Reflections from an Open Window
Linda Raha's Writing Corner
Sometimes, the streams in life seem icy-cold; we stand mid-stream, afraid to move. There is always the fear of falling. The stream makes its way to a river, the ebb and flow of life, moving us forward. We cannot see around the bend; all we can do is take it one step at a time.
I hear them still; sometimes, at night, I wake up as if from a bad dream. I see those brave ones climbing the tower steps; they march together, people of many colors. The monks in monasteries sing their chants; the sound of these marching boots is a love song too. We must not forget their
I do so need a blue sky day; I need to remember to brush the clouds away. The clouds can weigh so heavy; there are heaps of ash I need to tow from a blaze long spent. The flickering flame of happy hours still is lit within my heart; I must follow the embers, and
I wait each and every year for my blue hydrangea to bloom. Only then, will it be June; only then, will I know that summer is on its way. It is such a lovely thing, with deep-green velvet leaves, and the bluest flowers you have ever seen. The blossoms tug at my heart, the remembrance