Play It Forward, a Tweetspeak Poetry writing workshop, encourages us to incorporate play into our writing and personal life. My recent visit near a wooded area resulted in photos and some writing fun.
My little terrier tenderly nudged his nose toward something behind me as I brought him back into the house. I unhooked his leash, not realizing his curiosity and concern were grounded on an injured chickadee lying belly-up—just a foot from us.
Wings of Grace We caught glimpses of gold on our Sunday walk. The glow was as though we were listening to brass— as if nature’s baritones commingled with the horn of the high-pitched piccolo.
October Rose I sauntered along the border of the shimmering parking lot, past shiny-leafed plants laden with day-long drizzle. I lingered in October rain, admired the quench of leaves surrounding a show of pink roses.
A Variation on Vows Guests arrive for the celebration. Neat wrappings wait to lay crinkled. Pressed formals hang in garment bags, not knowing their fate.
For years, our unspoken promise— meet each school day at Park and Weston. We clutched books ‘til red lines formed in the soft places of our arms.
Twenty-four nurses trailed into the room. They found seats within the circular configuration of chairs, where I sat. A mound of rocks rested in the middle of the circle.
At the café table, I fiddled with my iPhone as I waited for my long-lost friend. My thoughts travelled to the morning’s drive when I noticed how the barren gray twigs aspired to swell and brown sloshy fields appealed to green.
Last Saturday, Andy and I travelled into the evening hours towards a Christmas party. We passed candlelit windows that seemed to invite family and friends in for a warm welcome.
The Commotion of Christmas While Sunday, November 29, starts the Advent season, the world around me tries to tell me otherwise.
As a young girl, I loved climbing the enormous Weeping Willow tree in the corner of our backyard. My brother and I competed to see who could scale the highest—and get down the quickest.
Mom sat across the table, picking at her chef’s salad. “Will you shave my head when my hair starts falling out?” she asked.