Old branches long gone:
broken by wind; cut by saw.
New branches coming.
~ ~ ~ ~
Refuse to die? No can do.
Like this tree, refuse to quit.
Any bee could set U straight,
“Dandelions are just great.
Where these yellow flowers thrive,
I get nectar for my hive.”
Any bee could let U know,
“Just relax and let them grow.”
Red, yellow, and green
did not tell the whole story.
Now, five years later …
Fresh from the store, I was medium blue
with a touch of gray and a ton of confidence
that the mail would be safe from the weather.
I shrugged off decades of sun, rain, and wind.
I never flinched when the snow thrower hurled
slush laden with road salt and grit.
My pitted outside is the palest of blues, but
my door still swings wide and shuts tight.
My inside is still me, still medium blue
with a touch of gray and a ton of confidence
that the mail is still safe from the weather.
Blues ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #368
Warmth and light transform
dark sausage to bright flowers.
Magnolia opens.
Glow ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #367
Flowers first
when cherry trees wake.
Leaves later.
Fungus, moss, and lichen
share bark space in peace until
wind takes them all down.
The sound of cyclists
comes from somewhere behind me.
Just wind in dry leaves.
It really did sound like 1 or 2 cyclists were behind me on this rail trail. I stood off to the right so they could pass, but they kept coming. I turned around, saw that nobody was coming, and then saw/heard dry leaves make the noise as the wind made them move.
MAGA memories,
so like these silk orchid blooms.
Vivid but not real.
Vivid ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #358
Early morning light
sets a gecko aglow, but
it’s not a gecko.
My haiga in response to
Early ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #357
harks back to a painting by René Magritte that is a fun way to make a point in epistemology.
Five began last fall.
Just two have not yet rotted.
More rocks are ready.
Cloudless Monday #1
|Cold morning.
|Sunday’s fallen snow
|garbs the pine.
Cloudless Monday #2
|Before long,
|snow warmed by sun will
|fall again.
“Bracts” say botanists.
“Those red things are not petals.”
I just call them leaves.
Buy again next fall?
No, it’s good year after year,
until mice find it.
Mellow Curmudgeon 