I. The sand stretches on and on. From my umbrella's shade to the toe lapping coolness of waves sliding in, I sprint across the wide expanse crying Ouch! with every step. Trapped heat scalds my soles as I tumble headlong toward the water's promise of relief, sighing as saltwalter takes the sting away. II. But the ocean reaches farther still - a hundred miles - even more - to a horizon so hazy it seems like a dream. I close my eyes and fly, free, to the edge of the sky. Breathing in humid air, filling my lungs with the smell of summers long gone and starry skies, I fly. III. I fly to the sound of a thousand tomorrows. Away from a beach sharing decades of stories, above an ocean singing about an eternity of the world in motion. As I cross the horizon, for a split second I'm suspended between this world and the next. Our history sprawled behind me, an infinite future ahead... the beauty in all time and space. I fly. - ljh 6/24/17
Phenomenal Woman Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I say, It's in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It's the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them, They say they still can't see. I say, It's in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need for my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. - Maya Angelou
Morning Birdsong I close my eyes and listen - just listen - stilling the noise inside. Geese honking past, the woodpecker tapping, even a rooster chimes in once in a while. A low rhythmic undertone - who - oo - woo woo woo And on top the songs of dozens of birds run counterpoint - eee eee eee eee eee ee-ya ee-ya ee-ya eee chee chee chee chee chee a trill scale, a short staccato, a long low calling that carries across the water. Layer after layer of birdsong offered up into the morning sky. - ljh 4/14/17
Imagine this: you’ve reached the end of your time on the Earth. You’re standing before St. Peter (folks who aren’t on board with the whole Pearly Gates scenario, just roll with me for a minute) and this is what you hear: “Tell me why you deserve to stay in heaven. You have thirty seconds. Go.”
You’re faced with arguably the most important pitch of your existence, and the seconds are ticking away. No pressure, right?
What a delight to learn that I’d been nominated for the Blogger Recognition Award! Many thanks to Mom Of Two Little Girls for visiting RFTM and sharing the love. You should check out her work – she’s blogging her way through motherhood, and a lot of us can relate to that.
To pay it forward, here are the rules:
- Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
- Write a post to show your award.
- Give a brief story of how your blog started.
- Give two pieces of advice to new bloggers.
- Select 15 other bloggers for this award.
- Comment on each of their blogs, letting them know they’re nominated and linking back to this post.
My eyes slide open and I pause, patiently listening to the dark, waiting to learn what pulled me out of sleep and into this hushed bedroom at midnight. These used to be my moments of fight or flight, adrenaline kick starting as I strained to catch a sound invading our home, trampling the peace of mind in my blanket cocoon. Even the buzz of a streetlight could stop my heart. All these years later it is simply an inconvenience, an hour better left to kids out clubbing or New Year's Eve. I quietly breathe and focus on the world around me. - ljh 2/8/17
Listen, I know I can be a bit of a nut with the English language. I’ll admit I have plenty of triggers in this area, both spoken and written, and that it’s entirely possible more than one person has given me the side eye if they overhear my rant. That’s my baggage. I own it.
Grammar mistakes – especially on important stuff like, you know, artwork titles – make me crazy, and pretty much any sentence ending with at (“Hey, Jim, where’s that remote at?”) makes me shudder. I’m not asking for the Queen’s English here, just a reasonable resemblance to proper English. It doesn’t even have to be fancy English. I’d be satisfied by casual language with some slang thrown in if we could only avoid those traffic stopping blunders.
Oh, and in case our texting generations were wondering, writing still matters.
The roosters roam free near Spouting Horn, ignoring tourists who come to gawk and take endless pictures of the ocean. They peck the ground patiently, intent on lunch, oblivious to children's feet thundering past with cries of "Careful!" in the air. Women open their stalls nearby, setting up wares while reckless visitors lean too far over the fence, craning their necks to catch a single glimpse of water flying fifty feet high. They come to see spectacular beauty but rush right past the gorgeous creatures at their feet. - ljh 2/1/17