Over the race
and into the woods,
just down the forest path –
there we’ll go.
In search of adventure,
in search of snow,
we’ll step and turn
and twirl and dance.
We’ll take this chance.
And if, along the way,
we find
a journey or a day,
we’ll know –
we were meant to be here
in this winter wonderland.
Will you join us?
Then take my hand.
Will history repeat itself?
A couple of years ago, around this time, we had a pretty bad ice storm. We were not prepared, because it was forecasted to just be a light wintry mix. I was really worried our birch tree would crack under the weight of all that frozen stuff, and super anxious that we might lose power.
It didn’t, and we didn’t, but yeah, I don’t like ice. Snow? Yes! Ice? Hard no.
At any rate, it’s looking like we might see some winter weather tomorrow, and what do you know – they’re predicting a wintry mix. So, we’ll see. Fingers crossed it’s not too bad!
Winter whispers
through the fields
and the forests,
breathes new life
into the silver moon,
soft and steady and still.
Only a tingle of ice,
a mist of frost
in the air,
It says:
Not quite time,
no,
not yet there,
but soon.
It’s been a little while since I’ve participated in Rebecca’s monthly poetry challenge over at Fake Flamenco. November’s is to write a haiku about something in nature that fascinates you, and that’s right up my alley. So, here are a couple of offerings.
Though we may hold on
Nature knows when the time’s right
To just let things go
Bare limbs twist and reach
Like wanting hands to the sky
Hungry for winter
I’m particularly inspired by nature in fall and winter, and I love the change in the color and light, and the bare limbs of the trees. So, this challenge came along at the perfect time! And if you’d like to join the fun, you’ve got until November 13th. 😊
Almost gone, your leaves
Fallen and caught by the wind
You know what’s coming
It seems to have happened overnight, though I know it didn’t: We woke up this morning, and just like that, our birch tree is ready for winter. It always makes me a little melancholy, watching a season end. But I love winter, and hopefully this year, we’ll have some snow.
There are still plenty of colorful leaves on some of our other trees, so we’re not quite there yet. But winter is certainly on its way, y’all.
Beautiful, isn’t it?
But it burns out so quickly.
It’s feeling very much like autumn around here lately. The leaves have started to change in earnest.
And some have already fallen.
It’s hard not to be in a good mood with colors like this.
Especially on a Friday. 😊
A quick note, I’ll be taking a quick break through Monday to visit family, so I’ll be back and posting again on Wednesday, October 19th. Until then, I wish you all happy creating!
The color of
fortune
and
fervor,
of mornings
and sunsets,
of fate
and flair
and feelings
and flame
lays its claim
to the leaves
again.
And we –
only passing and
making our way
in this world –
we get to see
for the briefest time
this lucky red
that dyes
the ties
that bind.
How fleeting,
fading fast,
it seems,
and nothing lasts,
they say.
But this,
surely this
we can hold,
always there,
bright
and bold,
in our memory.
To fade,
to fall,
to create space –
Nature doesn’t just
let go
in autumn.
It makes room
to grow.
I used to be afraid of spiders, but now, living in the country, I look at them as friends. Well, mostly. I certainly wouldn’t want to meet the wrong spider at an inopportune moment, and some relationships work best with a little distance. But I find the ones that set up shop around our property to be largely unintrusive, and interesting, and honestly, sort of beautiful. And it helps that their webs keep the other bugs and pests away.
Now that we’re coming into fall, I’ve seen several.
Mostly writing spiders, which as a writer myself, I can’t help but feel a certain kinship with.
That’s strange, isn’t it? But we women have stories in us, and deep down, I think we’re all weavers and makers.
And I figure, outside in the fields and trees and such, I’m really in their territory, not the other way around. So, as long as they keep to themselves, I’ll do the same.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 