Round and round the light did turn casting shapes upon the waves dolphins leap and waters churn imaginings mortal memory saves ships of wood and men of steel twisted tales from days of old siren’s dirge the bells doth peal from waters deep and bitter cold
Here where the artesian spring gurgles up through the ground, I pause. My intuition stirs, something. I glance behind and see him there, browsing amongst the fading autumn grass. I sense no fear from him, no tensing of muscle and sinew. Why should he flee? My soft pink form is no threat to him. I wonder if he knows, something inside, outside the bounds of human knowing. I would not harm him, nor his home.
Others are treacherous and wasteful, caring not for the needs of growing things. Contemptuous of all they deem lesser, and all is less. But for now, we are content to share this bit of world, the deer and I. I smile and he turns away from the warmth of sun on waning grass; away from me.
We drink from the stream, with a warm delight – the same the deer and I
For Terri’s Sunday Stills our prompt this week is lights. Like a lot of folk, I immediately thought of Holiday lights. Honestly, they are virtually non-existent for us. It’s hard to string up lights around an RV and neither of us drive much at night for local viewing. After reading Terri’s post though, I realized that “lights” doesn’t necessarily mean Holiday. As an artist, I find I’m always looking for that particular … something, a certain quality of light that sparks the imagination, and ignites the soul.
Certain Quality of Light
The air alive with magic, the world awash with a certain quality of light eyes open to incandescent beauty of the new day, brave and bright my poor heart trembling, I breathe, weeping with delight The moment passed too quickly but never will I forget the sigh of a world alive with magic and that certain quality of light
And finally, for those of you who just NEED that Holiday Lights fix, my fav
Waves pound against the beach far below the “lovers leap” tourists come to gawk in vain searching for the charred remains where lovers leapt to their demise their dirge a seagull’s mournful cry rest they here beyond sorrow’s reach as waves pound against the beach
Nose to the ground he hunted trail hidden by leaf and stone into the forest deep and wild perhaps to court his doom a rabbit perchance for supper or a squirrel juicy and fat ….. “Charley … come back here you silly dog.”
When I first read the prompt, my mind immediately went to love poetry, not quite my mood today. The winds are fierce and I am practicing a little kitchen witchery with a chicken carcass. Naturally, I immediately thought of soup. I make soup like my Grandma made, boiling left-over bones down for stock. My kitchen (OK actually my whole house) smells divine on this blustery autumn day. On chilly windy days, we made soup and she would tell me the story of “Stone Soup” ah but that’s a tale for another day.
Soup – a meal in a can?
“Soup’s good for you”, she said vegetable, chicken or chili instead served piping hot with cheese and bread. Canned soups I simply can’t abide never knowing what may lurk inside too often thin, tasteless, and bland so I make my own whenever I can