Hummingbirds waltz in a dizzying series of whirls and twirls — up and over and down and around the pair stays in perfect synchrony. Apart they glide then hover then back together for another frantic dance.
Red breasted robin marches and hesitates across the dried grass. Watching, waiting, filling her beak with breakfast then chirping her praise.
Rising sun casts long shadows highlighting tree tops and moss and rooftops with early rays. A perfect cerulean sky covering the new day. Still, cool air and heavy moistness of morning dew coats the earth in refreshment. A new day.
Tag: Creative writing
Harbor Gulls
A flotilla of Canada geese ride the tide like buoys buffeted by wind and wave. They reach a waterfall of hose water with Seagulls screaming over the heads of fishermen cleaning the dock. One gull walks along the rail of a stairway while another is chased by the heckle of The ever bossy Crow. The rest toggle for position on a warehouse roof constantly on the move lifting and soaring and landing over and over hoping the fishing men can spare a morsel of the daily catch. They cry out in celebration, anticipation, and watchful investigation of what they might find to taunt the others. A rainbow forms over a gull pelted with hose water from the fisherman as the sunlight creates a colorful array. Sailboats speedboats ships and yachts create a spay of waves pushing the geese into safe harbor.
Morning Calls
Creation breathes life into a new morning with gentle breezes. Tree tops sway lifting arms of praise stretching toward the sky.
A flock of ducks form various shapes in their synchronized flight toward a new day of ever changing scenes. High above the ground they fly in formation performing their perfected routine.
Hummingbird announces his arrival at the feeder as he begins his rituals of flight and feeding.
Lone crow steaks across the sky calling all things to order in his loud cackle –
Morning calls another day with pink stretching into blue. An array of random clouds shaped and textured highlight the pale blue sky.
Lovers in Watercolor
Fingernail moon tinged in pink hangs high over the bay and bids the setting sun farewell. Heavy breezes lift and release splashing waves. Watercolor strokes paint billowing sails on a backdrop of blue hued islands etched into the horizon.
Two gulls tango over deep slate colored tides rolling into the harbor. A red sailboat with crisp white sails turns back toward open water for one last roll in the waves.
Rose scented breezes blow over the park bench where two lovers lean shoulder to shoulder speaking softly of bittersweet things — past, present, future.
A thousand times they have graced this spot to ponder, to plan, to work it out, to sit silently watching that ever present and familiar view but never growing weary of its sameness. Never growing weary of each other.
Content to love and be loved. Comfortable in the silence or the sounds. Holding hands and reminiscing. Thankful to live in such beauty and their precious peaceful glorious life.
Sunrise Sunset
Darkness fades into the brightened eastern sky as sunlight returns to bring another cloudless day. First chirps break Stillness of morning and hummingbird dancers begin their warmup. Stretching and twirling in the coolness then resting again in anticipation of another day spent flitting and racing through the trees, between the houses and up over roofs in their frantic ballet.
The edges of yellow pink sunrise fade into the deep blues of heavens canvas.
Evening
Creamed streaks spread high and thin coating the evening sky awaiting sunlight’s final dip into the sea.
Hummingbird clicks and chirps a final melody chasing his beloved across the sky and through branches anticipating restful nesting. Finding one last taste of lavender and roses and Hydrangeas wearing lacy blue caps and purple Pom Pom buds.
Daisies await closing time covering their round brown faces in petals of gold.
Sun bursts into flaming clouds streaking the sky with gray smoke-like wisps and bids another day adieu.
Nature's Symphony
Dappled light of sunrise changes shadows to shimmers on the gently swaying leaves. A hummingbird flits from branch to branch playing his staccato notes of joy like a percussion instrument in natures symphony. The flutes of the songbirds join in with soprano and the crow plays baritone. A red breasted robin suddenly appears on stage from her hiding place under the elderberry bush. Worm in beak she quickly jitterbugs across the garden taking refuge amongst the hydrangeas to enjoy her wiggling feast. A lone honeybee adds his hum to the procession of natures musicians as he feeds on the nectar and fragrance of fully bloomed lavender and roses and daisies with a twist of raspberry.
Buttermilk and Berries
A quart of buttermilk clouds spreads over a clear blue canvas sky.
Lavender lays drooping from the weight of a fresh watering. Raspberries hang heavily ripened and waiting to delight the tongues of visitors. Tangy sweet blackberries await an early harvest beside a long country lane while hawks swirl and swoop above seeking and preying.
A lone lama feeds lazily on a dried field refusing to engage with those traveling down the road past the river.
Purest green flowing ever westward on the timeless gentle current of the Skagit river.
Rusty barbed wire fences toppling into an abandoned and brittle field of long neglected alfalfa.
Morning Life of Birds
Shadows receding over dew drenched fields. Thick coolness of the morning filled with loud chatter of sparrows. Pristine blue cloudless sky welcomes the brightness of the sunrise. Honeybees tasting lavender flavored nectar and daisies complete their grand opening for a first taste of sunshine.
The sparrow takes leave of his elderberry tower, quickly replaced by a chirping hummingbird, wings resting from her incessant fluttering. Stillness falls over everything then suddenly she takes flight once again to investigate flowers and buds and feeders in her day long cycle of rest and flight.
Passion
Passion – By Ella Higginson
Red, wet lips and passionate eyes
That would draw an angel down from the skies
Or those that would lift us up—they’re so true—
Now which would you choose if I were you?
Tender eyes and clinging hand,
And a soul that one never can understand
Or passionate eyes and red gold hair
I know not which one to choose, I swear.
When my blood is calm and my senses cool
I vow to myself that I’m a fool
To yearn for those scarlet lips, and yet
The pleasure they yield I cannot forget
When my blood is calm and my pulse beats slow,
I swear that never again will I go
Where those burning eyes and those bare, soft arms
Wait to allure me with their charms.
And I reach for a hand that is cool and pale,
The hand that was never known to fail
And I gently clasp and ardently kiss
The one who was meant for higher bliss.
But when my blood leaps like living flame
With the passion and madness that have no name,
When my being seems like a sea of fire,
That rises and surges higher and higher,
My whole soul turns to those passionate eyes,
For I know in them only temptation lies;
I fling myself into that mad caress,
And know nothing else, and care still less.
Leaving Nebraska
February 1900
Leaving Nebraska – Upon arrival in Skagit Valley
The advertising of the Northern Pacific Railway brought in 2000 new residents in a month Papa bought four tickets and Willie rode along for free. The cold January wind blew my hat down the dusty platform just as we boarded. My eyes watered, not for the sorrow of leaving that place behind, not for losing my hat to the ever present wind, but to the relief of being on our great adventure westward at last! Having never ridden a train it was a great mystery and adventure for all of us. GoodBoy ran after my hat but it ended up under the carriage of the train, never to be seen again—and hopefully, just like Nebraska. I hate this desolate place and dream of the paradise we are heading toward!
Papa has said it a million times in the past months: “Lizzie, it’s like we’re moving to Promised Land! I heard down at the grange a fella reading about a farmer in this place called the Skagit River Delta. This man raises oats by the ton and sells them for $18 for each ton! Why, he has sheep that produce wool and he makes money selling it! And you won’t believe it but there’s hay harvest twice in a yar sometimes! A man can li well in this here place!”
So, we set out to buy a farm on the “Skagit River Delta” in a place called Samish.
We got settled into our train car just as the whistle bellowed, making the baby startle but he quickly went right back to sleep. Las night I wrapped up his diapers, blankets, and knitted sweater that Annie gave him. I don’t have a proper travel container so I tied it all in a bundle in another blanket. It was so hard to leave behind so many things, but as our homestead is going to be foreclosed and the money we have from the mortgage is going to fund this big move, we had to be careful not to take or leave too much.
I didn’t sleep much last night and neither did anyone else since Willie was up most of the night. A newborn cannot possibly know what’s going on but he must have sensed our excitement. I fed him one last time before the drayman showed up at 6am to take us and our belongings to the station in the pre-dawn, starry, frozen darkness.
After a long week aboard the trains, we finally saw the glorious Puget Sound! I had not been feeling well. All this travel by train does not agree with me. When I looked out the window as we pulled into Seattle, though, my heart melted as I saw the sparkling water, the tallest mountains and that clear blue February sky. I am sure this must be heaven. The sounds of the city are overwhelming. So many people, especially scruffy, bearded, over-paced men heading for boats to the Klondike. Papa made friends on the train with a fellow German who is heading there. He go papa so excited about the idea of prospecting I had to interfere quite strongly! Thankfully Papa has relented but it was really close! We left the city of Seattle, heading north.
The man heading to Alaska is Mr. Wells. He has traveled there before and told papa all kinds of wild stores of riches galore and all the beauty of creation. Mr. Wells and Mr. McLean were heading from Seattle to Edison to buy dogs for tracking in the Yukon. He said he would had all kinds of dogs to take with him. Mr. Wells and Mr. McLean will be spending the week in the area buying dogs of all shapes, sizes and colors to take on their great adventure north.
When we arrived in Belfast station, tired and hungry and with all our belongings—two crates of all we had been able to keep and bundles of clothing and bedding, Papa hired Mr. Otis, a drayman, and we were taken to Edison to stay at the “Freedom Hotel”.
Willie was a good baby all the way, thank goodness, just three weeks old. We arrived the day before Valentine’s Day. The bumpy, muddy road out there was difficult but I cannot tell how absolutely green everything was. There were a million trees, hills, fields, farms, and stumps! The river is narrow, much less a river than the one we crossed a couple days before—the Skagit was just so beautiful but the Samish is much more like a creek.