Seasons Change And…


Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

Autumn is here. It’s funny how it hits so differently depending on where you live in the country and how it affects you differently than someone else. I was talking to Nathan the other day and it isn’t even ‘fall’ where he’s at, yet here leaves are changing and the colors are happening and it is clearly autumn, in that glorious setting of warm days, brisk mornings, and chill nights. The smells are out of this world. I LOVE autumn. Always have. I love the seasonal shift much more these days than before when I was this total Autumn girl. Now, give me summer, give me spring. Even winter has a part of my body enclosed around it now. But still, Autumn holds her hand on me the most.

I haven’t gotten around to writing about it much, being that I get super distracted on my days off, and on my days at work, I have time in the morning but I feel very zombie-ish. Today was one of the first off days when I don’t feel totally wiped for a change. It’s rather nice. But I still haven’t written that much. So much to write about. Wilson and his girl Friday are galavanting off on walkabouts throughout the area. Hands shoved into back pockets, her in riding boots, him in tennis shoes, hoodie? Maybe tweed, sorry, too much Vanity Fair, Vogue, and Harper’s Bazaar magazines showcasing tweed in the fall, have gotten to me.  But they are tramping about the countryside as I am indoors. Good for them, the louses. I jest. It’s so much fun to mock your characters. To poke fun at them. To injure them with a well placed criticism. It doesn’t do any harm.

So there they are, off tramping up one hill and down another,
fingers shoved into back pockets as icy needles fly from the north wind
a shock line up the scalp as radiant heat burnishes from the front,
the sun tilted down at lower planes and angles,
and they climb up over barbed wire, snag on berry bushes
fingers stained purple as plump ripeness bursts into mouths,
grinning, garish smiles of dripping sweetness,
then off-ward again, they climb up steep hills, to sit on a outcropping
granite boulders warmed in the afternoon light,
watching the golden disk slip down behind the mountains, a linger of
golden lines from each segment it sinks down
a line of trees far away, still you can see the toothed branches
you could nearly count the pine cones, maybe
and an unkindness of ravens caw their way overhead
while a wake of buzzards drift upwards then down in spirals,
updrafts, downdrafts, the shifting warmth of the day
now brisk and biting in like little nails, curved thorns of the blackberry,
and twilight sets in so much faster, and faster, and faster,
as they stumble their way down the hill, the warm piney scent of the coniferous gasses
chasing them homeward in the lingering light……

Whoa, where did that come from? No seriously, I just started puttering with a thought I had in my journal and suddenly I have a scene for Wilson and whatever her name is, the muse. I gotta write this down. Cool.

It’s exciting when I write something that is just spitting out from my head. I haven’t had a lot of that lately. I’m distracted by too much phone usage, and well, actually, I’m reading this and that and getting caught in books. Then mentally drifting off.

Well, patting myself on the back, now I have other things to get done. Enjoy that bit of poetry that just slipped out. And honestly, the title of the post came from a new Post Malone song, “Circles”, but I never got around to my music tastes right now. Another day….


PAD Day 6 – Ekphrastic – Summer Siren Lady

Summer Siren Lady

Seductive and slumberous lady you are magnificent
in your slip of sheer silk
Chestnut curls adorned with poppies so red
Oriental with their black fuzz centers
an eye on the world as you lazily regard me in your
contentment, a ripple of silver as your toes
flash in the waters of life
a moment of clarity shattered in the hazy sun
an afternoon sky of purest blue satin and white lace
You are the epitome of luxury and sin
a promise of what could be, hidden behind eyes so knowing
so full of mystery
Pluck my heart from the floor as your red lips
grace me with a kiss of longing
you temptress you
Oh Venus herself could not compare to your voluptuous self
as you tempt me with your body and eyes, promising more
the world? A night? Maybe more like hell in a moment
But I would dive into waters so deep to test your skin like
porcelain warmed by the sun, fragile and so pure
Lead me not into temptation with your smile so vague
Let me be and let me walk from this agony you thrust upon me
A moment of insanity lingers in your powerful touch

Okay, so today’s prompt was an ekphrastic poem, which is basically writing a piece from art. I wasn’t too thrilled with the images Rober picked, but I was inspired by the artist of one of them, Alphonse Mucha. I love Alphonse Mucha’s work, which has a very seductive them to the sensuous grace of women. A form of a goddess, untouchable and seductive in a way that even as a woman, I find so amazing. I love his seasons series, this being one of them. Summer. I wrote this as if I were a man watching (as much as one can write that way when one isn’t a man) with an inspiration of past poets, like Shelley, Scott, or Keats…



Morning in Prose – Poetry

Winter DaysI’m not awake as I wait for the coffee to perk, my dog trying to make sure I love him with head-butts nd snuffles since he is why I’m up; he knows I wanted to sleep in as we now sit crashed on a sofa, him under my old baby quilt, fast asleep and cozy while I’m bleary-eyed waiting for the only thing that makes the mornings tolerable, while outside the sun shines warm, trying to beat back the cold north wind of a blustery March day, trying to be spring as winter hangs on with sharp, clutching nails, though the violets seem oblivious to the cold as their warm, sweet scent floats up, mocking the cold.

Now the mountains are shrouded in mist and cold, a wild needle-like wind bites and sinks into the skin, and I feel like I’m back in January while the calendar says spring is moments away, or years, or just days…. Only the weather seems to know what the mornings shall bring…..


Just a bit of prose, I think.


Dear Mornings – Writing 101 Day 8

Dear Mornings,

I have given you up to sleep. Not that you have ever been much of a friend of mine, but you are sometimes lovely when I actually do see you. I find you hard to be around when I am so tired all the time and I enjoy the company of Night so much better.  I spent the summer in your company, when the Sun was hot and you were so bright. But at the same time, I had to endure you as I worked on days I didn’t want to. So you are a thing I love and hate at the same time.

When it’s winter, I want to sleep you away because you are cold, but there is nothing better than sitting up and your gentle quietness and enjoy your company with a cup of coffee…. or two. Your foggy days are chilly and moody, sometimes like me. But it’s your sunny bright days I love the best. When you shine with so much sparkle, it’s like a fairy tale.

In the spring you are heralding the day with birds and sun and flowers and warmth that is comforting. In the summer you blaze out first thing, like a puppy, ready to spring the heat on me. You can be delightful, but sometimes you are a bit tiring. You are too exuberant for me to want to be that excited to see you. And in the autumn, you are just right. You are cold and crisp, just enough to make me notice you. You smell of spicy fires and cold mountain air. You remind me of your cousin mornings in southern mountains. I like you best of all then.

But even at moments of liking you, I never visit that much because I spend more time with Night. He’s so much more appealing in my writing state. He gets me. He totally understands that I need his enveloping darkness to feel secure.

Ah, Mornings. I don’t know how often we will spend time together, but one day I hope I will be able to enjoy you more. At least you see me a bit more right now that Father Time has set his clock back.


The Girl who likes to sleep

Journal Notes – The Great Pumpkin

This is from my journal, October 31, 2012


We’re watching Charlie Brown and The Great Pumpkin.  I love The Great Pumpkin.  Linus is such a dear.  The other night was a perfect Great Pumpkin night.  The nights where the clouds billow and a damp breeze comes down from the mountains.  You can smell wet leaves and the fresh, sharp scent of a freshly started fire.  It only comes in mid to late October.


It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I rarely have time to type a post for the actual time I want.  Right now as I type this, it is mid February. I was going through my journal after a week of being ill and I just needed to see what had been going on lately. (I sometimes refresh my memory on what I want to write by re-reading the pages)  I found my post/entry on this and though, wow, what a great little thing to have typed up for October.


I happen to love The Great Pumpkin, and I look forward to watching it every year after growing up and NEVER watching it.  So what if I’m 31 and I like an old cartoon.  My father still enjoys it.  What’s not to love?  It’s endearing.  It’s kind of tradition.  Right?


Hoping everyone has a spectacular and safe Halloween.


Signing off




James Taylor Is In The House

Fall is in the air. I turned James Taylor on this morning and you could say that Fall is synonymous with James Taylor. Or maybe it is the other way around. James Taylor is synonymous with Fall. I listen to James throughout the year, but there is something about his music that makes me think immediately of falling leaves, pumpkins, and dried grass. It’s possible it all started with his song “Walking Man”.

“The frost is on the pumpkins and the hay is in the barn…”

 Yes, that usually is what hits me. And it’s my favorite James Taylor song. I always gravitate to that song when I turn on his greatest hits album. And I think it says it all.

The mornings are crisp and cold, but the days are still warming up into the nineties. It’s not like Fall is here completely, but I can feel it. In one week it went from summer to hints of the coming winter. I smell dried grasses and hints of fires. The fires being from forest fires. And living in the mountains brings the touches of another season much earlier and more obvious to the mind. The winds come up in the afternoon bringing sweet smells that are vague in decaying matter.

The blackberries are ripening and they in themselves bring a smell that is unique to only them. Sweet and spicy. Hard squashes are hardening and getting ripe, or orange and such. There are onions drying around our farm and my rose is putting on its last show. Blooming small spicy blooms that are not as showy as they were this early summer.

There is nothing I would like to do more than to curl up on the couch on the front porch with a large pot of tea. Surround myself with books I’ve started. Which at this moment is about ten. I’m way over ambitious when it comes to finishing any book nowadays. I’d like to have the time to sit with a notebook and write poetry and work on some of my ‘books’. It’s that time of year when I start working on a Fall inspired story that was started five years ago. It seems like I can only work on it this time of year. I forget what the Fall is like when it’s spring and summer. So at this rate it will take me years to ever finish the thing. But I don’t mind as I am at home this time of year. This is my season. This is my time. I am never more comfortable than this time of year. I’ve claimed it as mine for years. And every year I revel in it and shout it out to anyone who will listen. I don’t care if I repeat it to people. And I don’t care if people view me as more of a spring person. Fall gives me the time to be introspective. I spend long moments in the sun thinking and evaluating. I soak up as much sun as I can and I dream. The simple things in life become important and I take the time to notice all that is around me.

Okay, maybe I try to do that on a regular basis but at this time of year, because I know it is fading and winter will be here, I try to take in as much as I can.

 I think more people should as well.

Signing off


Seasonal Changing of… the Guards

If anyone were to ask me what my favorite season is, I would instantly tell them autumn. To me there is nothing better than the smell of a crisp fall day where the leaves are turning, a breeze is blowing, wood smoke is in the air, and the sun is shining and warm. I would take it any day.

But, I have this fascination with the time right before spring starts and winter isn’t quite yet over. When it rains and the birds start coming back, yet there is nothing green to speak of. No crocuses are poking their faces above the ground. No trees are blooming. No green grass sprouting up. But you can feel that spring is just around the corner.

The clouds are different in that in between time. They are misty. They are more puffy and light, yet they can bring on a drizzle in an instant when they pass over. The scud across the sky, moving at a fast rate as the winds blow them to who knows where. They creep up over the mountains and sit there to mist and float away leaving a dusting of snow. They are quixotic, never staying long, never having any particular direction. Sometimes dissipating if the sun warms them up enough. Magical.

And the birds. That first trilling, water in a creek, sound of a meadowlark. Coming out of nowhere to sound like the happiest of songs. A laughing melodic trill that could make anyone smile. Or the completely happy chatter of the first robins coming after a rain. It is a feeling that anyone understands. Spring is coming. The birds know it. They are shouting it to the world. They are telling us.

It is in the fierce gusting strength pushing you along. Whipping and spiraling around. Making the trees bend and sway in an ancient dance. Or in a whispering warm breeze blowing up from the south, bring a sweet, fresh smell. The scent of new earth as if plants are just waiting to burst forth in glory. You can just feel it. You just know it is there, just around the corner. Waiting to shine forth in a surprising display of color and scents.

Yet, while there is that pulsing, impatient sense that everything is going to burst forth at any moment, there is still the clinging sense to winter. The woodsy smoke still issuing from fireplaces to warm our homes. That spicy smell of fallen leaves and decaying matter. The unexpected snowfall that brings back the call of Christmas and times past. A constant struggle for past and future.

I feel it now. Waiting in the wings. I know spring is going to be here in moments. I know that it is going to blaze forth bringing back old friends in the birds and happy little bees buzzing around. I eagerly await the triumph of the season. In each and every season.

So, though I love autumn in all it’s glory, the subtleness of early spring is magical. Elegant and quiet. And it’s almost here. Spring is coming.

 Signing off.