Reflections from an Open Window
Linda Raha's Writing Corner
Sunrise has been so lovely in these last string of days; pale ribbons grace the sky, the softest hues of morning arise. If life had a kite string, it would be nice to run along with that kite of carefree, breezy days. The warm sun is such a tease and so is the wind, like
I step outside into a world of winter-white. It is like stepping into a photograph, the remembrance of a time, not so very long ago. The years have come and gone, like drifts of the deepest snow I must pass through. Still, I feel the wind upon my face; I touch my cheeks, remember the
I could not think of a goodbye song to play for my mother. Melodies flitted in and out of my head. Surely, there must be a song, something musical to be said. Instead, my daughter called to say that kisses were floating down from heaven. My granddaughter watched the flurry from a church window on
Early in the morning, you hear the most beautiful music in all of the world; it is the sound of birds singing to welcome a new day. Often, I hear them out on the porch even before daybreak. In the darkness, they begin to serenade the day. These creatures do not know what this new
I am feeling just a bit melancholy on this last day of November; perhaps, it is not so much melancholy, but the soft surrender of mixed emotions this season often brings. As the greatest love story of our lives is about to unfold at Christmas, there are the subtle notes of love songs that play
Sifting through the memories, a fine mist rises, a cloud of white, a poof of something yet to be. Like a baker, waiting for the bread to rise, I must be patient. What is it to knead these thoughts into a slice of life, morsels of words on a page? I know only this; it
I open up the book of months, and here it is, November. The windswept leaves gently embrace my pumpkins and chrysanthemums; they remind me that telling time is about celebrating the seasons of life. There is so much to remember in November; the pages flutter in the autumn breeze, pages of thanksgiving. The days are
The fog hangs heavy in the early morning light. What a lovely canvas for this soft mist - a painter's dream. The leaves lie dormant upon the ground, mostly burnt sienna, but some, lemon yellow. I search to find a scarlet leaf, but there are none to be found; nor, is there a cardinal anywhere
It is an odd thing in life how quickly things can change. You think you have everything figured out and suddenly the world goes topsy-turvy. In these days of the Covid pandemic, these changes are felt even more acutely. We are continuously making changes and trying to adjust to a new way of living. I
God has blessed us with our daily work, which changes throughout our lives; it is not only our professional work, but the work of our hands and hearts in countless ways. It is said that the work of a child is play, because that is how they learn about the world. Perhaps, in adulthood, we