On my way up to the mountains two days ago, winter holds on still. Snow showers made for an eerie drive. This dampened my enthusiasm for a peek at spring’s arrival in the mountains. I doubted there would be any evidence, as it turns out I was right. The property was covered in snow encrusted with ice.
now adorned with buds
lure of spring
creek gallups without reserve
spring melt, brazen song of spring
Mother Bea sits in her wooden rocking chair on the rickety varandah. She is placed there every morning. She does not walk. She must be over 80 years old. Even her kids were old. When you are little, everybody is old! I watch her as she watches the daily interactions of the children in the yard. She would make one word prouncements on the goings-on.
Cry baby. Smart. Determined. Thick skull. I often wondered how she arrived at these critiques from such a distance. And more often, just who she was talking about!
at times it’s futile
figuring out which spirit
whisper the loudest
in their attempts to guide me –
probably pointless, thick skull!
For Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday
Where the prompt is synonyms for :
Ghost & Hollow