not-quite Journaling, 53
blooms out of every tempest
in fiery petals
few days of rain left most tulips around my
place looking… interesting—the first looks like washed-out flames, the second
is hiding under a bush, and the third lost half her clothes. Still, they look
pretty; reminding me (and you, if you like) that storms can birth
define “normal” as (n.) the usual, average, or typical state or condition;
and, (adj.) conforming to a standard, or expected.
Well, I don’t know about you, but I doubt that “typical” or “conforming” could
even begin to describe the glorious mess that is me, myself, and I. So, my peculiar, my weird, my uncanny and I shall keep
delighting in the wondrous strangeness of being all of me.
nature never errs,
bolted onions speak of need
for fresh yum in soup
5/17/2023: My wee garden is blooming: the cornflowers, the tomatoes… and sadly, the onions—mood swings in temperature have confused this child of the allium, and caused it to bolt. I nipped the bud to pause the process. That particular onion will season my next pot of broth. The others are growing all right, and will be ready for harvesting in a month or three. What’s growing in your bit of our planet?
P.S. To the one who has been yapping about my so-called
“toxic positivity”, I say that a bit of optimism is never a bad thing. On the
other hand, finding fault in someone else’s refusal to give into gloom, well,
that can choke a soul to death. So, take a breath… and speak something useful.
Comfort is coffee, books,
the page had offered the words, this blackout would’ve included cooking,
gardening, walks in the woods, conversation with friends, quiet (and not so
quiet) time with my Piano Man, laughing until I cry, productive writing
sessions, rain baths in summer, spring blooming, Halloween spookiness, petrichor,
the taste of food I’ve grown. I could go on and on… Because living can be rough
at times, but filled with delightful bits (that help smooth life’s jagged
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #77: The DJ Sucks.