Autumn or Spring?

Click on any image to see slideshow.

April or September

There’s a chill in the air

Colors catch my eye

Slipping free of winter

Chase the roses

From summer’s embers

Green carpets laid

Accent red furnishings

Into wooded streams

For Cee's Midweek Madness Challenge: September Autumn or Spring

Unexpected

Lavender roses: an unexpected gift

Today, make an opportunity to give someone an unexpected treat, someone who’s not expecting it, someone who’s in need of it, someone who’s outside the circle of your usual community.

As life becomes harder and more threatening, it also becomes richer, because the fewer expectations we have, the more good things of life become unexpected gifts that we accept with gratitude.

Etty Hillesum (1914-1943)
For Cee's FOTD 

A Red, Red Rose (Burns)

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

For Cee’s Flower of the Day, June 11, 2021

It’s Not a Mystery

“Why does hope spring after tragedy?

Is it weakness in sorrow, a failure of grief?

What makes us look up and watch for the dawn?”

Wiping away his tears, his Teacher softly answered,

“‘It’s elementary, my dear Watson,’

We were made for eternity

Not this life alone.”

Cee’s FOTD
Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #199: prose or poem in 47 words exactly using the word “element” or its forms.

Love’s Ballad

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields invites us weekly to join the Friday Fictioneers in their creative quests of a hundred words or less, prompted by a photo. Click on the frog to join in!
 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Love’s Ballad

Roses he gave her, she took them in her hand
The petals silk warm, still harboring his touch
She knew not where to look, his face was a beacon
A desire of yearning, too bright to stare upon,
So she stared at the roses, their rosy tinge her own.

The years they raced by full of home, hearth, and heaven
Their love knew no bounds and their eyes saw no other
Until the day came when a lone grave boasted roses
One standing alone to see light like a beacon, eclipsed,
And roses ice crusted by death’s wintry dew.

A Rose to You

a rose to you and you and you
dear readers that stumbled onto this page
and familiar friends who’ve long remained
through drought or storm as balmy days
faithful ones who exchange the fruits
gleaned from weedy words and pruned vines
some tangy to the taste or sweetly spiced
all enlivened with the sunlit labor of moments
transcribed to screens of dispersed bytes
to be received like petals furled and unfurled
as if a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
when given in love

For Cee's FOTD, February 14, 2021; Michelle's February Writing Prompts, "Balmy Days"; Joseph's 2021 Home Photo Challenge; also posted on PilgrimDreams.com