spring

'

'

Leaden lumps of rain pour down from a slate grey sky upon a lake of blackened water. On its surface dance a thousand diamond coronets. Here and there flashes of silver as fish leap, jump, and frolic in the rain.

A swan, head held high, swims serenely twixt reeds and lily pads, unconcerned, seemingly unaware of nature’s fury.

.

'
A shaft of sunlight shoots between the clouds, which scatter, revealing a canvas of lightest purest blue. The trees, minutes ago sombre hunched and dour, salute the sun resplendent in their new coats of glistening glossy green.

Bird song breaks the silence, and a fox ventures from its lair. A cloud of insects tumble in the air and a frantic dragonfly hovers, darts then hovers again.

Spring in England. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
.
.
let me read it to you!
<

The Seasons of her Life

This weeks prompt on Writers Island is This Season. I humbly offer you my contribution

.

.

.

.

Eyes like saucers blink in the unaccustomed light.
One moment the warmth of the womb, the next a strange new place.
A child in the springtime of her life.
These first few years her mother feeds her, cleans and dresses her.
Holds her.
Always there for every need.

Soon she walks, she talks and plays.
School, and friends, and then,
independence calls and she breaks free.
A young lady who runs home with tear filled eyes
with every broken romance.
Once more a child.

Now’s the summer of her life.
She’s blossomed and bloomed and then it’s she
who brings into this world a child of her own.
She’s brimming with optimism, everything is possible.
She climbs life’s ladder, reaches for the stars.
The great entertainer, the belle of the ball
A partner that worships her every move.
But life’s not always sweet
These are the days of ups and downs.
Mostly sunshine but sometimes showers
Things sent to try her, but she never despairs.

Weary with work she looks forward to the future.
Family grown up and she’s preparing to swap
her days filled with work and toil and stress
for days of contentment and rest.
For now it’s the autumn of her life.
Mellow. A slower pace. Time to stop. Time to breath.
The children now have families of their own .
Granny they call her. She gently smiles
as the memory of life’s seasons past
waft over her

*

.

Where did time go? It seems only yesterday that she was young.
Pictures from the past flood her mind
details intact.
She still hears the sounds of years ago, still senses, still feels.
But what passed seconds before she cannot recall.
Her partner has gone. Her family have lives of their own.
She feels alone. A shadow of her former self.

Weary eyes blink at bright sunlight through unfamiliar windows.
One minute the warmth of her home and now this strange new place.
A lonely confused soul in the winter of her life.
These last few years her daughter feeds her, cleans and dresses her.
Holds her.
Always there for every need.

.

.

*

.

.

This piece and all of my poems are now on a dedicated site -No Rhyme Nor Reason

.

.

.

The Stranger - Epilogue

The Stranger - complete story