Reflections from an Open Window
Linda Raha's Writing Corner
There isn't any snow yet, but if snowflakes were to fall could they all be wishes, drifting, floating, swirling, like heavenly dreams come true? Could a New Year begin, a place to make fresh tracks in the snow, a song within our hearts gently stirring? Can we start a love story, with prayers ever on
The trees still hold their charms gems that sparkle in the autumn light. Above, the November sun is a bright gold coin; it is better to spend the abundant treasure now than try to save it for a later time. The warmth and sweetness is for today before the cold winds blow before the landscape
The autumn sky is a blue ocean, fathoms deep. The birds chatter and tell their stories to the silent, knowing trees. How stoic are the trees, how majestically they stand, as the birds fly from branch to branch. I watch as the leaves fall soundlessly to the ground, one by one, a steady drift of
Like a comfortable chair, so inviting or a child's stuffed toy, gently loved the autumn landscape is so precious, the faded days of summer, spun to gold. I like the golden light, the shimmer of holidays soon to be, the threads of yesterday, woven into my Thanksgiving heart. There are the pumpkins, which I treasure,
I used to dream of living by the sea on a high cliff. I would look down, and there it would be.... The ocean spread out before me, waves crashing upon the shore. When the water rushes back and forth across a pebble beach... there is music. The sound of the sea plays again and
We make our way to the harbor and set our dreams free one by one. Like tiny ships that are not afraid of the rising wind and waves we sail onward, our dreams in tow. The sea is full of mischief a naughty cat, who does not tire. The misty, morning light beckons us to
Have you ever noticed how beautiful life is in the afterglow? A summer evening when the day is spent, evening so soft, sunset fades in a quilt of colors. New fallen snow, piling up in the moonlight, when most of the world has gone to sleep. The slip and slide of days gone by, all
Pockets of joy overflow, in the coming of sun-kissed summer days. There will be peppers to stuff, and fresh tomato sandwiches to eat. It is a fiesta of colors, marigolds and zinnias, snapdragons, and more. We fill our buckets at the strawberry patch; my pockets are stained with ripe, red berries. The dandelion seeds will
Spring comes slowly. It spills across the lawn, silky green blades, that seem eternal, but are not. It is lush and lovely like an emerald isle that is mine to wander. My bare feet can wade in the grass, feel the blush of youth between my toes. Last night, I listened to the owls calling
Dust off your dreams, unclutter your mind, and begin again. Like attic treasures, long forgotten, our dreams whisper in the corridors of our days. In the morning light, brush away the cobwebs the stagnant mist of things undone. The dreams, they shimmer in the sunlight. They dance at the hint of dawn in the far-away