Reflections from an Open Window
Linda Raha's Writing Corner
The garden sleeps beneath the winter sky. Above, the stars twinkle in a knowing way. Do they know what the garden dreams in the deep of the night? Does the garden dream in shades of blue, the remembrance of the summer sky, the slate-blue haze of wintry days? At night, the sky is a sea
The garden beckons like an old friend who knows me well. This friend does not mind my muddy shoes, my hair in tangles, or my mismatched garden gloves. I can drop in whenever I like; the door is always open. The rooms are flooded with sunlight, and I can rest upon a bench. This place
How many days of wonder? There is so much beauty to recall. Pink petals are the dawn of spring, the sunrise of so many colors. White blooms cast a mysterious glow; like a moonbeam, the flowers are enchanting. There are no harps playing, no soft serenade outside my window. And yet, I am in love
I cannot remember a more beautiful spring; this year, in the days leading up to Easter, spring has been simply magnificent. Juxtaposed to the sense of fear and dread we have encountered with this Corona virus, it is as if the earth was making a counter attack. Day after day of blue skies, flowers budding