Lillian is the host of Open Link Night on dVerse Poets Pub and one of her sayings is“Normal” is a setting on a dryer.(lillian) Which got me to thinking about my own sayings that I use a LOT right now. One of which is: “Average is a mathematical equation; normal is an illusion.” (JPP). So in honor of all the times people have said to me “this is the new normal” only to hear “normal is an illusion” I give you …
They call it the new normal for me it’s another day of masks and social distance and, really, that’s Okay
Normal never did mean all that much to me it’s just a grand illusion whose source I cannot see
So I walk my path alone isolation’s not so tough for I have magic in my veins and for me that’s quite enough
Secret Garden – Nocturne (Lyric Video) ft. Anne Takle
Kim881 from Writing in North Norfolk, is our host for this week’s Haibun Monday
“For this challenge, I ask you to think about your own birthdays, ones from the past, one that is coming up, a memorable one, or one you are dreading. Whether it’s birthday cake and balloons, a quiet glass of wine on your own that turned into something memorable, or a complete disaster, I’d like you to share a birthday with us.”
Born on a cusp with an aura of blue, a child between signs. Always looking for where she fit in. Black and orange confetti, fairy costumes and pumpkins as happy children dance around the cake table. A birthday wish for magic and a pony.
Birthdays come and birthdays go. Her aura darkens as does the world. No dinner, no parties, nowhere that she fits in. No need to hide her blackened eye. Alone, she makes her birthday wish for magic and love.
Moons wax and wane as life goes on. She finds love again, and trust. Purple and black decorations, a pointy hat adorned with flowers, love and laughter. Amber eyes twinkle with merriment. No need for birthday wishes, she has all she needs, she IS magic.
Candle burning bright years come and go by too fast blow the candle out
Many thanks to Cathy over at Picture This for hosting Sunday Stills for us during Terri’s August blogging break. Our prompt for this week is “Beautiful Beaches”
I was born to be a mermaid but by nature was betrayed to live this false existence and walk this world on legs the ocean’s song still sings within my heart and mind peace and calm engulf me as I watch the waves unwind
Stronger —Under the Sea: A Descendants Short Story
Our host a dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday Poetics is Laura Bloomsbury, who asks us for our flights of fancy. The following is based on a real life observation of a nesting pair of Great Horned Owls who were being tormented by a scold of very noisy jays. One of the adult owls defiantly lured the jays away and suddenly turned on them, snatching one unwitting fellow right out of the air.
Flight of Fancy/Dance of Death
Whump, whump, whump the air throbs under the assault of massive wings three powerful strokes and he is aloft master of the thermals
He dips one wing in silent condolence to the pitiful flightless things below while defiantly flying straight into the scold of jays, and through
He climbs ever higher, taunting inconsequential forms of lesser birds that fall behind in the chase still jeering they cluster … until
Pivoting on one wing, he falls with sharp talons and flared wings like an avenging angel set to smite their relentless taunting
A silent cloud of black feathers announces his success
Brittle yellow grass crunches beneath my feet trees drop their leaves yellow with drought stress Black-eyed Susans and Marigolds wink at the summer heat while children run through sprinklers and adults pray for rain
The view out my window is pretty typical of this summer. An odd checkerboard of bright green and straw tan grass, mottled patches where the rain has not reached or hail has damaged. It’s rather odd to my mind how even though I spend considerably more time at home this summer, there are still more empty boxes on my to do list than there are checks. I’m missing the summer days of checked tablecloths and carry out fried chicken.
My new metaphor for “weird and crazy” has become “2020” as in “do not ring the door bell, dogs will bark, I will yell and things will go all kinds of 2020.” Or, “Do NOT make me go all 2020 on your a**.” The humorous applications are endless.
All that aside, life is all about checks and balances, and I know that eventually the pendulum will swing back. For now, I’m going to check another item off my list.
For dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night. This has been a crazy summer, from pandemics to devastating hail storms. There is a moment before the storm hits when you can almost feel the sky holding her breath … waiting. This summer feels like that to me, as we deal with rising death rates, more lock downs; I’m holding my breath, waiting. The air is moist and oppressive, lightning startling in it’s beauty and power. I don’t know how this will all turn out, but I know this; the sky is always clearer after the storm.
July came marching in sultry cadence as heat rises and skies darken for a moment all is still a breeze caresses my cheek scented with lingering traces of bar-b-que, sunscreen and sweat heavy with petrichor and promise
The wind begins to sing through high tension wires trees sway in a frantic dance holding fast to precious leaves cloth billows and strains in air heavy with moisture the scent of roses … and magic
Black cloud castles
remain still and unmoved anchored to the blue sky and the lightning begins I wonder what the storm will leave in it’s wake but for now, I watch and wait
What a wildly appropriate prompt for this week. You see, I am one of those weird people. You know the ones who always know the moon phase. The ones who talk about the demise of betelgeuse, use coconut oil for everything, have an herb or an essential oil suggestion for any complaint. We talk about Woodstock, and the day John Lennon died, listen to music by Janis Joplin, Cage the Elephant, Omnia and George Strait with equal abandon. We’re the ones with the wild sparkle in our eyes, the messy hair, and perpetually dirty feet. We are the Star Seeds and Indigos, the lovers and the dancers. The ones who see all the pain and horror of this world, but love it anyway. Long live the wild and the weird! 🙂
Painted Bull at Taoyuan airport,Taiwan
And just to prove that art is truly international A painted bull buffalo from Custer, South Dakota
courtesy of Mother Nature, a dew drenched caterpillar tent on a juniper shrub
Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt is “link.” Use it as a noun or a verb; use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
I’ve been distracted lately. Overwhelmed is more like it. If you want to witness some definitive examples of whacked out human behavior, try working in a recreational venue, in a tourist town, in the midst of a pandemic. The lock down has been lifted, people are pouring in with no visible concern for safety precautions, like it’s all over. Meanwhile the exposure and death rates continue to rise. Laughter is forced, tempers are short, and common courtesy has been lost in the frenetic scramble to have “fun.” Combine this with hotter than normal weather, several damaging hail storms and this normally gentle land is a tinder box of dry prairie grass just waiting for a spark.
With so many of the outer planets in retrograde, it’s really a crazy time for emotionally driven individuals and HSP’s such as myself. The link between anger, aggression, general weirdness and the pandemic and retrogrades I’m sure is strong but what the answer is eludes me. So for now I’ll be staying in as much as possible while concentrating on emotional detox and healing, shielding and grounding. If I can’t break the link, perhaps I can loosen the chain.