Whether we are at home or in a public spot or caught in a traffic jam or walking into a movie, we can stop and look at the other people there and realize that in pain and in joy they are just like me. Just like me they don’t want to feel physical pain or insecurity or rejection. Just like me they want to feel respected and physically comfortable.” -Pema Chödrön
Basic emo — you, me, and everyone else,
we cry, laugh, make love, sleep, celebrate,
we feel anger, stress, joy, and fear,
we live as humans and die as…
We live on a small, natural lake. So does a wide variety of wildlife.
The hawk above doesn’t live on the lake; he lives in a tall tree at the far corner of our townhome circle. He has a mate and two juvenile offspring whom he and the mother hawk are teaching to hunt. Four is too many resident hawks for my comfort zone.
I think the same hawk has been around here for a couple of years before starting a family. He wasn’t such a bother then. But, now, with four of them actively pursuing meals around the lake…
I was ready to say goodbye to May — too many memories of my struggles to get well. I was equally eager to welcome a new month and what I hope will be greatly improved health.
The lead photo was taken in the garden of the woman who once owned my townhome. She wanted a yard for her dog and her gardening, so she moved to a single-family house in a large neighborhood west of us. That was very fortunate for us because we wanted to downsize from a house to a smaller place. Now, Kathy, Ben, and I are…
The wire pots wait
before the dawn,
tools for the work ahead,
they put other foods
on our table because
we rarely eat what we catch.
Crabs, an expensive delight,
in cities to the north and south —
here, they’re common like
hamburgers or pizza
somewhere that has places
to cook and serve.
Pieces of fish bait not washed away
attract night creatures,
a possum or raccoon
trapped and desperate —
my father cuts the wire
to give freedom —
another pot to repair tonight.
Loaded, the blue and white boat
named Ginny for the mother I never knew
skims through the…
Ten days after being discharged from the hospital, I was taking a nap (I took lots of naps while I was sick) and Captain Argentina and our dog Syau were lying next to me. Syau suddenly rose to her feet and looked towards the living room, very alert. She hurried down her little stairs to the floor and was soon barking. Not a frantic warning bark, but a bark, pause, bark, pause, bark.
The patio doors from our living to our back porch were open and Syau and both cats were watching something outside the screen on the right. There…
If you don’t already know, Andrew Theophilou has a talent for photographing butterflies. That’s why I chose one of his many exceptional butterfly pics to be our June banner. Thanks, Andrew, for allowing us to enjoy your clouded yellow butterfly for the next 30 days.
While I was thinking about a possible June writing prompt, my friend Gina came to my house to install a Roku TV box. She’s my tech guru and my bestest friend.
The woman we bought our townhome from still lives nearby but in a single-family home with generous front and back yards for her beloved…
I remember a friendship or was it? Maybe it was but it’s like old jeans — frayed and holey. Maybe comfortable as things worn down by time tend to be. Comfortable to keep though not very serviceable. Or attractive.
To be a friend is to be of service. To be there. To ask for help and to give it. To respond quicker than someone who is paid to reply, like the doctor’s nurse who took two weeks to return my call. I would expect more of a friend.
A friend should be a warm, cozy sweater. Always ready to ease…
an early fever smothers
the last of spring days
Sorry for the long gap between prompts, HoH’ers but here is a new one.
Here in Florida, summer is already in residence. Our temperatures are in the mid-90s and spring is long gone. Sultry is the perfect word for what I feel as I sit on my porch and type this.
All HoH writers are invited to participate in this Sultry haiku/tanka/monoku prompt:
I was always a writer but lived in a bookkeeper’s body before I found Medium and broke free — well, almost. Working to work less and write more.