Reflections from an Open Window
Linda Raha's Writing Corner
I breathe in the mountain air; day or night, it is good for the soul. Later, I will remember my breath suspended in puffs; it is the exhale of too many worries. The evergreen trees tower above me, monuments of strength; the tiny birds rest easy in the branches. Here, on top of the mountain,
There is something beautiful about an aging soul; it knows to embrace the universe with open arms. It is like a mighty Oak that has seen many tired winters; still, it remembers a first snow. The reaching arms have borne the weight of many storms; they have endured the heartbreak of broken branches. Those arms
I have already begun to feel the pull of the changing seasons; summer is not yet over, but autumn is closing in. Pale yellow leaves are starting to drop from the trees, and the summer sun feels different, somewhat less bold. September will come softly as it always does, heralding a new season, diffused sunlight
The years come and go, but the heart always remembers summer. It remembers the wide band of sand and sea, the cry of the seagulls, the sensation of warm sand between your toes. The heart remembers the little Sandpiper upon the shoreline, and the Hermit crab who pops up now and again to survey the
She was my first best friend, the one who taught me to see the wonder in simple things. There was the robin's nest she showed me, and then again, when tiny birds fluttered by my bedroom window. I remember those eggs, so incredibly blue. She took care of the wild cats in the woods, brought
My father taught me how to row a boat when I was very young. I liked to dip the oar on one side and go in circles; he let me go far off, making circles, finding my way. I loved the water even then, especially at night when the phosphorescence glowed. I loved the minnows
Summer has always been my favorite season, and roses, my favorite flower. It is hard to choose a favorite flower because there are so many beautiful varieties to select from. Roses seem to usher in the summer season with their unmistakable bliss; the scent of a rose in the fresh morning air is incredible, and
Keep dreaming bigger dreams each day; wash the windows of your life as if every day were the first day of spring. Make sure the view is squeaky-clean; there is no room for residue. Breathe in the fresh and fragrant air of new beginnings; let the sun shine in the deepest corners of your heart.
It is that time of year when people are planting their gardens, training flowers to grow on a trellis, and brick by brick, designing a garden path or terrace. It can seem a slow and arduous task, the laying of one brick, and then another, and then another. It is not until you are done
Last night, we caught a glimpse of the first fireflies. High above the Magnolia trees, they lit up the night. I wait for them each and every year, just as I did as a child. Always, they surprise me, blinking lights out of nowhere. I watch and wonder, as the fireflies dance in the dark.