Dusky rose and cerulean blue pastel backdrops of fading light against frilly tendrils of clouds I await the coming of the night Up where the wind blows the clouds until they billow and furl twixt starlight and daybreak lies a magical world Where there’s barely a day and hardly no night there are beings of shadow and stunning creatures of light where dragons silently drift across Easter egg skies and then disappear in the blink of an eye
The dawn this morning was all pastel pink buttermilk clouds against the bright blue of morning. Shades like the Easter eggs we colored as kids, delicate and gentle. Like you.
From the all-knowing Jar of Inspiration today’s prompt: Fairy Rain
Rain softly falls on my window pane as I stand here listening outside the sun is slowly waking the spider webs are glistening beads of rain shimmer in the morning light like the flutter of fairy wings tiny gems that vanish with the sun but for now I listen to the rain and watch the fairies dance
Winter flares are no fun, at all fatigue and fuddled thinking are a nuisance at the best of times and for me at least, holidays are NOT the best of times. I’m out of spoons and trying to do way to much. Slowing my roll, so I’ve been cavorting about on Canva again. Here is my latest doodad to remind me to deal with seasonal bluesy feelings in a positive (low spoons) way.
My prompt from the Jar of Inspiration: “On my desk or mantel”
On My Mantel
The pumpkins are down and packed away tight now on my mantel waiting to take flight sits a trio of angels messengers of love and light Solstice beckons me to rest and wait but Christmas calls and I must decorate with shimmering baubles and delicate snowflakes on my mantel memories of long ago while I sit snug and serene with tea in my mug watching the snow
I’ve been feeling short of muse lately and so have refilled the “Great Jar of Inspiration” also known as a prompt jar, aka an empty salsa jar filled with scraps of paper which contain wordy things known as prompts.
Today’s prompt from the Jar of Inspiration: In my mug
In my mug – coffee because it smells like magic and tastes like hopes and dreams.
We were fighting for our loved ones at home, for freedom and all that we believed in. I’ve known many a soldier to privately wonder, although I’ve never heard one ask, “what does the enemy believe in?”
~reminiscence of an unknown soldier
“We also serve who stay at home and wait with busy hands and lonely hearts.” ~Faye VAQ 129 Wives Club