Glimmers and Such

not-quite Journaling, 57

In a New York garden, she roars (or yawns) her feelings into the world.

7/17/2023: My red amaryllis is blooming rather expressively. This is the first year this one flowers in summer. I think that after weeks of coughing, crappy sleep, headaches, and back pain, Nature decided to brighten my day with a bit of unseasonal magic.

 

a glimmer:
bees and ladybugs
kissing blooms

7/21/2023: According to my dearest and sweetest, Rommy, “a glimmer is the exact opposite of a trigger—it is some kind of cue, either internal or external, that brings one back to a sense of joy or safety.” Pollinators soothe my soul, naturally. Care to share one (or 2, or 3…) of your glimmers?

 

Be you; regret be damned.

7/25/2023: If it makes me happy and hurts none, I do it--no guilt. My relationship with that particular emotion doesn’t go beyond this thought, by Voltaire: “Every (wo)man is guilty of all the good (s)he did not do.” Especially the good which might’ve improved her life.

 

pure delight:
tomatoes I’ve grown
to snack on

7/28/2023: Every time I walk out to my balcony to pick (and taste) a tomato (or 15), my tummy grins. Of course, my tummy can grin! Can’t yours?


- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #87: What Pleases You? I am pleased by growth, by reciprocal love, by small magics, by hope that spreads, by words that uplift, by determination, by self-reliance, by things I’ve grown from seed to yum…