Written for Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative
Challenge #061. I chose Pic #2.
Here’s where the image took me.
Tag: Autumn
RDP Sunday: turn
Today at RDP, drkottaway asks us
to get creative with the word ‘turn’.
Thanks, Doc! Here’s my take.
Season Of Plenty
Written for Cinquain Poetry Prompt #24.
Our inspiration word is “harvest”.
This is my mirror cinquain.
RDP Thursday: street lamp
Today at RDP, we are asked to share a story,
poem, photo, painting, essay, etc., focusing
on the word ‘street lamp’. And at Esther’s
Writing Prompt #88, today’s word is ‘leave/s’.
Using both prompts, here’s my take.
Sweater Weather
Written for Cinquain Poetry Prompt #22.
Our inspiration word is “smoke”.
I have written a Mirror Cinquain.
In Autumn
Written for Esther’s Writing Prompts #86
incorporating the word “shade”.
Here’s where the prompt led me.
Autumn’s Treasure
Written for Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts
Colour Challenge, using the word ‘orange’.
Here’s were the prompt took me.
Autumn Breeze
Written for Gerry & Sue’s Weekly Prompts
Weekend Challenge, using the word ‘shimmering’.
Here’s were the prompt word took me.
As Days Grow Short
Written for dVerse Poets Haibun Monday where
the theme today is “equinox”. This is my haibun.
It’s now one month post op. I have spent a lot of time looking out my bedroom window contemplating the healing transformation of my body and the seasonal metamorphosis as we gently slip from summer into autumn. I had been facing physical limitations as I aged; they have now been compounded by my back surgery. On bad days I curse myself for agreeing to this procedure but I know it was the right choice. Getting back on my feet is taking longer than I anticipated. Like the brittle tree branches that come with autumn, my bones are not what they once were. But now I have a chance to walk among the fallen crimson and golden leaves instead of simply watching them drop from the trees and for that I’m grateful. I am better today than I was two weeks ago and in two more weeks I’ll be better than I am today. It’s a process.
warm burnished tones of autumn
as days grow short
the earth prepares for new life
NAR©2024
This is “Autumn In New York” by Billie Holiday
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Crop Invaders: A Haibun
Written for Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge and
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge where the
required words are “wrong” and “hoarding”. This is my haibun.
The exact year escapes me but it was a long time ago, to be sure. It was the summer we returned from vacation to find our tomatoes had ripened into gorgeous red orbs ready for eating. I could practically smell that grassy-green, spicy-sweet summery aroma. But something seemed wrong, off somehow. I felt like I was not alone in my garden, like I was being watched. Taking a closer look, I discovered disturbingly large caterpillars feasting on our lovely harvest. The bloated green creatures blended in so well with the underside of the leaves, it took a few seconds to register why our crop was full of gaping holes. Probing, boring, ravaging, gorging, hoarding. No tomato was salvaged that summer. Not one. That was the year I stopped planting tomatoes.
garden interlopers
devastation
signaling summer’s end
NAR©2024
This is “End of Summer” featuring Katie Melua and L.U.C. from The Peasants soundtrack
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Eat Me!
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #382
where we are asked to get down in exactly 22 words,
using the required word “please”. Here’s my flash.
Now that Autumn is here, I’m thinking Brown Butter Pecan Pancakes with a side scoop of butter pecan ice cream. Yes, please!
NAR©2024
22 Words
Here’s the recipe link: https://naturallyella.com/brown-butter-and-pecan-pancakes/
This is “Harvest Moon” by Neil Young
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
PIONEER POEM: AUTUMNAL NIGHTS
Owl watches on high
Cowl hooded toadstools
Lark sounds his shrill chirp
Dark thoughts are dispelled
Magic home aglow
Tragic tales be gone
Cobbled pathway smooth
Hobbled gnomes seek rest
Stone bridge subtle curves
Lone frog soundly croaks
Lamp light leads the way
Damp mist fills the air
Safe warm rooms inside
Waif and stray embrace
Fog caresses trees
Log blazes on hearth
Fear naught in these woods
Hear the babbling brook
Soft surroundings drift
Oft autumnal nights
Cowl hooded toadstools
Owl watches on high
NAR © 2023
LITTLE BEAN
I was on my way home from my daily walk this crisp October morning. The sky was a startling blue with the sun burning so brightly it could have been August in Vermont. Only the brisk wind that swirled through the red and orange Autumn leaves reminded me that it was Fall. I wrapped my favorite wooly scarf around my neck, tucking my long hair inside, and instantly felt a welcoming warmth.
Earlier in the week I spotted a group of white-tailed deer and hoped I would see them again today. I never go out walking in the woods without my old Nikon – a rare find at a local tag sale. It was in surprisingly good working condition. Now the walls of my little cabin were strewn with framed black and whites – memories of my treks throughout the changing seasons.
As I made my way down the trail toward my house, I noticed droplets of blood on the dirt – a sign that the white-tailed does were in estrus. By May the fawns would be here. I instinctively patted my belly where my own “Little Bean” was beginning to grow. I was just twelve weeks along with the most precious gift from my husband Jeremy, no doubt the result of his recent shore leave in August. My baby and the fawns would arrive at the same time.
Rounding a bend in the trail I spotted a white-tailed buck and doe under the trees. They were rubbing the sides of their faces together, possibly whispering words of affection. As quietly as possible I slid open the front of my camera case and began snapping photos. When the deer noticed me, they leapt away as gracefully as the falling leaves.
I continued down the path to my cabin which was now in sight. I stopped to pick up a few particularly beautiful maple leaves; even now, nearing the end of their lives, they were perfect creations. I thought again of the fawns and “Little Bean”.
The house was chilly; I lit a fire and prepared myself a cappuccino. I was certain I was able to get a dozen photos of the deer which I would develop later in the afternoon. There was something I needed to do first. After placing my things on the table, I sat down to write to Jeremy. He’ll laugh when he reads that I finally captured the canoodling white-tailed deer. I kissed one of the red leaves and tucked it into his letter. I smiled as I read my closing line: “My darling, be home soon! All our love, Maggie & Little Bean”.
NAR © 2022
FFFC # 189, hosted by Fandango
KEEPING VIGIL
It was unseasonably warm for November; the sun was brilliant with only a few wispy clouds scattered here and there, but the autumn leaves swirling in the wind were a reminder that winter was just around the corner.
I decided to take a walk in the nature trail near my house. I didn’t like leaving my elderly mother home alone for too long but she was having one of her lucid days and insisted she’d be fine at home doing some sewing.
I wasn’t gone long when it started getting cloudy and cold. As I walked up the front path, I spotted my mother sitting in her rocking chair on the porch. She was busy at work, her sewing basket by her side.
“Mom, it’s cold. Come inside and I’ll put on the kettle for tea.”
My mother looked up and smiled sweetly but her eyes were blank; I could tell she didn’t know who I was.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that. I need to stay here. You see, I’m waiting for someone and I have to finish my mending” she replied.
“Who are you waiting for?” I asked quietly, dreading her answer.
“My husband. The war is over and he’ll be coming home very soon.”
It was then that I noticed mom was repairing the zipper on my late father’s WWII bomber jacket. Little by little, day by day, Mom slipped deeper into another era – a time long gone but fresh in her mind as though it all happened just yesterday.
NAR © 2022
The Elephant's Trunk 