Like most homes with kids, bedtime meant stories. In our house, it was tall tales and ghost stories told by my dad.
Learning how to cast shadow puppets against the wall, and tales of shooting and twinkling stars were my favorites. Especially if we had just seen it from the varandah before bedtime. Then, there were the magical tales of the moon. Always the moon.
Ellie and Portia always wanted to know why did the cow jump over the moon? Also, what was the man in the moon doing while this was happening? To this my dad always had an answer, a different one everytime, and more fantastical than the last. Ellie and Portia would get really quiet. Those two – “…In their dreams they sleep with the moon… “
For Prosery Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub hosted by Merril where the rule is to use this line in your prose, no alterations, in no more that 144 words.
I was never really a particularly chatty person. I always had my nose in a book, and I could never abide foolishness much. I was more interested in capturing catapillars and watching them change. Looking back, It felt like even as a child I was an old soul.
This, coupled with parents who were always at each others throat didn’t leave much time for celebrations. Especially not of birthdays. I don’t remember ever having a birthday party when I was young. That was never a big thing at our house. There were more pressing needs.
I do remember it being a day of protest, or acting up on my part. Thinking on this day I was somehow immune. The problem was my mom didn’t much abide foolishness either. So usually with my acting up, I got the order to “go pick a switch”. Birthday or no birthday.
new butterfly soars
on the wings of summer wind –
the nature of change
For dVerse Poets Pub where it is haibun monday and the prompt is “Birthday”.
Kim is hosting. Come do some reading or paticipate here.
For Tanka Tuesday over at Colleen’s where it’s Poet’s choice this week. Stop by and do some reading or join in here.
It feels weird to even think this, let alone say it out loud. But I think the same set of birds that seem to live in my garden are back. A true sign of spring. They were here yesterday. They came back today. A gnarly bunch. A diverse bunch. Sparrows, red breasted robins, cardinal ( the red one with that funky head piece), and a green parakeet. That one I didn’t see.
The birds are back again today
This time, more than just one couple
She is still about the work of the day
Still locked in her nest building bubble
No, I didn’t know all that about birds. I looked it up at The Cornell Lab – All About Birds. Very interesting site. It’s connected to Cornell University I think.
For dVerse Poets Pub where Frank Hubeny is hosting…the prompt is Couplets. My first time writing one of these. To read more about it, to see other entries or to participate go here
She is not one to say it often. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe she doesn’t know how, never learned how. Maybe she’s just not good at it.
My mom has been on her own, for the most part since she was thirteen. Her mom died one morning as she was readying her daughters for school.
I’m thinking since then, she has had issues with god / creator for letting such a catastrope befall her and her younger sister.
Some things trickle down, whether it was meant to or not.
I am no good at love. Most times leave me feeling like a lunatic, if not acting like one.
But, I keep an open heart. Even so, “I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.” I guess in a cock-eyed sorta of way, I believe in love.
Over at dVerse Poets Pub the prompt is to write prose (keeping it tight at no more than 144 words) and to include the line below:-
“I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.”
She came to visit on a peaceful saturday evening. Meandering conversations about everyday things, morphed into events of childhood and upbringing.
The traumas and dramas, the love and conflicts. Families and their decisions made out of love, that is truly misunderstood by the young minds they were meant to shield.
Then came reflections on this life changing sorrow. There are moments caught between heart-beats, that goes the way of time. There is no changing it. There is no revisiting it And its one true quality is that it is everlasting.
This was one of those moments. After the revelation it just hung in the air.
a mother’s grief – in remembrance through decades, she kept the last T-shirt he wore, bullet hole intact
For dVerse Poets Pub where Kim is hosting and the phrase to be incorporated in the response is ” There are moments caught between heart-beats”
As spring creeps in, I keep waiting for the charm of a proper snowfall. This unseasonably warm winter seem to have fooled no one but me. The young leaves of the butterfly bush takes a stand. They look sturdy and healthy. They’re not going anywhere, despite their encounter with a transient snowfall. They’ve suffered no harm.
spring comes alive plant pots at the garden’s edge wore winter like clutter
Dverse Poets Pub where Frank Tassone is hosting Haibun Monday and the prompt is “Spring”