Daily Archives: September 30, 2019

Harbinger ~ Cheryl #writephoto

Hiding here, recuperating Turn off that light! It’s irritating Can’t you see I’m just sitting, resting Conserving energy to divest in A search for some thing to savor As I’m aging it’s no favor Continue reading at The Bag Lady

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Pondering Happiness ~ Tina Stewart Brakebill #writephoto

happiness unfound awake, we dream of the day when dawn returns joy Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com Questions that occur to me as I ponder happiness: Can happiness be “unfound”? And if it can, does that mean it’s been lost … Continue reading

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Lingering ~Andrea Stephenson

Reblogged from Andrea Sephenson at Harvesting Hecate: Autumn winds sweep in for a few days, making leaves dance and whipping up dervishes from cut grass. But the winds can’t sweep away the summer sun. It is still warm, dry and … Continue reading

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Harbinger ~ Di #writephoto

I remember the rhyme from my childhood and also the children’s TV programme. They say one is for sorrow, and this little chap suggests sad tidings. But what if he’s not? For all we know he could be doing the … Continue reading

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History Continues ~ Teresa Smeigh #writephoto

Jack wondered how much of this story he should tell the boys and even Joanne. Although he came over here searching for her, she wasn’t easy to find although she did keep his last name. He was concerned with how … Continue reading

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Rites of Passage: Brief encounter…

The Silent Eye weekends are not just about what is built into the schedule, they are also a chance to spend time with people we have come to know through the events and who have become friends. We are always … Continue reading

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Travels in Afghanistan (2) ~ Mary Smith

Reblogged from Mary Smith’s Place: Cocooned in my black nylon, slithery, stifling burqa I retreated into a review – it was certainly not planning – of what had brought me here. Adult life had begun in a dull, but safe … Continue reading

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Stream #midnighthaiku

* Light finds its own path Streaming unseen from the source Gathering colours Its journey becomes our own The soul is garbed in rainbows *

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