The view through the vines
in the back was amazingly pink this morning.
It drove me to almost hop out of bed to take a pic.
I thought the focus on the plant in the forefront
made for this lovely shade of pink.
A writer’s life
is not her own…
it’s like you sit right by the phone, waiting
most hours of the day
and oddest hours of the night,
and, of course, you look a fright--with
hair not combed
and glasses on…
for thoughts to drop right from the sky
(it’s like you’re just a passer-by…)
The thoughts may stay
but the words might go--
it’s like they’re not
your own,
you know.
This artwork is my mother's. It touches my heart. (So gentle.) A thoughtful depiction of something sweet, tiny, and cute. 'Wa...