A favorite flower, an offering for hope, for joy…
Go USA!! I’ll be watching the World Cup this evening!
No offense to the Portugese, who have a beautiful country that I long to visit, but my fingers are crossed for the USA!!!
Edit — Argh!! Robbed of a win in the extra time. Why 5 minutes of extra time?!
May your inner light shine on the longest day,
Reflecting back the light of the universe.
I also offer a free midsummer fairy tale set in Ireland, about a young girl and the traditions of her family on Midsummer. Here is a link to Midsummer Stew, a tale of fairy retribution and redemption and of the interconnectedness of us all.
Blessings, Brenda
rock garden
structure enfolds elegance
stone walls support
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
deep in the woods
wildflowers by the path’s edge
sunshine in the dim
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Still
Garden
Succulents,
Thick and fleshy,
Summer heart pulsing,
Pride of Wood Elves,
Flowers not,
Dry Wit,
Root.
Note: This poem is a Ninette, with 5 lines, starting with one syllable on the first line, increasing by ones to five on the fifth and then decreasing by ones to one syllable on the last line. Or a syllable count of: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Reference: Poetry Soup – Ninette
What do you see?
I imagined a baby robin eating his first worm. I looked up baby robins, and I learned they are born with an egg tooth that disappears. They have no feathers, and their eyes are closed until at least three days pass. After three days, the primary feather sheaths begin to poke through the skin. I wonder if that hurts like when a baby teethes.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: A visual haiku is a photograph that implies the presence of something not there. For other visual haiku, click here, here and here.
References:
Cornell Lab’s American Robin
Messinger Woods Guide to Development of a Baby Bird
Baby Robins in the Nest
weighted with words
wisteria heavy
falling from lips
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
colorful maelstrom
paradise of May flowers
butterflies welcomed
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Blue
Berries
Dwindling
As winter ends,
Providing forage
For creatures small and large,
Drawn by beautiful sapphire
Fruit of the evergreen bushes,
Jewels strung there by Mother Nature,
Loving provender for her hungry kin.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This poem is an Etheree, starting with one syllable
on the first line and increasing to 10, one syllable per line.
For another great example, check out Ginz&Tonic.
tangled rose vines
dreaming of spring sunshine
showing thorns
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Sunshine writes on each leaf
In a language I cannot read.
Nature connects to me, is my belief,
Granting succor, solace: things I need.
Golden leaves have much to say,
Dappled by daylight, joyful, calm.
Cheer and peace are mine today;
Nature’s beauty provide the balm.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
The February sunshine steeps your boughs
and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
The groves were God’s first temples.
— William C. Bryant
Daily on my walks, I see miracles of beauty, hidden places that driving would never reveal. The slower I walk, with more deliberation and care, with time to look around, the more my soul lifts with the beauty casually offered to my eyes. Some combinations of shrub and tree were created with careful selection, pruning, fertilizing and skill beyond mine. I am the worshipper, visiting briefly in temples built by others.
Even my own garden has treasures I received, simply by deciding to dwell here. Some irises were planted by a previous owner. I thought they would be purple, and each year I waited for them to bloom. Their leaves never embraced a flower stem except once, overshadowed as they had become by the vigorous forsythia planted too close. One fall, I pruned back the forsythia. That next spring, the forsythia did not bloom, but the iris did: delicate and pale pink, with a creamy white interior.
not purple, unexpected
the pink of my son’s rosy cheeks
bearded iris bloomed
My neighbor, Terry, came down the driveway, waving, and calling to me. She told me she was delighted to see Reed’s irises in bloom after so many years. She asked for one, and I freely gave it. She told me about the woman who had planted them. Reed had developed brain cancer and was gone in a few months. The neighbors had come together to make the family meals while she enjoyed her last days, looking out on her garden. One neighbor came to play harp for her in the evenings. Now her garden is my garden, and her irises are in my care.
Last year, I moved all those irises away from the forsythia and into the sun. My neighbor, Terry, came by again: her iris had not survived. I told her I would give her another one day, once they had recovered from transplanting. One spring soon, I hope to see that pale pink flower again. I will care for them here, in my outdoor temple. As I tend the memories of my own mother.
mourning in shade
thick green bud rises in the sun
time to bloom again
Added by request, an old iris painting of mine, purple like the ones I carried at my wedding:
Iris 1 Painting by Brenda Davis Harsham
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Inspired by the Līgo Haībun Challenge Prompt: Temple.
Friendly Fairy Tales 