The sun has turned most of the garden crisp, stems crunching to dust between fingers when I dig in between the leaves. Still, the lavender stands as it should, scent sticky on my skin, determined to be carried home into the house. Its flowers haven’t faded yet. It doesn’t seem to bow to heat the same. But between the lemon tree and dahlia, the herbs have taken refuge in the shadows of a water butt. There the decking still burns my feet by afternoon and moisture only lingers a little while upon the soil before vanishing. One by one they will succumb, no matter how often I tend them. Eventually night falls across this place and time, soaked in the day’s heat. Still this garden will shiver, weeping for the storms not come.
I imagined that she was some great coastal cliff. Stone strong for thousands of years, but now the sea has managed to find a way between the cracks and it’s taking her apart in chunks. It doesn’t sound like a landslide though. She doesn’t shriek and splinter as pieces of her sheer away from herself. There’s only silence as another memory, another name, another face, slips beneath the waves and into darkness where it can’t be reached. There are still pieces of her left. Like fossils, preserved inside the depths of the cliff face. On days where it seems like everything has crumbled, they can find a way to the light. The willow withered its roots turned to dust and ash but it kindles still.
Whispers through tree tops, buzzards screeching soaring keys, farmyard symphonies. Daily Prompt: Symphony
The orchid’s in bloom after three months of neglect. The perfect houseplant.
Rain drops like marbles hammer themselves into lakes only to vanish.
I’ve started gathering my grandmothers on my fingers. Ba was first to claim her place as right-hand woman. The signet ring’s a little worn but sharpened almost to a blade’s edge. Her wit used to have the same bite if you weren’t careful. She’d slash you with her words and have you bursting with laughter all in a matter of seconds. Something of a frail bulldozer, unstoppable at times, but even her initials grew faded past the point of a stranger’s recognition. Granny Kitty is a new addition. I don’t know how she’d fair with the idea of taking up residence on a middle finger but she wasn’t one to back down when the blood began to rise. ‘Up like a light’ my mother says. That was the Irish in her, and the feminist who brought the shields to defend her granddaughters going to university. Independent, clever, funny, tenacious, but most of all loving. The dandelions and the daffodils grow still. Even without Spring. It’s a free-for-all at the dVerse Poets Pub this week and …
Clean, crisp cotton sheets, and rain outside the window, summer storm breaking. A quick haiku for today’s Daily Prompt: Simplicity.
There is a door along a hill, set back into the stone with a small flight of stairs to reach it. When I was little I thought this door lead to a wonderland and when my Grandmother took me walking, my sister and I would make up stories about what could be found on the other side and how the magic would work to get us there. The Ram Steps were narrow and cut down into the rock face. In summer, when the trees were in full leaf, it felt like we were miles from anywhere, descending into dwarven ruins deep beneath the earth. Our secret stairway, hands pressed to the sides to keep our feet from slipping of lead mulch in the Autumn. In the Bluebell Wood we tracked the old carriage road and peered through the gaps in the hedge and past the Ha Ha into the gardens beyond. We collected conkers from the trees overhanging my Grandmother’s fields and I would imagine a time when great ladies in long dresses would have …
Quiet Moments I have taken to standing on the patio just to breathe. I am not a yoga person, gym based exercise tends to leave me gasping, sucking down mouthful after mouthful, while my face turns beetroot purple. On the patio I do not worry about my complexion, or how many dishes are left to wash, or which load of laundry is due next. I can just stand and listen to myself breathe. A little poem for today’s daily-post prompt. Since today is also National Haiku Poetry Day [apparently] I thought I might as well add in a little haiku as well. My hands on your ribs, I feel each breath lift and fall until the stillness. If you want to read a few more of my haiku for today then you can find them on my post A Slightly Tipsy Haiku and even add your own in the comments.
I’ve just found out that according to http://www.nationaldaycalendar.com, today is National Haiku Poetry Day! So I thought I better start writing a few haiku to celebrate! As always, I love hearing from you guys so if you want to share a haiku in return just stick in the comments or add a ping back to this post. I’ll make sure to check them out. I. Sun set and wine drained, you claimed most of the bottle. New day ushered in. II. Our rose bush survived despite us ignoring it throughout last winter. III. Do not post poetry after drinking, it will sound better than it is. A quick thank you to Charlie from Doodlewash who turned me onto the National Day Calendar in his National Orchid Day post.