Out in west Texas
On the wide open prairie
Thunderstorms are fierce.
From miles far away
One can observe their approach
Exhilarating!
But in Florida
Surrounded by lush forest
Lightning surprises.
Rains pound all around
Drumming in relentless force
Crashing thunder booms.
There is no telling
When the next crack will occur
Heart stopping each time.
Blurry photo of a medium sized turtle. I spoke to him and he scurried back to the safety of the forest.
It must be spring because…
I feel the need to clean something–anything, but preferably something that isn’t too dirty.
My allergies are more active than my bladder. (I’m a post-menopausal woman, so that’s saying a lot.)
Creative urges are tugging at my heartstrings. I picked up a knitting instruction manual, yarn, and two art prints at the farmer’s market this morning.
I’m actually going to organize at least one closet this week. Maybe.
Love is in the air. Love of napping, that is.
Golf.
Songbirds are busy competing for mates.
Studly made three trips to Lowe’s in one afternoon.
Rainy days abound.
Winter clothes get put away. Of course, in Florida that means I’ve traded my capris and tees for shorts and tanks.
Teachers begin seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Much drinking is done.
Flowers don’t bloom for us
Bird songs aren’t meant for our ears,
But isn’t it lovely that we benefit
From the beauty of nature’s ways?
How do we return the favor?
Nourishment, care, and yes,
Appreciation for the gifts we’re given.
Worrywart, worrywart
When will you learn?
Worry does nothing
But lead to heartburn.
Worrywart, worrywart
Will you stop, I wonder?
Perhaps someday when
I’m six feet under.
I spent quite a chunk of the past 48 hours worried that my son and daughter-in-law hadn’t made it safely home from Guatemala. They’d stayed to hike one of the volcanoes, and instead of flying home to the U.S. on Sunday with the rest of the family, they had plans to fly out on Wednesday.
The last message received was a Facebook post saying they were enjoying a final meal in Antigua on Tuesday night. Then nothing. So last night I began texting. Nothing. This morning I began calling. Nothing.
I have a vivid imagination. Women with vivid imaginations should never be left alone for too long. Here’s one of the many scenarios I imagined:
Following that final Facebook post my son was knocked senseless in trying to thwart a kidnapping attempt on his wife. The kidnappers had my daughter-in-law and had taken my son’s phone, identification, passport, and all of his money. When he awakened he had amnesia and was wandering around Antigua begging for spare change.
I called the airline and learned that the couple had boarded their flight. Of course then I wondered if perhaps someone had stolen their passports and flown home in their stead.
There was no rest for me until my daughter-in-law’s sister sent a message saying the couple had returned and were thoroughly buried under piles of makeup work.
Now my imagination is working on ways to torture my son for not getting in contact with me. Let’s see, thumb screws ought to do the trick.
Peace, People
How am I supposed to feel
When I have all of these
Lemons
And everyone says,
“Make lemonade!”
Can’t they see there’s no
Water,
Sugar,
Or even a
Glass?
This is gonna be
Some really crappy
Lemonade,
At least the lemons are
Pretty.
Peace, people!
Oh my bed, you dearest place
You cradle me with skill and grace.
How sad I am to leave your charms
When my clock sounds strident alarms.
Please let me be with you all day
For sound asleep I’ll gladly stay.
Safely within your covers wrapped
I have the perfect day all mapped.
Sleep ’til noon, and then I’ll wake
To eat a bite for my health’s sake.
Then back to you for afternoon’s rest
Snuggled deep in blanket’s nest.
Awaken to read a chapter or four
When my eyes droop I’ll sleep some more.
By evening I’ll be fresh as a daisy
Having spent my day being oh so lazy.
Oh bed how sad that we must now part
Just know you’ve a special place in my heart.
Peace, People.
Is it possible
That the birds of Antigua
Speak fluent Spanish?
Their songs hold a hint:
Trilling softly rolling rrr’s
And calling !aqui¡
One, I swear sings out
¡Buenos dias, mi hija!
Upon meeting me. 
Peace, People!
Sleeping with wide open windows
In La Antigua de Guatemala
Night murmurs offer lullabies.
Alarm clocks are unnecessary.
Songbirds, first one, then a
Chorus begin telling the
Stories of their lives.
The shrill one is my avian
Doppelgänger, repeating
Her story ad nauseum.
Occasionally, though, she
Touches my heart, punctuating
Her song with, “please see me?”
Twice have I drunk from
The fountain of youth’s waters.
How long must one wait?
Crow’s feet still add depth
To the corners of my eyes,
Fine lines mark my mouth.
Fountain of youth, oh
Where is thy miracle cure?
On sabbatical?
When I was a little girl
Many years ago
I dreamed of finding
A handsome prince
And making him my beau.
But I grew into a plain lass
Tall with gangly limbs
And no prince deigned to
Take my hand and
Realize my whims.
So I nurtured imagination
Focused on my brain
Some considered
Me odd as I grew,
Ever against the grain.
Then Studly came
Into my life and
Took on the role of prince
And even through our
Ups and downs
I’ve been so happy since.
I’m already missing my Studly who’s holding Doright Manor together in my absence.
I began adding
Numbers.
Seven hundred
Forty-nine plus
Sixty seven.
Eight sixteen said
Studly.
He’s always been
Good with
Numbers.
Praying for Eyebrowz 