creativity · nature · photography · poetry · writing

October Walk

Romantic nature
paves the path with gold – river
adds sweet harmony.

(For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge:  river/ path.  Image from personal collection.)

aging · change · life · poetry · writing

Grey Clouds Hover

Life! One day rushing to collect kids, stopping for the dry cleaning, and praying the slow cooker is indeed cooking; and the next strolling down uncluttered lanes, contemplating absence.  How did we get here?  How did we dream so big and land so humble?  Gone are big homes and hefty mortgages. Hell, we’re down to one car. Sunday dinners with the family are memories and nowadays, my head spins to think of cooking for more than we two.

Now we speculate about time left.  Ponder what distances will support us.  Shall we travel, avoid the winter months, and if so, will our health cooperate?  Will the children understand?   Forgive my melancholy.  The silence is echoing off the walls, and I am reflective today. Not in a good way.  I’d best get myself outside for some fresh air.

Time slips through fingers
palms reaching outward, hopeful –
Fall’s hues distract woe.

(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday, and dVerse‘s open link night. Photo supplied by Deb Whittam)

life · nature · poetry · writing

Eagle Encounters

Tales of bald eagles
entice exploration,
cameras ready –

Great Blue heron,
a woodpecker,
nuthatches and
chickadee – all
grace our lenses..

.. no eagles.

Then driving into town,
business and errands
distracting, a shape looms,
rises up from the asphalt

black tail feathers
bordered by white
to match its noble head.

We search again,
follow directions
down country roads
into the bush…

… no eagles.

Friends visit,
we tour, show off
our rural beauty,
espy white amongst
autumn’s foliage

two eagles hunting
along river’s flow –
one veers to fly
overhead, in salute,
or mocking…

…no cameras.

 

 

 

aging · Humour · ME/ CFS · nature · poetry · writing

Heavenly Day

Sun slices through slumber –
Day, wrapped in cerulean, beckons.

Not an early riser, I balk, until
sensibility intrudes, argues
autumn’s passing –

I concede, break out,
push limitations –
a sexagenarian rebel.

Later, I crash,
golden lustre
enveloping me –
halo-like.

(Kim is hosting at dVerse pub tonight and challenging us to write a quadrille – poem in 44 words – using the word early.  I am also linking up with Ragtag Community for their prompt:  lustre.  More photos and information about this outing are posted here.)