when I can’t
that you will
when you don’t
when I stumble and fall
and the four winds
twirl me into
my own salvation
that is the hardest part
photo via pixabay
So here comes the family reunion. Since I located the place and everyone agreed to rent it, sight unseen, I’m sorta freaking but…I’ve never had a bad experience renting vacation places from these people and the reviews are fantastic so… YAY! HERE WE COME! ALL 18 OF US
Here’s a lovely blurry photo of the place – probably in spring. Huge – sleeps a zillion. So, since your family isn’t Catholic, it’s plenty big enough. Menu will form an interesting arch between vegetarian/gluten free to Give Me More Of That Fat And Wheat😛
And here you will find me cuz I’m really a shy Cajun type. I’ll be right here, on this love seat, writing something that’s gonna be famous one day :)I’m hoping to use my tablet – easier with my eye issue – to take some forest-y photographs to poetry/flash fiction sort of things.
And then, too, I’ll be wiser cuz of the new walking steady cane you ordered for me:) It’s a hand carved Finnish piece. Wasn’t I supposed to order one last year? Oh well… so you ordered it for me! I really need one these days…especially in a redwood forest ….
Meanwhile, I’m going with my gf for her chemo tomorrow. I’ll take her for a coffee and pastry first. Then, at lunch, sumfin fatty and good that she likes. My sweet bestest friend. The chemo thing is very emotional for all concerned.
And then we live on until later.
So, one day soon….after life takes place, I’m taking a vacation.
Let’s call upon
and misinformed masses
to lead our way.
Stooping this low
can only echo
no, no, no
photo via pixabay
Time again for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge. please follow little froggy for more stories.
Here is the photo and my story…
Red Is Just A Color
Myrna had read an article about a local poetry reading set for that evening. Poetry wasn’t exactly her thing, but a poetry reading seemed better than spending another night alone.
She dressed appropriately bohemian and headed for the cafe. At least she’d get a coffee and pastry out of the evening.
A delicate figure stepped up to the microphone. Her features were soft. Almost perfect. “Let me leave you with this one last poem,” the poet said at the end of her reading. She was soft-spoken and seemed shy.
“The Colors of Red
Red is the color
and death’s blood.
the color of light
a paper lantern
speaks the unknown.
burns like fire
upon a world
Myrna felt her breath catch. Then she went home, had a brandy, turned down her bed, and slept fretfully.
This week’s photo prompt is provided by TJ Paris.
Is all this shit really happening in our country and our world?
At The Dance
I often like to imagine
madness and sanity
music and season
twirling like tops
on a dare.
Just a piece of while-washing-the-dishes-prose:
Just On The Tip Of My Tongue
It was like that spirit, come again, from way back when remember? Come to lift me up and away. Cradling me and cooing that old song, now just on the tip of my tongue.
Our cat is licking away the tears on my cheeks and cooing gently. Her private cooing. On a higher realm than purring.
You are there, too, somewhere close wondering – I guess – what more you can do other than kiss me and murmur something insane about love.
And then, whatever it was passes. I sense everything and everyone around me. In my mind, we purr with our cat. The sun is shining. This is what one must do. Get on with it.
photo via pixabay