What sequence of events makes us a writer, not just any writer, but a writer people want to read? This thought circled in my mind late one night as I tried to turn a tale inside out attempting to make it better.
I had kicked off my shoes to reach the comfortable spot where ideas grow as thick as cherries on a spring tree. It wasn't working. The screen was white. No nifty ideas were boiling inside or outside my mind.
The chain of random thoughts failed to inspire any thing I could hang my hat on.
If only there was a scale like the four C's of diamond grades: cut, carat, clarity and color. Some scale or system of grading that told me this is good or just give it up.
Beautiful writing will remain, like art, within the eye of the beholder.
My fingers hover over the keys convincing me I cannot write.
The stray would not be caught
Though I softly called to him
A fearful look was all I got
As the light quickly grew dim
In this special place of shade
Further ahead the dog goes
Splashing through the glade
Where the crystal water flows
Where soft spring moss lies
Growing loosely on the stone
With Winter's coming green dies
And turns to a winter tone
Helpless returning to home's lawn
Sadly he did not follow but was gone
humming to myself
needle in and out mending with love
the only way i can
trained in women's ways needlework is tiresome
alone there's no laughter
dreaming a fool's dream
to leave this bleached land
for a green country
with stepping stones
through clear waters
remembering the method
of the matriarch diving into forced chores
humming to myself
i day dream of sheep
instead of days and olive men
falling like dominoes
For Sunday's Whirligig With my funny writing or poor eyesight: I thought "olive" was "dive" and "men" was "mend" so "olive men" was added as an afterthought when I read the words again...dreaming a fool's dream.
Remember the wonderful Irises I showed a while back? Those were gifted to me by a blogger friend. I shared a few of mine with her.
Through my years of gardening I have rarely purchased flowers but exchanged seeds, plants and cuttings from people I knew. It became a custom of mine to name my trees, bushes and flowers after the person who gave them to me. I have a Grover plum, a Grandma Myrtle rose, Cyndi Irises and the list goes on. (I do the same with recipes with names like Kenny's Sauerkraut Salad, Bonnie's Spiced Pecans, Uncle Bill's Oatmeal Pie and TexWisGirl's Red-Headed Dumplings) I enjoy remembering the person that gave me a recipe or a plant.
I've noticed 1st Man posts some dream flower beds ever so often because they are planning their landscaping. They are new to farm life and are jumping in with both feet, as much as they can while they still live in the city. They have taken us through the home improvements, fun time with wild critters and now their plans for the yard. They have just begun bee keeping.
Well, my old wheels started turning...if my flowers came from friends, why can't theirs? The internet has made our world very small. I think we can help plant their garden. I know many of you who garden save your seeds for the next year. Why can't we reach out and send Two Men a pack of seeds from our place? Sounds like a great idea to me!
I'm not bold enough to post their address without asking but stop by and visit them. Tell them Crazy Gail sent you and you want to share your flowers.
I am working on a box of live plants for them now. Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing to see? A blog friendship garden in Texas?