Solanj sized up the path, deserted even at mid-day, this would do nicely. A lovely place for a gentleman to take a lady for a moonlight stroll. The symetrical trees and shrubs concealed many a covert alcove where lovers would be safe from prying eyes. A perfect place for the garroting of an evil aristocrat. Solanj fingered the gold ring on her hand, it’s cabochon stone concealing a poison dart. Her bracelet of lavender silk cord braided with strong silver wire wrapped easily around her dainty wrist, unrolled into an effective garrot. Solanj the most feared assassin of her age, never concealed a weapon. After all who would presume to question a lady’s jewelry.
The clouds gathered dark that day, blotting out the sun. Dark and ominous with jagged edges, holding the promise for rain. Xere paused, savoring the cool shade. Desiccated earth beneath her feet cracked and crumbled, as her lungs cried out for moisture. No storm came to quench earth or skin. No rain fell that day, or any day since.
It is, I think, the tiny things that often give soul it’s wings the humming bird in darting flight fills the heart with pure delight dandelion offered from a tiny hand I’ve never seen a gift so grand a gentle touch, a quiet smile a laugh, a joke, and all the while wondering what tomorrow brings life is lived in the tiny things
By the power of water, pure and clean the world is cleansed of negativity a hillock adrift in the torrent stream all that remains of her broken dreams the Great Mother’s voice whispers “come child, let me dry your eyes you aren’t sad because it rains my dear it rains because you cry”
Everywhere I go I seem to find the Lady’s spirit watching me Look now, can you not see the Lady’s face within the tree or the feminine forms etched in stone nature’s hidden ghosts abiding grace of form now look through her eyes and you just might see all this world was meant to be
Frank is our host at dVerse for haibuns this week. We are asked to focus on the present moment for our haibun. Life is made up of moments, precious, terrifying, beautiful moments. Once in awhile, it all comes together and for just that moment, life is perfect.
Standing on the overlook, gazing at the fairytale landscape below. Orange and yellow stones painted with the colors of the setting sun, and the azure sky. You wrap an arm around my waist, and the moment is perfect.
I watch as the shadow of a butterfly dances across the floor, refracted through the sun and glass. Blending with hospital floors and furniture, forming abstract shapes. A cloud passes over the sun. I lose the shadow dance. The doctor walks in. You are alive. My heart overflows with gratitude, and the moment is perfect.
Spring warms the flowers the wind filled with promise and blessings not yet known
Down, down, down we go follow the path to the stream far below follow the stream to wherever it goes feel the magic as it ebbs and flows where fairies dance and the forest plays I found the magic where night meets day
De (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting Quadrilles at dVerse Poets Pub and has asked for a poem about “bother” what bothers us, what do we find bothersome? What gets us hot and bothered? Hmmm … as I poke my muse repeatedly until she finally gets tired of being bothered and manages to convey some sort of inspiration.
Dreams of Late — a quadrille
At night of late dark dreams have come frightening and bothersome dark shapes I cannot see swoop, harass and bother me moonless skies throughout the night colors fading from my sight searching for the moon’s bright light I wake to find it’s all illusion