Tiny Tidings

 

The dreary times were soon to pass.

No matter that her breath still steamed both outdoors and inside the drafty house. No matter that her red fingers barely bent with swelling and that the chilblains on her toes still burned and ached and itched. No matter that she took so long to warm come night that she almost despaired of sleeping.

The dreary times were soon to pass.

She knew.

True, it was still frosty.

But the cold was dying.

She knew, because the ice formed only on the very edges of her washbasin and because what frost adorned the ground in the morning would transmute into miniature mirrors of dew by the time the sun rose higher in the sky.

And because she saw the primrose.

Blooming.

Out there.

In audacious glee.

If the tiny flowers could endure the remnants of frigidity, so could she.

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Spring Loaded

CCC121

(Photo: Crispina Kemp)

 

A steady stream of arms laden with crinkly cellophane bundles traipsed through the narrow entrance corridor, up the stairs, around the bend, and past the out-of-order elevator.

The smells of urine, rust, and peeling paint receded. Giving way to vases, boxes, baskets, floral foams, and rubber bands.

There were roses. Lush buds with intrepid blooms unfurling their blushing petals amidst a proliferation of snowy Baby’s Breath.

There were carnations in white, fuchsia, orange, and a teal-blue hue that nature did not make but lent a Caribbean Sea vibe to the bouquet.

Daffodils and tulips, proud atop their stems, even if their own growth did not commence in frosted ground but in the cushy climate of the nursery.

And Gerbera daisies in a smiling rainbow of colors resting atop greens.

The room brimmed with the scent of flowers.

If she could not wait for spring, they would bring spring to her.

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Red Sleep

Red and Eucaliptus InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

He lay himself

Bare

On the ground.

Stripped into

A fraction of his

Former self, yet

In his memory

A giant

Still,

And let the blanket of

Red

Caress him

Through to the

Other side of life,

And into the

Eternal

Sleep.

 

 

 

For the dVerse poetry challenge: red

 

 

 

Moody Monochrome

Central park monochrome NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Too soon the colors

Blazing on the trees

And paths

And drains

And roofs of cars

Would calm,

And ground

And street

And city parks

Will match the clouds in

Moody monochrome.

 

 

 

For the Lens-Artists challenge: Monochrome

 

 

 

Up Close

Up Close NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Up close

The purple pinks into the blue

And makes the hues

Shine through.

 

Up close

You can forget yourself

As edges curl

And bloom unfurls

In you.

 

 

 

For Sunday Stills: Close-up

 

 

 

A Delicate Dare

Delicate NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Their small heads

Rise proud

In mid-trail.

Delicate and fierce

They stretch their

Full miniature scale.

The risk they take

Of being

Stepped on,

Dwarfed by delicious

Access

To sun.

 

 

For the Lens-Artist Weekly Photo Challenge: Delicate

 

 

Tropical Boon

Tropical AdiRozenZvi

Photo: Adi Rozen-Zvi

 

In orchid garden

They bloom.

A speckled glory,

A boon.

A blushing show

Well adored,

In nature’s awe

And reward.

 

 

For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Tropical

And for Cee’s FOTD

 

 

Springing Time

Central Park early spring NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

They push up

Through cold ground

Where morning frost

Still abounds

And color

The park

So a new spring

Can spark.

 

 

(Not quite this year’s spring photo … yet – this one being from early spring in 2017 – but it nonetheless infuses hope for soon-to-be cousins of these blooms enlivening the park!)

For Terri’s Sunday Stills: Spring