on wings

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chicken

Scissors in one hand, hen in the other, a couple of quick snips and the wing tips swirl to the ground. Keeps ‘em from ‘flying the coop’, the farmer says. He releases the hen. She takes a moment to regain her balance, then runs to the opposite side of the pen where she flaps and clucks her objections. Isn’t it rather cruel to clip their wings, I wonder? Nah, the farmer says. It doesn’t hurt them, and ‘sides, if they don’t like it, they can leave. The farmer chuckles at the irony of his own joke and reaches for another hen.

boundless sky beckons
anticipation takes flight
gravity prevails

dVerse Haibun Monday — Complexity of Freedom

Five Years Cancer Free!

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I seldom (maybe never?) reblog someone else’s post, but this one from Susie Lindau is so inspiring, I think it needs sharing. Congratulations, Susie!

Susie Lindau's avatarSusie Lindau's Wild Ride

Five Years Cancer Free! Inspiring Breast Cancer Stories to give others hope. Inspiration, Relationships, Friendships #Health #Breastcancer #inspiration #relationships #Friendships #cancer

Whew! Talk about a breast cancer marathon. From the shocking diagnosis to my double boobectomies, the implants of my bionic boobs and subsequent challenges of taking estrogen-suppressing and depressing pills, I’ve finally crossed the five-year finish line. Hang on while I catch my breath.

I couldn’t have done it without you, my readers, my family, and friends who cheered me on every step of the way. This blog has been a life-saver. Literally.

When I posted my first Boob Report in May of 2013, I recounted the shock of learning I had cancer. It included the hilarity of simultaneous scheduling madness by two Evelyns, each on different phone calls and ears. What wasn’t funny was the misinformation that I hadn’t been in for a mammogram for three years. It was enough to freak out with the alarm of a phone call after a routine exam, but three years?

I…

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WPC – Last Call

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The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge will be ending as of this month, so for the final wrap up I am sharing some of my favorite photos that I have taken over the years. Some you may have seen on this blog before, some not. I hope you enjoy them. 

wpc fave4

wpc fave2

wpc fave3

wpc fave1

wpc fave5

The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: All-Time Favorites

Street Names

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From the dVerse blog for Tuesday Poetics: May 29, 2018: “Here’s what I want you to use tonight as inspiration for your poem. I’ve listed some street names for you, and I want you to imagine what the street is like…or who might live there…or how the name came about.”

The street name I selected from the list is Buttgarden Street.

garden

We pass this way most every day,
my faithful dog and I,
and on this street a man we meet,
his mutt heeled at his side.

We greet as neighbors tend to do
a nod and friendly hi.
Our dogs sniff at their private parts;
we turn a modest eye.

A garden for the neighborhood
some volunteers commenced,
fronts this street for several feet
behind a cyclone fence.

“I wish they’d put this somewhere else,”
my neighbor groused aloud.
“This used to be a quiet street.
Now every day’s a crowd.”

True, many gardeners come each day
to tend their tidy beds.
With backs bent low, they weed and sow,
as blood runs to their heads.

Perhaps someday we’ll see green stalks
of veggies grown with care.
But until then there’s just a crop
of butts up in the air.

Rush Hour

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traffic1

I should have taken the I-5 freeway, I tell myself even as I commit to the onramp of I-84 East. Traffic is at a crawl as drivers jockey to merge into the three eastbound lanes. I choose the center lane. A red Volvo in front of me switches to the left lane even though it, too, is at a near standstill. My line begins to move and I pull past the Volvo. I bet they’re sorry they changed lanes. I smile smugly. A mile later, my lane slows, and cars are passing on both sides. The Volvo, now in the right lane, zooms past me. That’s okay. It’s not a race. I stay in the middle lane. Dance with the one that brung ya, right?

drivers on their marks
finish lines are self-described
bring your own trophy

For the next six miles, traffic ebbs and flows. Compulsively, I check my progress against cars on either side of me. No, it’s not a race, but there’s that nagging need to prove that I chose the best lane. I reach my exit and check my rear view mirror as I ease over to the off ramp. The red Volvo is right behind me. Ha! For all its lane changing, I still came out in front. Had it been a race – which of course it wasn’t – I would have won. Yep… dance with the one that brung ya. Fidelity always pays off. Until it doesn’t.

crows raise strident voice
choruses of morning birds
solos every one

Haibun Monday: Silent Sounds

with you — unseen (a contrapuntal)

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Sometimes I see that you are
sad, upset…
					In pain
I don’t know what to say,
other than, “I’m sorry.” 
					you retreat,
You say, “It’s okay.
It’s not your fault.” 
					lick your wounds
We both know that it’s not.
Not my fault – at least not this time –
and not okay.

What is it that keeps us		unseen.
from being okay with life
not being okay? 

What is it that keeps us		Unseen,
from allowing one another to
be with us in our sorrows?
					
I am with you when you are down.	I bear your pain
I am with you when it’s not okay.
I am with you when it’s not my fault… 	and remain
even when it is my fault. 

If you do not wish to be with me,
or just aren’t ready right now,
that’s okay. 

Or maybe it’s not. 
But I will be with you in my heart,	in silence.
even if not in yours.

In response to dVerse Meeting the Bar, May 24, 2018, where it is explained that, “Contrapuntal music is composed of multiple melodies that are relatively independent that are sounded together. In the poetic world, contrapuntal poems are poems that intertwine two (or more) separate poems into a single composition.”

Dog Weather

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rain cabin

Come outside, it’s raining!

Damp tree scents tickle our noses;
delicious, earthy chills.

Raindrops splash in puddles.
Watch them dance; taste the freshness.

Hear the rain trickle through
moss-furred branches overhead.
Feel the wet soaking in.

Then back inside to shake it all off.

dVerse Quadrille: Don’t rain on my parade! 
The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Liquid