Silent? Sunday
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Silent Sunday
Weekend Writing Prompt #313 – Stitch
Wow! This has to be the shortest WWP to date! If not, maybe I missed it 😉 I remember a 12-word one… Obviously, I could not resist and I wasn’t overly imaginative but hey… What else you gonna do with ten?
Will you ever finish?
Only two inches of stitches left!
Pieces of My Father in Song
Back in March, there was a dVerse challenge to use a list of titles of songs with the words Dad, daddy or father in them. I started to write and then realised, no… I must save this one for today. I am still struggling with the fact that it has been ten years today since my father chose to stop “our” suffering.
Dad and me
Dad and me with King
Dad and his girls
Dad and me
Dad
Dancing with the bride
Today marks the tenth anniversary
of My old man leaving this earth on his terms
His sideways glance and grimace at such term
meant, of course, to discourage us,
didn’t work
My father’s eyes twinkled blue
with mirth (mostly)
or turned steely grey
in anger (rarely)
How did none of us inherit them?
My Daddy’s hands were the standard
all my boyfriends’ were judged against
(few could compare)
His were capable of many things
and in my father’s house
was proof of his prowess
He always thought he wanted boys
to pass on his name, father to son
but soon realised how much he was blessed
to have not one daddy’s little girl, but three
My dance with my father was as special to me
as it was for both of my sisters
and he never hesitated to say
Your daddy loves you
For ten years, I have missed you, Daddy
and still go to pick up the phone
to share news or ask your opinion
So here is a a song for dad
I think of you every time I hear it
Silent Sunday for Mother’s Day
Nonchalance
Way back on Monday, Lisa hosted Prosery on dVerse. We are to use the following chosen line from a poem in a piece of prose, not more than 144 words. The rule is that we cannot insert any words within the quote but we are allowed to change the punctuation. It’s one of my favourite of the dVerse challenges.
On this day without a date,
On a back street, dusky
— Charles Simic, from My Friend Someone
Over time, we become used to certain things. Big. Little. Some don’t even warrant a glance, never mind a thought. We take them for granted. Is it human nature to do so? What, for many, in the beginning, thrilled us to have someone else do, we now expect. When do we become so nonchalant about our circumstances that we no longer pay attention and appreciate the little everyday things that are done for us? It just is. And then one day it isn’t.
Today, on this day without a date, on a back street, dusky, and away from the madding crowd, I ponder as I stroll. My to-do list is ever lengthening and now, too late, I realise I didn’t express my appreciation enough.
With each task I accomplish, once done by another, I feel pride mixed with sorrow, and not a little remorse.
Before
After
*One of the many things I have had to learn to do…
Daydreaming – Friday Fictioneers
Very sneaky, Rochelle! You go to great lengths to get me to play Friday Fictioneers! And it worked, too! If you’re inspired to write a 100-word story based on my photo (thanks for choosing it, my friend), please do so by clicking on the frog below and adding your link. G’head, it’s loads of fun!
Click to play
Daydreaming
She stepped away from her cottage onto the grass, cool and springy beneath her feet. She lay on a small hill, crossed her feet and interlaced her fingers to cradle her head. Gazing up at the blue sky, her thoughts drifted with the clouds, dreamily. What I wouldn’t give to be able to ride one of those clouds or up and fly to diverse destinations with the birds. To experience new cultures, go on adventures, to see—
SPLAT!
Right on her forehead.
“Thanks a lot!” she shouted to the now empty sky. “This better be a sign of good luck!”
If You Could Read My Mind, Love
“If you could read my mind, love
What a tale my thoughts could tell…~Gordon Lightfoot
I’m so tired I can’t focus on anything so I decide not to resist and go to bed before 9:30
I brush my teeth, wash my face do my nightly five gratitudes, turn off the light and snuggle into my sheets
And wait for Morpheus to come
And wait. And breathe deeply
I turn over, flip onto my back – that never works – flip to the other side
Do breathing exercises: inhale four counts, hold four counts, exhale four counts
Repeat and yawn during the hold.
For fucks sakes! Sleep already! I’m obviously tired.
I’m not even thinking of anything in particular, either
Sigh.
Go to the bathroom and glance at clock on way back
Really? Eleven PM? An hour and a half I’ve been trying?
I give in and pick up my phone and start scrolling
Oh.
Sadness.
Gordon Lightfoot passed away a couple of hours ago
I must be getting older as I find 84 to be too young
I go to YouTube and start listening to
If You Could Read My Mind
followed by
Early Morning Rain
Sundown
Rainy Day People
Choosing them one by one and holding the phone to my ear
Did She Remember My Name
Beautiful
Next thing I know, it’s midnight and I’m feeling that each song
has something that touches me deeply.
Good song writers do that.
“So if you should ask me what secrets I hide
I’m only your lover, don’t make me decide”~ Gordon Lightfoot
Late Spring? Not Quite Up Here
For Haibun Monday, hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg on dVerse. Since Spring has finally sprung, why not, eh?
Siberian squills
Sweet violet
Carpet of Siberian squills
Daffodils and hyacinths
Striped squills
I am asked to write a Haibun about late spring. Problem is, we are merely at the beginning of it up here in the Montreal region unlike my fellow writers below the 49th parallel who have been sharing photos of their blooms since end of February, beginning of March! Up here, we go from temps begging for sundresses and sandals and the next, it’s full-on garb, including coat, hat and gloves (for those of us of a more delicate nature). Exposing toes at this time would be foolhardy.
How can we ask for crocus and daffodils when we expect them to be covered in snow? And yet, they do just that. They take the risk to pop up out of the partially frozen soil next to naked branches and we delight in it. During my latest walkabout, I am delighted to see yellows and blues and every shade of purple with some pink interjected here and there, just because.
I’m particularly beguiled by the random pops of sweet violets, striped squills, and Siberian squills that seem to scatter willy-nilly wherever they please. Not that the more formal gardens with hyacinths, daffodils and the early tulips don’t have their own special charm, of course. It is the wild ones that captivate me.
Frozen ground holds on
Battle royale in progress
Blooms unrepentant
Silent Sunday
A Dalectable Life 