Reflections from an Open Window
Linda Raha's Writing Corner
I came upon the bluest sky in the midst of a summer day. A sea of calm washed over me, and waves of worry ebbed away. My heart remembered childhood days, when puffs of clouds were sailing ships, or fairy tale castles, piled high. The deep blue sky was a summer friend who called my
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
I love my garden; I love my blue sky for a roof. I love the decor of my garden room; the colors blend in a lovely way, deep red tomatoes, bright yellow sunflowers, and pale green cucumbers. The trellis is so magical, weaving vines, like a tapestry upon a wall; I am at home here.
The blooms of summer are lovely, but the loveliest blooms in life are the ones that never fade. My daughter in law, Elicia, lost her grandmother a week ago. She passed away in her late eighties, after leading a full and active life. Elicia spoke highly of her grandmother and paid her this tribute: "My
It has been a morning of endless chores; drifts of laundry piled up and ready for play on the merry-go-round, errant belongings all gone astray. I think of Sanibel Island and I might be there picking shells today; or maybe, I could go to that beach in California, all made up of sea glass. I
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