writing

The Watch – Part One

“Sir, do you need a watch? Sell it to you, cheap!” an old man, slumped on the sidewalk, held out his last prized possession. The silver pocket watch twirled from its chain, dented and well-loved. The man’s eyes cried out for help, but he wouldn’t beg, just offer things to sell to get by.

A sharply dressed man looked down at him. A chill went up his spine as he watched the older man with his watch. He raised his gloved hands to his face, blowing on them to keep them warm. His woolen coat, normally hot on his back even on the coldest days, suddenly felt as thin as silk.

He was a stranger to this town, and felt for the man on the street. He knew he needed to do something, but buying that watch would not help him. A voice in the back of his mind repeated, “The best gift you can give is your time.” He kneeled down, meeting the man on the street eye to eye.

“I have no need for your watch, but I am not familiar with this town. Could you tell me where I might get a good burger?”

The old man smiled and his eyes lit up. “The diner on 5th makes the best burgers in town. Their staff is great; they always give me hot cocoa when I stop by.”

“Would you show me the way?” He stretched out his hand to help the old man up. “I’m Steve by the way.”

The old man stumbled up to his feet. His coat was merely an old quilt, tattered by age and grayed by grime from living on the street. He wrapped it around himself tightly and tottered along down the road. “This way, sonny. Best burger in town. I’m Jon by the way.”

Jon showed Steve to the diner. When they arrived, Jon clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Thanks for the company. Enjoy your burger.” He turned to walk away.

Steve called out, “I could use some company, would you like to join me?” He paused as Jon turned to him. “My treat!”

Jon smiled a little, “I can get myself a hot cocoa.” He looked up at the steamed up windows, knowing the warmth would do him some good. “Sounds good.” Steve opened the door for Jon and let him lead the way.

writing

Killjoy

It started in little innocuous ways.

So small, it was almost imperceptible.

Cards, greeting cards. I loved giving

And getting greeting cards. I still do.

But it wasn’t a thing in his world.

It made me sad, but I no longer bother,

Unless it’s from me for a special holiday.

But I lost some joy with writing them out.

Next up was Christmas, oh, it’s a secular thing.

But I pulled back so much, lost some fun.

Slowly it grew back a bit, and I still love the tree

And decorating, but there is still not as much joy.

Last year, it was our favorite vacation spots…

Suddenly, he didn’t want to watch the sunset

Or go for walks. He didn’t appreciate the

Breakfasts at the B&B either.

So I won’t plan to go to either now.

Why bother, if it doesn’t mean anything anymore?

The fun, the joy, is gone. I miss it.

writing

Old Oak Tree

Graceful limbs stretch out over the grass field beside the lake.

A tapestry of bark and green cover each one as it stretches to the sky.

Shadows cast to the ground below, providing shade and a cool place to rest.

The leaves flutter and shimmy in the breeze lightly blowing in.

The trunk has recovered from Irma’s force, twisted and split,

held together by strapping which it is now growing over.

The branches still droop under the weight of the final summer rains,

and soon, the leaves will fall, covering the drive again as the seasons change.

It graces the lawn, playing host to cardinals, jays, and wrens.

That oak still stands tall, surviving what Mother Nature has thrown at it.

poetry, writing

Week End!

I finally sigh, a sigh of relief,

although it may only be brief.

The week has finally found its end,

Another week is just around the bend

Why does work have to be a thief!


Burnt out brain = bad poetry. Have a relaxing and restful weekend!

writing

Comfort

Curled up, arm out stretch, fist clenched.

The pain, never ending.

His furry little face comes up, checking her out,

as if to say, You okay?

He figures she’s not,

so he finds a little pocket,

against her in her fetal shaped curve.

He starts to purr and

brings her some warmth.

Finally, she relaxes her hand,

soothed by his comfort.

Slowly, she finally drifts to sleep.


Isn’t it amazing when pets know we don’t feel well and try to make us feel better?

writing

Forward

A few years from now,

they meet again in a meadow and smile.

Wild flowers bloom around them.

She’d long forgiven him the past.

Arguments about then were futile,

Unnecessary to dredge up anymore.

Had he forgiven her too?

They knew there was no road back,

That’s where the past resides.

They needed to move forward.

She hoped they could grow

to know each other as they are today.

But now, it was his turn to lead.

Would he show her what he wants her to see,

Or turn and walk away,

leaving her to wonder?

Only time will tell.

poetry, writing

Autumn is Upon Us

Crimson reds, sunset oranges, and golden yellows abound.

The crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, that sound.

Fireplaces soon will billow with soot and smoke,

The time nears to gather with friends and kinfolk.

High school football on Friday nights,

Marching bands playing under the lights,

A chill in the air brings sweater weather,

and an excuse to snuggle closer together.

Let’s enjoy a warm tea and give a cheer,

It’s no wonder I love this time of year!


🍁 Happy Fall Y’all! 🍂

writing

The Light

The darkness filled the void, nothing else visible except two figures. A light winged creature kneeled before a dark creature. The winged creature was bound by the wrists, reaching upward to its captor.

The dark creature looked down with blazing light eyes as he spoke with a booming voice, “Why does a creature of light have dark eyes?”

A quiet voice drifted upward as her head tilted toward his. “We all must have darkness to see the light. If everything were all dark, there would be nothing to see.”

His light eyes looked out. He knew the light would beat him if he let her go. “Why doesn’t the light destroy all the darkness, destroy me? Isn’t it supposed to be all good?”

She knew she could easily escape her bindings, although he did not realize. She rose to her feet, still looking up at him. “If everything were all light, there would be nothing to see.”

His eyes locked with hers. In that moment, he saw the reason for darkness in her eyes, and he understood. He understood now why light filled is own eyes.

Slowly, he began to untie the bindings. She stretched her wings and light shot out around them. Her hands, now free, embraced him. Darkness and light worked together.

The nothingness which surrounded them both changed into a beautiful meadow, dotted with flowers. A stream ran behind her. Dark mountains surrounded the meadow.

A zebra striped butterfly landed on the dark creature’s shoulder. He looked at it and smiled. “Balance,” he breathed out as the butterfly floated away. She smiled, and now he knew.

writing

Just Fishin’

He leaned over to her, lightly tapping her on the hand. “Hey, want to go fishing?” His voice was a little raspy with age. His eyes still twinkled with love.

Her hands were wrinkled and covered in veins, but he still loved her hands. She leaned her head over to his shoulder. Softly, in her own shaky voice, she said yes with a bright smile. She loved fishing with him. It was time for the two of them to be together, alone… No kids or grandkids or neighbors dropping by unannounced.

She headed into the kitchen and packed up some ham and cheese sandwiches for them, a couple cokes, and some chips in a little cooler. He pecked her on the cheek as he headed to the back porch to pull together the fishing gear. She smiled and watched him disappear through the door, then opened the cabinet door. She pulled out two oatmeal cream pies and slipped them into the cooler.

He walked back in from the porch. He carried two poles, two collapsible chairs, and a tackle box. Atop his already capped head sat her floppy hat.

She turned and looked at him. “Ain’t you a sight!” She giggled as she pecked him on the lips. She picked her hat up off his head and set it down on the counter. “Ready to go?”

He winked at her as he headed out the door. She followed behind, locking up. They loaded up his little white Chevette, then climbed inside.

They drove off across the mountain to his favorite fishing hole. It was a wide spot in a cool mountain stream off a back country dirt road. Oaks and poplar lined the stream which curved across the landscape and small wildflowers dotted the grass where they parked the car.

He picked it because she thought it was pretty; not because of the fish. They set up their spot and cast their lines. It was a beautiful afternoon with blue skies and white puffy clouds.

She looked up and named the shapes she found in the sky. He loved her imagination, and took her by her free hand, just to hold it for a bit.

She looked over at him. They had lived a full life together, and she couldn’t imagine life any other way. It wasn’t always an easy life, but it was a good life. Nine children, fifteen grandchildren, and lots of family always surrounded them. But afternoons like this are what she really treasured.

It didn’t matter how many trout they caught, but they always came home with a few. It was dinner for Sunday after all! What really mattered was the time they spent together, loving each other for just being.


Inspired by my grandparents; great role models for how to give, forgive, and build love. We should all be so lucky!