writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: May 2015
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2015_05_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Monday, May 25, 2015. In the woods stood a bridge,. Ten wooden slats and a railing,. Stretching over a dancing stream. I stood and watched. While the music played,. A timpani of water over rocks,. Water over rocks,. Until I felt the beat in my hands,. In my feet, in my chest—. Until the rocks themselves. Took the shape of music,. A bass note from a boulder,. A tenor made of stone,. A cappella water droplets. Singing arias as they fell. In the glinting flash of sunlight,. As if it ...
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: November 2014
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2014_11_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Sunday, November 30, 2014. A Colorful Sunday Write. A cheerful bit of winter green. This Sunday's writing prompt: color. I once had my colors done and was told my palette was definitely pastel. No violent colors for me, red least of all. I like red mixed with yellow, though, and when you mix it with blue I love the vast array of available purples. Http:/ www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com). The gray green of unripe olives, the color complemented the yellow in my hair a...
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: December 2014
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2014_12_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Monday, December 15, 2014. Http:/ www.birdforum.net. The reason I’m looking out the window. Is because dawn brings hungry birds to the feeder,. Whole flocks of rosy finches,. A pair of ruby cardinals,. Sky colored jays and red capped flickers,. An upside down nuthatch in its gray-blue cape,. Chickadees with their black caps. Pulled down around their ears. And this morning, ten days before Christmas,. A gift – an albino finch, white as the grounded snow,. White as a feathered angel,.
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: August 2014
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2014_08_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Friday, August 22, 2014. The hummingbirds are still coming to the feeder but my mornings no longer begin with bird song. The early hours now belong to the raucous crow and the belligerent jay. And the rooster, of course. Links to this post. Sunday, August 03, 2014. One Misty, Moisty Morning. The sky is beginning to brighten. Perhaps the sun will make an appearance after all and the energy of the day will change from indolent to industrious. Perhaps I shall surrender to it;...Room ...
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: June 2015
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2015_06_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Monday, June 08, 2015. Photo credit: http:/ www.countrybirder.com/EasternBluebird.html. Sometimes when I am outside my eyes are buried in a book. Sometimes I realize what a wasted opportunity this is. The landlord's cat slinked past me, a baby chipmunk dangling from his jaws. Death amidst life, as always. And to think I'd had my eyes buried in a book. Links to this post. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Massachusetts, United States. View my complete profile. Laughing On the Way Out.
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: February 2015
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2015_02_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Sunday, February 22, 2015. 12 ways of looking at snow. This Sunday's writing prompt was 12 ways of looking at snow. An arbitrator between autumn and spring. Keeping storm scores and stats on plummeting temperatures. A cat burglar, sneaking in on a passing cold front. Stealing color, hiding the tricycle and the dog’s dish,. Disguising the starkness of trees with fluff, covering its tracks. A bully, sweeping in on a fierce wind,. A white fury casting cold spells,. As he dashes off.
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: March 2015
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2015_03_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Sunday, March 08, 2015. Today's Sunday Writing prompt was two-fold, awakening the senses and having a conversation with the morning. Here are two of my responses. Good morning day,. Drifting in snowflakes,. Your cold gray face freckled with birds,. The sunrays of your smile absent,. Good morning day,. Lightly slipping in beneath the curtains,. Rousing me slowly, pulling me from dreams,. Drawing me to the window. To watch the snow float down. I recognize yesterday and tomorrow.
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: Witness
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2015/05/witness.html
Writing Down the Words. Sunday, May 03, 2015. I stare into the sun and cannot be sure. As if it does not matter, the bird of prey flaps toward land and perches high in a pine. The pursuing geese speed away, back to the cove. The geese on the pond circle and talk, circle and talk. I am merely a witness. I walk on. When I return half an hour later, the geese on the pond are still talking about it. Out on the prairie. I see it happening through your words. Delightful thoughts and observations Pauline. Simpl...
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: January 2015
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2015_01_01_archive.html
Writing Down the Words. Tuesday, January 27, 2015. January 27, 2015. Note: I don't consider myself a weather(wo)man basher. I know that forecasting is an inexact science. This link (. Http:/ thevane.gawker.com/why-nycs-historic-blizzard-didnt-live-up-to-the-hype-1681962448) offers a good explanation of the difficulty in making precise predictions. This sentence stands. Aspects of our behavior.). I never thought I'd feel old fashioned, but I do. Perhaps it's common at this age to look back at what one...
writingdownthewords.blogspot.com
Writing Down the Words: Listen!
http://writingdownthewords.blogspot.com/2015/05/listen.html
Writing Down the Words. Monday, May 25, 2015. In the woods stood a bridge,. Ten wooden slats and a railing,. Stretching over a dancing stream. I stood and watched. While the music played,. A timpani of water over rocks,. Water over rocks,. Until I felt the beat in my hands,. In my feet, in my chest—. Until the rocks themselves. Took the shape of music,. A bass note from a boulder,. A tenor made of stone,. A cappella water droplets. Singing arias as they fell. In the glinting flash of sunlight,. Amigo (a)...
