The Tidings of Winter

The forest floor is covered

In a colorful carpet of leaves,

The North wind whistles its eerie song

Through the barren branches of trees.

Soft flakes float like feathers

Falling without a sound,

They melt to glisten like morning dew

Once they touch the ground.

In the sky, the birds take flight

To form a ‘V’ shaped formation,

They know that they must travel far

To reach a warmer location.

The furry critters scurry about

Gathering food for their larder,

For they know the future months ahead

Will make finding food much harder.

Autumn is giving up her ghost

As the days grow shorter and colder,

And soon the world will have a blanket of white

For these are the tidings of winter.

Yvonne Horton November 20, 2013

It's only Snow

The snow flies round in furious flurry,

Though some folks see it as such a worry,

But we walk through it without a hurry,

Because it’s only snow, it’s only snow.

When it settles, the world is white,

So that in the sun, it shines too bright,

But we go out and have a snowball fight,

Because it’s only snow, it’s only snow

It’s so much fun for us to play,

And, then one day, it all melts away,

But, we know it will come back another day,

Because it’s only snow, it’s only snow.

The Tides of Change

A change is coming…

Slowly,

It disturbs the air,

Like a supple breeze

In early spring

Sifting over a sill  

Of an open window.

A change is coming…

Quietly,

It advances on tiptoe

In soft stocking feet

Barely making a sound

Like a whispered secret

Delivered in a dream.

A change is coming…

Unseen,

It hides in shadow,

Occasionally caught

Like a flash of light

In the corner of an eye

It shines bright, then flits away.

A change is coming…

Secretly,

But with all its stealth,

I am aware that it’s there

And with that knowledge

I keep moving forward

As I begin to prepare.

Yvonne Horton

Along the Shore

The lake echoes waves that melt to the shore

To deluge with fine sand, soggy green seaweed,

Slippery smooth pebbles and the petite shells

Of tiny crustaceans, their edges sharp as glass

Shine white to glint silver sparkling in the sun.

Deadfall, now long smooth driftwood logs

Scatter, inland to rest solid in higher sand

Like pews set in nature’s vast holy ground

To serve as seats for the weary who wander the shore.

Willows

Breezes drift soft as whispers

Through the branches of the willows

To send their wispy tresses in motion

That mesmerizes observers to stillness

A Twisted Gap in Time

She tripped over a wrinkle in the liquid realm of sleep

And fell through the whirlwind within her mind’s eye.

She landed hard in a carnival of a twisted gap in time

Where the sure fantasy of her naïve adolescent life’s view

Bled to the raw horror of a deadly untamed reality.

For in this world the Dragons breathed their death breath of fire

So that where forests once stood tall in their immaculate majesty

Now stretched nothing but a barren land of ash, a crimson molten pyre.

The air swirled to leave a dank dark dust that drowned out the light of day

While hot embers raked the air like rain that fell to burn beneath her feet.

From all around her wild whispers rose to red ragged screams

That tore through the silken sound of her silent night of dreams. 

Summer Visitors

The inspiration for this poem comes from one of my Mom’s ‘Memory Stories’ and took place during the late 1920’s to early 1930’s.

Summer Visitors

They came during the months of summer, arriving in a caravan

Of wooden wagons laden with canvas, furniture, and pots, and pans

That clanged the song of their arrival as they moved up the dirt road.

Horses of black, and brown and spotted grey pulled the wagons

While the new ponies of spring followed behind.

Papa always let them camp on our land and supplied food for their stay

In turn, they helped to work the farm and gave Papa ponies in trade;

And our neighbors would come from miles around to have their fortunes told.

Although not relations, Mama insisted we gave them proper honor,

And spoke with respect, calling them Uncle Barney, Aunt Mary and Uncle Jim.

In the evenings, while we sat in a circle around their campfires,

They sang songs from their home country, so many miles away

Accompanied by mandolins, guitars, fiddles, and tambourines.

And as the red and orange flames danced and crackled

They told stories of ghosts, and shift-changers, and apparitions.

When the second big war came, Papa sold the farm,

And I went away to another city for school.

From that time on, our summer visitors ceased to come,

And there were times I wondered where they’d gone.

But, to this day I can still see them in my mind’s eye coming along our road.

And I will always remember the songs they sang and the stories they told.

Nightmares

Down the dry walls of a hollow grave

A phantom speaks in solemn whispers

Cracking the stones of nevermore

To seek out the lives once lost to save.

Long, dark shadows rise to roam the ruins

To merge with memories of long dead corpses

Forming to fashion forgotten gossamer ghosts

That clear the cobwebs from cluttered coffins.

Demons dance in circles, their red eyes ablaze.

Ghouls scream their threats that split the night

To summon the vampires, werewolves, and trolls

That emerge in mist to drown the moon in haze.

Then all at once, monsters shrink back in fear

They cringe as an angelic song surrounds them.

And from the sky shimmering faerie dust falls,

Quelling the nightmare to let the dawn shine clear. 

Deer Tales, This Week's Highlight

It was an unusual week. First, I am dog sitting, which completely changed my usual schedule. I am awake a couple of hours earlier in the morning and fall asleep earlier in the evening, but I adjusted well to this change. Massey (the dog) is a four year-old Standard Poodle (see pic below) who loves to go for walks, play ball, and keep watch over the neighborhood from the front door. I set a chair in front of the door so that she can keep watch comfortably.

The big excitement this week came on Friday. I let Massey out in the backyard first thing in the morning while I prepared her breakfast. Massey soon discovered she was not alone in the yard when a deer stood up in the tall grass. When I saw the deer, I went to the front gate, both to make sure it was closed (which it was) and to call Massey to the front yard so that she didn't have to pass the deer to come back into the house. The deer must have jumped the gate to get in the yard and I knew she was there to have her baby as she visited last year with the same intention. She must feel safe and secure there as it is completely fenced in and there is tall grass to make a nice bed. I got a couple of good pics of her early in the day...

I checked on the deer throughout the morning. She would stand for a bit, and then lay down for awhile in the tall grass. Finally, there was a fawn. I could not get close enough to get a clear picture as, of course Mama Deer was very protective. Then, about an hour after the new arrival, I went out to check and there was another fawn. Yes, twins! Again, I took a couple of pictures, but nothing too clear. 

Around 5 pm, Mama deer decided to relocate. I opened the gate earlier so that she could leave when she was ready. Before she left with her new babies, I got a couple of picks of one of the fawns...

Apparently, this deer finds my yard the best place to birth her young. Next spring I will keep the gate open for her and keep watch for her return visit. I am looking forward to seeing the little family around the neighborhood. I might even get some more pictures!

  

The Life of Spirits

There are spirits that hide

Within the mists

Of days gone by

Forever dwelling in the past

Never seeking the days to come

There are spirits that writhe

Drowning in the pain

The suffering, the wrath

Of their life’s worst experiences

Never seeking to escape

There are spirits that rejoice

Swelling in the joy

The elation, the bliss

Content in their existence

Never seeking for more

And then there are those spirits

That encompass it all

Embracing each occurrence

Both the delightful and the dire

And even the mundane

As an adventure in their journey

Always seeking the abundance

That only living can bring.

Ula

This is Ula, my mom's Seeing Eye Dog. Ula is also trained as a therapy dog and travels with my mom to visit residents  of nursing homes twice a week. 

Ula

Ula is a gentle soul

Who is always there

To say hello

To anyone she feels

Might need

The comfort

Of a friend.

Quake

The Earth moved this morning.

It was a single tiny tremor

Lasting only for a few moments,

But just the same

I felt the ground give way

Deep beneath my feet.

As Peaceful Warriors

On any average day we see

Shocking visions of violence

Carried out within the World

Human against human, against nature,

Against Earth

            That startles the serenity

Of the calm mind

            To bring flames of anguish

Searing deep to permeate

The stillness of one’s Soul

As peaceful Warriors

We must stand strong

Fierce in solid rigidity

To protect, to preserve, to shield

The innocent, the defenseless, the fragile.

As Peaceful Warriors

We must expose the intentions

Of those hell bent and driven

On greed, on power, on control

Those who delight in the destruction,

The suffering, the annihilation

Of the natural balance

The splendor, the blessings

Of all things living

As Peaceful Warriors

We must stand together as one

To defeat with civil defiance

The unconscionable violence

Committed against our Universe 

When Struck with a Clumsy Attack Retreat

Sometimes, I am extremely clumsy. Today was one of those days. Luckily, my clumsy attack was kept to one room of the house, the kitchen. I should have retreated after I broke the second glass, but no, I had to go on to make oatmeal raisin cookies and spilled flour on the floor. A moment later, an egg joined the flour when it slipped out of my hand. Then after dinner, (which was a gooey but very tasty casserole of ground beef, mushrooms, onions, peas, with a cream of mushroom soup gravy served over mashed potatoes) I separated four additional servings into containers for freezing. Upon opening the freezer door a canister containing brown sugar (that I apparently didn't set back far enough on top op the fridge) fell down and knocked one of the containers of gooey casserole out of my had to splash its contents all over the kitchen floor. Needless to say, my kitchen was now a disaster. I cleaned up the floor, but I decided to leave the dishes until tomorrow. I am now on the sofa and plan only to read this evening.

And so, my lesson for the day is that when first presented with a clumsy attack Stop! Retreat! Even if it means having a pizza delivered for dinner and staying on the sofa for the rest of the day or evening or both. My home will survive a day of the lazys, but may not survive a day of the clumsys.

Today's Best Pics from the Front Yard...

Questioning

Pelted with cumbersome questions

The answers that come are reluctant

And so guesses entrance our senses

With stray murmurs that float like smoke

To map our reality until our lives

Become as dense as cement.

An Excerpt from a Story Unknown

It is an interesting and sometimes frustrating journey when writing scenes to story when you have no idea where the story begins, where it's going, or where it will end.  That is my experience as of late.  I am suddenly hit with a scene and have to sit down to write it. The story is slowly building itself and I can't wait to see how it will begin and end.  The following is an excerpt of a scene that came to me today. Hope you like it...

An Excerpt from a Story Unknown

Without any conscious intention of doing so, I stepped off the path and began to walk through the thick stand of trees that stood as a wall to the forest.  The air was cool amid the trees and the heady odor of rich soil and green growth seemed to enclose my body and permeate my soul to make me a part of, instead of an intruder to the forest.  The light of the sun dimmed by the leaves danced shadows of light across the forest’s floor as a light breeze tickled the tips of the treetops. 

I walked forward letting my instinct lead the way to my unknown destination.  It was an uphill climb and treacherous at times with tangled thick roots that threatened to trip me to a fall.  A flash of fear gripped me for a moment, as I thought of the climb back down and imagined falling down through these trees to end in a pile broken of bones and torn flesh, left to die unfound for several days, or weeks, or even years.  

I shook the thought from my mind and continued on, glancing up to see if the end of my climb was visible.  There was no end that I could see with my eyes, but I could feel the ground beneath my feet growing steeper.  My ankles and calves ached with my efforts until I slipped to my knees, my hands clutching at the thick roots to pull me onward. Soon, I was now climbing straight up as though I was scaling the face of a cliff. I was beginning to think that there was no end to this mountain, when my right hand grasped solid, flat ground. With a sense of great relief, I reached my left hand up to join my right hand and scrambled my feet to find a sturdy root for a sufficient foothold. My feet slipped a couple of times in my efforts until they found a root strong enough to hold my weight and I stood upright to hoist my body to the flat surface of ground above me.

I lay flat on my stomach without lifting my head to look at my surroundings.  I could smell the dry earth mixed with my own sweat. I was exhausted.  Every inch of my body seemed to scream with pain, and I clutched at the sharp stitch in my side as I concentrated to bring my breathing and heart rate back to a normal rate. 

    

A Lazy Day

I feel I am in need of a lazy day
Just to sit and contemplate the sky
Or to sleep like ‘Little Boy Blue’ in the hay
With no thought of the hours passing by
Nor caring about what others might say
To simply  breathe out with a cleansing sigh
And let it all go to come what may

Let Peace

Let Peace be our passion

To hold with resilience

Against all violence

Let Peace be our mantra

A never-ending tantric song

For it is Peace for which we long.

Change

Change is inevitable,

Be it good or bad.

Sometimes it’s laughable,

Other times sad.

Change can bring strife

To send us down on one knee.

Or it gives us new life,

And fills us with glee

Change can come in disguise

And might force us to bend.

But a word to the wise,

Life’s changes never end.

An Opposite Day

Today is one of those days

When the sky is dark as night.

I would rather stay asleep

But, my mind is wide awake.

And so, I take my pencil out

To release the words within.

For writing always lifts me up

And never lets me down.

Everything is Possible

Everything is possible,

There is no need to fear,

Take a ride in the dark

For the stars will shine clear.

Open closed windows

To lay bare your heart,

Paint your world with all colors

But, leave out black and grey.

For everything is possible.

Just let the wind steer your way.

Feel the mist of spring showers

Cleanse those visions of dread.

Smell the sweet scent of the flowers

Wrapping the road up ahead.

For everything is possible

Leave the cruel storms behind,

Let the sun light your day.

Clasp hands with your dream

To keep it clear in your mind.

For everything is possible

Let your dreams take you away.

Covered in Projects

The last couple of weeks and the next few weeks ahead are busy times for me.  Not in a whirlwind, unfocused way, rather this is an engaged, concentrated, set to work on projects both old and new kind of way. 

I continue to compile stories for the memoir that now (I am excited to report) has a working title: “Visions of My Life: My Mother’s Memory Book.” In addition, I am writing new poetry that I plan to publish as a collection.  As many of you are aware, writing, like reading can take over your life.

Speaking of reading, my Kindle is overflowing with so many books to read that at one time I would have stacked in an uneven pile on my bedside table. While I still love the feel of a book in my hand, I have to admit that my Kindle is very convenient and less messy. Like my laptop, my Kindle is a daily companion.

I am working on several projects for the coming warm weather of spring and summer.  Last year I accumulated a quite large collection of clay pots and trays that I am painting and decorating. As all of these were previously used they need a good cleaning and then have to have 2-3 coats of sealer applied before I can start with the painting.  Also, I picked up a few old wooden bird houses and feeders from garage sales last year. Some of these need minor repair, and all of them need cleaning, and sanding before I can begin to paint and decorate them. These projects cover my work counter, which is a good thing because when work is in front of me I have more incentive to get it done.

The next few weeks will find me working outside for a couple of hours each day.  The yard and the porch need a good cleaning out and I am sure the winter months added some repair work.  I will need to get help with some of this work, as my wrist will not take too much pressure since I crushed it a few years ago. I want to get an herb garden growing this year. Some of the herbs from a previous garden still come up every year, but not very many and these need some care.  I generally start plants from seed and begin them in the house.  The flats are ready to go, so I only have to wait for the final frost to come and go. Our days here are in the 40s but our nights still drop below freezing, so planting won’t begin for at least a couple of weeks.

I still have a backlog of tables and chairs to refinish and decorate along with some empty frames to fill with patterns for the ongoing Ode to the Quilt project. I have to admit that I  did not do much of this work over the past winter. In fact, I was very lax in the art department.  Winter makes me lazy.

Well, that’s about it for this post. Thanks so much for stopping by. ~Yvonne~

Marching Into Spring

It is difficult to express the extent of my happiness that the month of February is behind us for another year.  Although it is the shortest of calendar months, I always feel that it is the longest in time. For me, this squeezed in month of days feels like an entire month of Mondays.

While March still brings cold weather and snow, it also brings the first day of spring.  More than the first day of January, the twenty or twenty-first day of March gives me a feeling of a new year. Spring is a time of new beginnings. The earth awakens from its long winter’s sleep to stretch and sigh, and yes, occasionally it hits the snooze alarm. While that is sometimes frustrating, we must remember that it is only a snooze.  With spring comes the song of birds from the very tiny to the larger geese, ducks, and swans.  They build their nests in preparation for raising new families. The trees begin to dress in tiny buds along their stems, like pulling on their undergarments before they deck out to full dress.  The longer days shed sun to warm the earth and flowers pop their heads out of the rich soil to add color to the awakening world.  Snow gives way to snow and melts the ice of ponds and streams. Wind raises waves across the lake and brings winter’s deadfall that will feed the fire of summer’s bonfires along with the larger logs that will serve as new seats where we will sit watch the sailboats skim the edge of the horizon.

Yes, March brings spring with the promise of new beginnings, of new hope, and new goals. It is my time to celebrate!

Thanks for stopping by ~Yvonne~

Free Spirits aren't Still (Final Revision)

This is a final revision of a poem I wrote some years ago. I pull it out every so often and revise it, however, I was never quite satisfied with it. This version is the final revision, and I feel very good with the outcome. So, here it is, I hope you enjoy it...

Free Spirits Aren't Still

Life day to day

Does not lend to us;

It just molds us

Into everyone else.

It kills our spirit

And it makes us forget.

But we will never forget;

We tell ourselves, "don't"

For if we have not yet,

Then we know that we won't,

As we strive to remember

That free spirits aren't still.

Some don't forget

But yet become bitter

They resent all they've gained, 

Much accomplished in vain,

Allowing them nothing

Within their realized dream.

They lose hold of their center  

And cannot get back.            

That won't happen to us;

We will never lose track.

Though we talk everyday

To reveal through words

That we dare not say.

Yet, we give it our best,

Always fearing the worst.

While we yearn for the sun,

To live our life everyday,

And, we armor ourselves;

For we know what life is…

Always easier said, than done.

Moves need to be made;

We believe it’s our time.

It’s a feeling we get,

It wears on our minds,

And it makes us aware.

So we prepare for the change,

And we hope it comes soon.

For there's much more than this

And we need to have room,

For it's just not enough

To simply exist.

Yet, we are here right now,

And now that we are,

Will we be here forever? 

Always so close

Yet so far?

Yes, time takes its turns

And our life's seasons change.

When we sense we're alone,

We tend to cling to each other.

And as life moves us along,

We don't dare look down,

As we remind to remember

Free spirits aren't still.

Peering Through the Knothole

Peering through the knothole

I see the light of day

Shining silver along

Bright vertical lines

To crease the grains

From black to grey.

Peering through the knothole

I see the world outside

In the circle of a pinpoint

That illuminates

And brings new life

To the vacant darkness

Of my small and lowly cave.

My Thoughts on "The Casual Vacancy" by J. K. Rowling

After much anticipation, I finally acquired a copy of “The Casual Vacancy” by J. K.Rowling.  During my wait, I avoided reading any reviews or comments about the book, as I did not want to have any outside influence cloud my view or spoil my reading. Having read Rowling’s Harry Potter series, I expected to get lost in the story and to meet and connect to new characters.  However, that was not the case. This is not to say that the book was not good, rather it was not what I expected.

I would not label it as an epic novel, per-say.  Instead, I would label this book more as a social/political view of a small community, which falls into social and political chaos after the sudden death of Councillor Barry Fairbrother. At first, it is difficult to keep the characters in the story straight as to who’s who. In fact, I was tempted to make a list of the characters with notes as to how each relates to the other. As well, I found it difficult to connect to the characters as I would in most novels, as there is no real individual background story told for any of them. All of the characters are depicted within the context of a short time period, beginning with the death of Barry Fairbrother and ending with the election of a new Councillor. However, that is not to say that the characters are not brutally realistic in their actions and the outcomes of their actions.

Overall, this book is an intelligent, artful, creative, and sometimes comical read. I would expect to see it listed academically as assigned reading, particularly in a class dealing with the Social Sciences.  Now that I have read the novel once through, I know what to expect.   It is worth reading, and worth reading again.

Thanks for stopping by. ~Yvonne~

Restoration

I come to sit

            In the Sacred Circle.

In solitude

            I seek, I meditate,

I explore my Soul

            To eradicate

The structures within

            That seek to restrict

The path set before me.

In my mind’s eye I wander

Through the past

Of vast wastelands

To seek the old bones

That feel smooth to the touch,

Yet, are solid as stone.

Though bleached white with time,

They send shadowed reflection,

Like faint ripples that shimmer

To seem silver in sand.

I set to the task

            To gather together

Each piece important

            To the whole.

I lay them bare before me

            Building from the beginning

To complete the circle,

            To restore the old life

To regain the new.

            For in the continuing circle

There is no end.

Living with Word Addiction

I freely admit it: I am addicted to words.  I think most of us who write have the same addiction to one extent or another. Words have power and the more words we know, then the more power we have as writers. The two most important references in my writer’s toolbox are a dictionary and a thesaurus.  I could not write without them. However, my addiction to words goes beyond the norm.

My infatuation with words started early in life and began with my learning to read. I read everything I found that had words, from books to magazines to comic books. It is true that I did not understand all I read, and there were many times when I came across words that I could not readily sound out to pronounce. My parents, whom I suspect were weary of my spelling out words for them to pronounce and give definitions, added a dictionary to my bookshelf when I was around six years-old. It was not a child’s dictionary; rather it was a regular grown-up Webster’s Dictionary. After bestowing me with this fascinating tome of words, if I attempted to spell out a word for their appraisal, their answer to me was, “Go and look it up in your dictionary.”

Eventually, I began to keep notebooks of words and their definitions, and later, when I discovered the thesaurus, I added their synonyms. Eventually, I transferred the words in the notebooks to index cards, with words on one side and their definitions and synonyms listed on the other side. I still do this, and yes, I admit that hoarding words is a weird obsession. However, I find that as a writer it is an obsession with an advantage as words inspire more words, which eventually lead to prose and verse and before you know it, you are writing essays, articles, poems and even novels.  

And so, dear friends, I do not apologize for my word addiction, and I do not foresee a rehabilitation program in my future. However, I feel that you, my readers, should have forewarning that anyone could acquire this obsession.  There are millions of words out there in the open just waiting to drag you into their world and there is no escape…

Keep on reading; keep on writing and thanks for stopping by. ~Yvonne~ 

Writer’s Overload

It was a week of essay ideas, (too many to count), and I cannot seem to focus on any one subject to complete one satisfactorily.  So, I am writing this blurb just to let you know I am still here in spirit, even though I don’t have anything written to post of much interest that is complete.

This is not exactly writer’s block; it is more like writer’s overload. In some ways, I would rather experience the block, but then again… Currently my notebook is overflowing with scribbled notes of words, lines, and vague ideas that pop into my head in random order. I am not sure where any of these are going but I am confident they will all come together, if not separately, in the end.  

I think that writer’s overload might stem from media overload. As I had the flu for a couple of weeks, I spent much of my time reading and listening to audio books, watching a few television series and movies on Netflix, and surfing the internet. All of these activities cause me to have deep thoughts on all sorts of subjects ranging from emotional and psychological conflict (not necessarily my own) to the state of the world and the environment. As if this were not enough to keep my mind in a whirlwind, I then begin worrying over catching up on housework and the home repairs that I will have to work on when spring comes. Yes, all these thoughts together are an excessive amount of subjects for one writer to have dancing through his or her mind.

For now, my only cure is to remove myself from the influx of media and concentrate on an artistic project or begin a major housecleaning project. Between these two, not much to anyone’s surprise, I am leaning more towards the artistic avenue. Anyway, either one of these activities will organize the mass of thoughts that are a disorganized jumble in my head. Before long, every idea, thought, word and line will find its own cubby file. I won’t have to work on it, it will just happen on its own. Writing is not always easy, but it is good to know that the clean up of writer’s overload is a just a matter of alternate focus.

Thanks for stopping by… ~Yvonne~