A Writing Journey

Posts tagged ‘seasons’

Serial Saturday – Onaemi 2



Photo by me, at bird sanctuary.

If you haven’t read part one, check here first. Enjoy and have a lovely day!

Auntie was a good woman. From the moment I was her Niece, she stopped treating me as if I did not understand, she stopped talking in whispers over my head. The moment I was her Niece, she began to teach me. I was not a good learner. My mind was to full of sky and wind. If she tried to teach me inside, I would be daydreaming out the window and door. If she tried to teach me outside, I would fill her with questions about the clouds, grasses, and winged things.

She stopped trying to teach me, and let my learning take it’s own path. Maybe I could not read like the children in the villages, but I could identify every butterfly and moth, every bird and beetle. I could tell her which days would be rained, and which would be clear. Seasons passed. I saw the changing of colors, felt the air turn crisp and comforting. Then the death of the land, when the crisp air became sharp and the earth was covered in white rain. She taught me about snow, and about how the earth was sleeping, not dead. Then the air turned soft again, and the earth woke with buds and blossoms. From hot to cold to hot again.

The other children did not like me. Said I was strange and unfriendly. I did not intend to be either, but my interests diverged from theirs so wholly that there was no bridging the gap. So Auntie was my teacher, but in friendships I was lacking. So she brought me an injured bird, and told me to tend it.

From crisp to soft I tended that bird, all through the sleeping months. When blossoms came again I took the bird, clasped firmly but not unkind in my hands and marched into the hills. There I set the bird free. She flew, a beautiful thing, and I watched her until she faded from my sight. I stayed in the hills, listening to the hum of new bees, and stumbled on a broken egg.

It was the size of my torso then, chipped and empty and clean. So clean, I knew, that it was not a fresh egg. I tapped it and it did not shatter. The shell glistened and shone, though it was not a bright color like a robin’s egg. It was brown, mottled, and cast a sheen that dazzled me into almost forgetting it was their. I could not take the whole thing to show Auntie, so I broke a corner off and knotted it in the hem of my shirt.

Wind buffeted me and when I looked up, I saw a great bird – a dragon, I later learned – with scales and leathery wings. It called, trumpeted, howled. The sound washed through me and I knew it mourned, knew it’s baby had been snatched away, it’s mate killed. I reached for the dragon, telling it in silent words that I’d felt it’s pain. For a breath of time it turned it’s gaze on me, great black eyes boring into my soul. And then the dragon shot high into the sky and disappeared.

I ran all the way home, my mind abuzz with the voices of nature all around me. They broadcasted their lives, tiny though they were, and to me each of them became the most important creature in the world.

Auntie took one look at me and cursed, a habit she’d long since broken. I don’t know why she cursed. When I showed her the bit of egg, she took it from me gently, wrapped it up, and put it on top of the mantle. She told me that I needed to stay inside for a time, and when I asked her why, she told me I was ill. I didn’t feel ill, but I listened to her, because she had taught me so many things, this too she must know.

Poetry Corner – Autumn

Hello and good-day. I hope everyone has had a lovely week and is doing well. I wrote this particular poem on October 31st. Let me know what you think!

The summer leaves turn from green to red

And in the sunlight are kissed into gold

Before from broken branches the leaves are shed.

Seasons fade, each living though the last is dead

And though bright days we long to hold

The summer leaves turn from green to red.

Light and Dark merge as one, are wed,

In the deep autumn twilight, waxing old,

Before from broken branches the leaves are shed.

Children through the night by the hand are led.

In soft whispers of comfort the children are told

The summer leaves turn from green to red.

Fires are kindled and beg to be fed

As nights draw on into dark cold

Before from broken branches the leaves are shed.

And now in stillness, in silence – to bed.

The season fades – in Endless Waters roll’d.

The summer leaves turn from green to red

Before from broken branches the leaves are shed.

Take care, fellow travelers.

Friday Inspiration – Winter Wonderland

Well, it has been in the 90’s* here and for me that is just unacceptable. In an attempt to make myself feel better, I’ve been looking at pictures of snowy landscapes lately. This got me thinking: how do we write in each season? Well, I tend to write scenes where the characters are having the same type of weather as I am. For instance, if there is a snowstorm happening, you can bet my characters are going to battle through a snowstorm.

This is NOT convenient when, say, I need to write about a snowstorm and it is 90+ degrees and the sun is shining and my garden is wilting. For that, I have photos. I like to look at photos I’ve taken first, to see if I can get in the right mind set from that. Here are some examples:

Winter in Norway - gotta love the snow!

Winter in Norway – gotta love the snow!

Another image from Norway - this one makes me think of "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe."

Another image from Norway – this one makes me think of “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”

It's not just winter scenes that I like to plunge back into!

It’s not just winter scenes that I like to plunge back into!

Last but not least :)

Last but not least 🙂

These are just a few examples of the kinds of photos that can inspire me to write a scene opposite of what is actually happening outside. I encourage you to look at photos you’ve taken or do a Google search. You might be surprised what inspires you!

What do you do to keep inspired when the weather is less than pleasant?

Take care, fellow travelers.





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