Picking up a handful of sand, letting it drift on the cerulean waves, Sue wondered if that was a metaphor of her life, seemingly scattered everywhere, adrift by the wind. Nothing was happening correctly, in her troubled mind. Sue wanted order, an accomplished list to be proud of. Instead life with this new illness turned into chaos, with no future hope for control or order, like grains of sand drifting in the waves.. tree
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Weekend Writing Prompt #441 – Cerulean
time can be fleeting
turn around and the clock chimes
only memories
try to fill the empty heart
time is told in photographs
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Grandson then:
Grandson now:
A Tanka Prose in Honour of Cee. #1Day4Cee
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I was just looking through old posts for Fandango’s Friday Flashback and saw one that describes my best enjoyment:
multiple petals
wintry hued scented with musk
such autumn flowers
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Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, November 7th 2017, Chrysanthemums
Harry sat on his balcony, playing his violin, badly, of course. He never took more lessons after the kids at school found out and called him a wishywashy marshmallow. It was true enough, Harry thought. Maybe he should have tried the tuba! Never listed in the marching band roster, but did dress up as the school mascot, the Evergreen Eagle. They stopped ridiculing him then until the new football coach decided to impound the old eagle costume.
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Can You Tell A Story In…
You might call it gallantry, the efforts of a lone speaker, trying to gather likeminded individuals to express personal fortitude, standing up against the bullies and dressed up thugs, wearing face coverings to hide their identity. There is no valor in these costumed figures, brandishing guns and clubs and harming sprays. The speech given is simple enough, to have the courage to be there, listening and supporting others. That is fearlessness, bravery to the extreme, as kindly neighbors present themselves in defense of humane rights.
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Reena’s Xploration Challenge #405
“Side by side” a line from an old song from 1927. I can remember singing it as my sister and I walked along a dirt road to visit friends. It was an easier way of life. We had a dog, Ring, and he never minded being hooked up to our wooden mini wagon. Whoever was riding in it at the time was suddenly bumping along and we stopped to find the wheels were losing their spokes. We laughed and walked along side the wagon and Ring kept pulling. Grampa was always handy to fix things.
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This Week’s Writer’s Workshop Prompts: November 6, 2025
Christmas tree lights dimmed as the nurse opened the blinds. Sue preferred them closed. Sue was too tired, too discouraged by the latest diagnosis, to care about the life going on outside. Life plans were not a success. She turned away from the window, when she heard singing. No carols, please, she moaned. The tree lights suddenly brightened and the singing increased. Sue was about to ring for the nurse when she saw a specter, in angel disguise. Magically lifted to look back at her body in the bed, Sue fainted. The mystery of afterlife was about to be revealed.
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7 November 2025
To DJT – “you can’t always get what you want”. Rolling Stones:
One-Liner Wednesday – This is why
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