahead: an inevitable skirmish between Fog and Sun.

As Fog hunkers down, it blankets winter wheat and hugs the stubble of last year’s corn which lay dying in the field. It settles itself along the fence that separates the farm in stately fashion and it laces haunting fingers through the trees. It covertly surrounds the silo, the barn, the shed; and forms a luminous halo around the single light left burning to ward off possible dangers tempted to lurk in shadowed corners.

At sunrise, the battle begins. Fog is brave and refuses to yield, but the fight does not rage for long. Sun is a strong and formidable enemy. Flanked on all sides with no place to hide, Fog is swiftly defeated. Forced to surrender, a virtual white flag is waved as it retreats.

When the farm is fully bathed in golden rays, you would never suspect that a quiet battle had ever taken place here.

Shifting Seasons – a poem

It’s the middle of a long hot summer where I live, but I have the changing seasons to look forward too! In a few months my morning walks will be gold instead of green.

 

SHIFTING SEASONS

Roses are drooping

Petals are falling

Ground is scorched by

the heat of the sun

 

Moon is waning

Stars are hiding

Eeriness conquers

the dark velvet skies

 

Summer is folding

Autumn is calling

Crisp, pretty leaves

now crunch at my feet

 

Storm is brewing

Cold is looming

Icy winds bite at

the innocent breeze

 

Color is fading

Nothing is growing

Dreary days plague us

as winter sets in

 

Air is warming

Snow is melting

Clouds weep with joy

for hope has returned

 

Green is bursting

Birds are chirping

Spring has arrived

all’s right with the world!

Foto Friday #3

HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT

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Summer arrived yesterday and with it, the blooming of one of my favorite flowers—the daisy. Daisies evoke the memory of plucking off petals one by one while reciting the phrase “he loves me” and “he loves me not”. This, according to my older-therefore-much-wiser sister, was an accurate prediction of a young man’s affection. It’s a good thing we had an abundance of daisies when we were growing up, as she and I would perform this whimsical little ritual over and over until we got the answers we wanted!

A Flower’s Summer Song

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How rare, in summer, is a day like this

when the sun beams kindly on my face

and yesterday’s rain relieves my feet from the pain

of digging to the depths of this place.

All about my head are curls of pink and red,

though they’re brown on oppressive summer days

from the scorching of the sun, from dawn ’til day is done;

yet I thrive, and my colors are ablaze!

My arms, adorned with leaves, sway gently in the breeze,

a reprieve from the cruel and gusty gale.

From a heat I can’t forget, comes a strength I don’t regret

for it’s that which allows me to prevail.

I am a flower, I am in bloom;

and all I have to offer, all I have to give

is at its best on a rare day like today.