Thanks

Thanks April

The last day of March is almost over with April waiting in the wings, and so, another month of writing along with the wonderful prompts from Write Alm is about to begin…and I am ready to dive in!

I cannot tell you the pleasure I am getting from writing, the daily (well, almost) exercise has become part of my life, and something, I simply cannot imagine giving up.

It is a wonderful way to flex your writing muscles and I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Thanks to everyone who has made a comment or liked what I have written, it is incredibly lovely of you, making me want to write even more. Also, thanks to Amanda for your prompts, comments and encouragement.

April’s prompts can be found here.

Happy writing!

Jane.

Spring fever

forsythia

Bursting from every corner

feverish and glorious;

spring has sprung.

~

In the unfolding leaves

the tissue paper blossom

and sweet song of the blackbird.

~

In the movement of the earth

beneath our feet and

the lengthening of the day.

~

The sweet smell of hope

and the joyous beauty

this season’s gifts bestowed.

Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is

‘spring fever’

The last day of March, wow, where’d it go! Some wonderful prompts, now looking forward to April’s…thanks Amanda.

Goodnight

Goodnight

The day slowly turns to night

as the last slither of light disappears

and a blue-black darkness coats the sky.

~

The house bathed in thick yellow light

as the nip of an early spring evening

creeps in through an open window.

~

The sweet smell of slumber in the air

as a day well-lived slips away into the ether

and sleep pervades consciousness.

Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is

‘goodnight’

 

 

 

My hero

Sepia eye

You arrived early, eager to see the world, I suspect. It was a difficult birth, we were both so unwell, and you were tiny, but I knew you’d be a fighter…and you were.

We went through a lot.

But, these years with you have been filled with untold joy.

You never cease to amaze me with your infectious cheerfulness, your sense of humour, which is way beyond your years, and your ability to give love. You have values and so much compassion, even at 14, which makes me so proud. You have taught me things no-one else possibly could, and for all this I want you to know, that you are my hero.

~

For my son.

Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is

‘hero’

Kitchen sink

kichen sink 1

How many thoughts have been thought here

and never shared; just kept within.

~

How many silent tears have been cried here

as I washed and tried to forget.

~

How many smiles have been smiled here

heart aglow with laughter from loved ones and friends.

~

How many more dishes will be washed here

looking out at blue skies and sunsets.

~

All life’s pain and joy

at the kitchen sink.

Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is

‘kitchen sink’.

On the road

On the road

On the road

with the day behind us

fresh air still in our lungs

and salt on our cheeks.

~

Cutting through the dark

we are homeward bound

with thoughts of sleep

and dreams of the sea.

Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is

‘on the road’.

The wish

We have the same wish

but dare not speak it;

mindful of its futility.

Stuck in our throats

afraid, that once freed,

we’ll have nothing to hold onto.

Knowing, even though we choke,

we still have hope.

Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is ‘make a wish’.

Wild flowers

June 2012 016 edited

I remember the day we planted the seeds. It was hot, for May, and the ground was a little dry from the lack of rain.

Her hands were wrinkled, but still strong, from a lifetime of work. I loved how they caressed the soil as she dug out little troughs for the seeds.

I treasured days with her, she smelled of lemon soap and clean linen. Her hugs were many and that of a bear, despite her age, making me feel safe.

She promised me a patch in her garden after a walk one balmy August afternoon. I’d spotted a field of wild flowers and she saw my face; a spark lit.

Since she passed, some ten years gone, a part of my heart is always dead, until, the wild flowers bloom. Then, on the warm breeze, I smell lemon soap and I feel her there, with me.

Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is ‘the stars make no noise’.

Tea & Paper

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Susan Rushton

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