sentimental

last summer

honeysuckle dreams
so early in the season
sentimental airs

In response to The Daily Post prompt:  sentimental.

Weary

a day
immersed in local politics
and global affairs
of the heart
that change
when hands are grasped by greed
that swallows neighbors whole

gravity pulls
the weariness
down into the soles
and I look
for a place to rest
the eyes that want to sleep
in hope

Dennis Beach

the crunch and slide
of rocks
under my barefoot shoes

blue sky
reflected on muddy water
a day at the beach

The photo was taken on my recent trip to the Canadian Maritimes at Dennis Beach in New Brunswick.  I altered the photo, giving it a painting-like effect, in FotoSketcher.  I’ve had it sitting here as my desktop image for a few days and every time I look at it, I hear and feel the crunch and squeak of rocks underfoot as I carefully make my way across the larger rocks down to the sand where walking is much easier.  The “barefoot shoes” are Vibrams which simulate barefoot walking.  You feel everything underfoot without the ouch factor of actually being barefoot.

a dance

there is a poem
(a book, a song)
by Leonard Cohen
called
Dance Me to the End of Love

and we have learned
as we have danced
over these many years
that there is no
End of Love

Happy Birthday to my dance partner.

A small stone for a special Day 16.

If interested, you can listen to the song here.  The collage is from a series of photos I took of the book.

fantasy island

eyes closed
warm water
cascading
over my head
and body
I am standing
beneath a waterfall
on a tropical island
where snow and winter
never visit

A small stone for Day 14.

Fairytales

Fairytales were maps formed of blood and hair and bones; they were the knots of the sub-conscious unwound.  Every word in every tale was real and as true as apples and stones.  They all led to the story inside the story.

~ Alice Hoffman

The land of heart’s desire

I look back with gladness to the day when I found the path to the land of heart’s desire, and thank Fate ceaselessly with a loud voice that she did not permit town to sap all the years away while the heart was turning to wind-voices and flower-faces and the hands of kindly earth.

~ Mrs. George Cran, The Garden of Ignorance, 1913