At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Prosery with an invitation to write a piece of prose (144 words) including a line from ‘A Daughter Of Eve’ by Christina Rossetti. The line is – “Talk what you please of future spring and sun warm’d sweet tomorrow.”
“Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.” Elizabeth Bowen
Talk what you please of future spring and sun warm’d sweet tomorrow, but today my mood is mellowed by autumn dews, russet leaves and memories falling into me again. A season of funereal beauty, so easy on my eyes, yet unsettled in my heart. Many leaves now carpet the earth, old and turned often with little to add, save that they hint at something more to come which temporarily coddles me. I just can’t see that far ahead, and in some ways I don’t want to, no one season is experienced like its previous appearance, it can be anticipated but never presumed, longed for but never known until it chooses. Until then I must winter well, reflect and refresh. Spring will come in good time but for now I sit closely with greying skies and misty dawns that challenge my complacency again.
At dVerse Lisa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to engage with the Japanese (derived from Chinese) 72 seasons and to write a haiku based on – Sekki as major season and Ko as minor season within the major. For in depth information click the link below for dVerse and further links.
“The night air was soft and laden with the redolence of impending blossoms.” Meeta Ahluwalia
My choice of major and micro season are: Sekki – Spring; Ko – Risshun (beginning of spring). Damsel flies are an early sign of spring, there is both joy in the coming of spring and sadness that winter is going (because it is fleeting – which means, ergo, that spring is also short lived). The fireplace empty means spring is here, a different nuance.
“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.” William Blake
Hitchcockian howl growl winds push water into thunderous demolition of delicate sands, forever changing the face of this coastal scape. Plovers have retreated to the high dunes, gulls and terns have taken refuge. Tomorrow it will slow and the next day it will settle, but nothing will be the same. Every bruise irrevocably changes the fundamental fabric of this tapestry I look upon. Torn limbs and trunks strewn, the line of sand permanently altered, rocks covered or exposed.
The singular delighting indulgence is to brave the aftermath and the cold and walk the littered beach of treasures, shells, driftwood, someones things, the sadness of a dead fish. The gulls scree once again, plovers skitter along and crabs scuttle as if nothing has happened. There is at once a horror and awe at the sheer force of it all, and in both there is the child's eyes.
skies darkening low
wind wraiths storm tender soft sands
trinkets offered up
At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to choose from either provided sentences or to write a few words that come to mind and to change a word(s) to its derivative and then weave the word into a poem.