Night of the Living Dead was a scary movie I saw when I was a teenager. It was even scarier driving past a cemetery on my way home that night. The plot line resembles Walking Dead— cannibalistic zombies walking around attacking and eating people. Walking Dead is in the eleventh and final season of guts flying and spilt brains and many ways to slow down, trap, and kill a zombie, not to mention the unraveling of society and its attempt at restructuring.
taking from the past
brings unimagined seasons
fuels a greater fear
dVerse prompt on a fear that was experienced— my experience with zombies has only been in movies
Kindergarten (garden of children) was the garden where I bloomed.
I went down around Colonial Circle and two blocks east, past the school patrol at the corner and there was West Elementary School. The classroom was light and airy with large windows along two sides. A long child-sized table was lined up by the windows and little chairs where we could sit. There were no desks. (Desks were in the 1st grade.)
Miss Nelson led us in art and theatre. (Seems like I was always a star.) My self portrait hung on the wall and I sang “Where is pinkie…..” in a performance for the parents. Miss Nelson took us to the post office, a creamery, a train ride and the Bell Telephone Company. The phone company had an exhibit of the evolution of the telephone, right up to the phone where you could see the person you were talking to.
I didn’t get to go on the train. The day before, I slipped going up the brick stairs to my front door and cut open my lip. The teacher and my mom thought I would bleed on the train. No train ride, no Hollywood career, and I wouldn’t eat butter for fifteen years because we had shaken a pint of cream until it turned. I was sure it would taste sour.
creates spirit of learning
growth of the person
Back to school in my memory with a dVerse prompt on school.
I am drawn to the garden, to rake, shovel and hoe until dusk, on the longest daylight of the year. There is so much to do. The blue wheelbarrow is filled with mulch and rolls back and forth delivering its load. Weeds are pulled and branches pruned. The garden blooms in the solstice sun and I must strive to get a year’s work done until another one.
I am traveling through the Ozarks as I have a number of times, same highway, same destination. This time is different. The dogwood trees are in bloom, their flowers making thickets of white in a low canopy among tall oaks.
Where I am, surrounded by Ozark Mountains, the sun is setting and now the quiet water of the Lake of the Ozarks reflects the moon.
Destination takes us winding through hills and valley into the lake area. This is the time of camping, outdoor cooking, fish grilling, forget about what you wear while you smoke an old stoogie by the campfire (not me but the guy across the way).
Each day will see a new state— starting with Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Montana, Idaho, and finally Washington. Beautiful country this USA.
In Anchorage there were lots of ravens but I did not see eagles. An osprey flew over Gazzam Lake with talons holding a fish. It looked cartoonish, its nest perched high. In southeastern Texas, a bird of prey circled and settled in a towering pine. “What is that bird?” I asked. It’s an eagle they said. Pretty sure that’s an eagle.
I have seen bald eagles, juveniles, goldens. This was no eagle. This was a smaller bird, darker, sleek and slender. There are still those who thought they saw an eagle. It was a Mississippi kite. It came again the next day and waited awhile on a wire.
now at Autumn Lake
this flock of cedar waxwings
flying north to Spring
dVerse prompt to write a haibun concerning the eagle.
I remember sleeping out under the stars during a Girl Scout campout. It was an open area, few light pollutants and a cloudless night. I learned the North Star (Polaris), the dippers both Big and Little (Ursa Major and Minor), Cassiopeia, and as we lay on our sleeping bags looking up, a cross directly above us. The scout leader shone a flashlight into the direction she wanted us to look and we could follow her light to the next star or constellation.
Decades later I woke on my cot in the middle of the night. I was at the Upper Tanner on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. New moon. Deep sand. It was so hot, I lay naked on my sleeping bag. I couldn’t sleep, watched the Milky Way, and saw Pleiades rising.
under this one sky
a circle magnificent
above or below
dVerse prompt to write a haibun of an experience in the natural world that influenced your life. Going through the Grand Canyon on a rafting trip grounded my life to the power of nature (God).
Fantasia is Portuguese for costumes. When we put on a costume we enter a fantasy world. Before Halloween, I would bring out the sewing machine and make costumes for my children. One year they were unicorns, a shark and a penguin, Spider-Man, a green dragon (that won a best costume prize), a wizard and an alien. The dog wore a tutu.
Now my children are grownups. I find myself wanting to wear a costume, wanting to enter a fantasy. As soon as I finish writing, I will bring out the sewing machine and go make my fantasia.
Beach hikes are the best because there is no elevation. I can walk for miles, barefooted, sand between my toes and shells strewn along the way. Waves repeating melody cancels the cares of the world, healing power of sound and saltwater.
Except in some beaches of Portugal where the hike to the small beach among rugged cliffs is near impossible. A road leads down, the surf pounds and beware of being pulled under.
In Crete the road winds along sharp curves, narrow, sometimes one lane, for miles going down until finally, there is an expanse of beach, pink sand and clear water.