Black Wings Against a Grey Sky

Source: information

Black wings gleam against a grey sky--

Murder of Crows

Beating the air, striking the air

Birds meant to stay in trees,

Perching, watching,

Cawing and shrieking,

Diving in, driving out.

Red feathers, red tail flash--

Only one of a boil of hawks,

Bird meant for the sky--

Gliding and turning,

Sweeping in wide circles.

Black wings flee.

Scree…scree…scree

Source:

P. S.  Next post on Samuel had to be postponed, due to brain refusing to obey.

Source: Delores at Under the Porch Light

Col. Prentice Hall attended the Annual Festival in his town of Liberty every year. 

After being carefully groomed, he shed his flannel shirt and tattered trousers. A freshly pressed tail coat and pin-striped slacks were carefully hung, ready to be donned.  Col. Prentice Hall donned his brushed top hat and retrieved his polished cane, stepping out the door.

Striding as briskly as a man of 92 could manage, Col. Prentice Hall tipped his hat to all whom he encountered.  A grand turn-out. He mused, smiling to different people along the path.  Grand indeed!

“Colonel!  Col. Hall!”  The photographer for the Liberty Weekly News called out.  “A photo, if you please!”

Smiling, Col. Prentice Hall tipped his hat as the photo was taken.  It is rewarding to still be honored on such a day, he mused.

Two teen age girls giggled as the hat was tipped and the photo taken.  “Who is that old geezer?” one whispered.  “Who knows?  He looks like a zombie!” the other murmured.  They ran off, flaunting henna tattoos and low rider jeans. 

Times change.

What to do next?!

Source: TACLUDA

One of the curses of a migraine life is that it must be lived indoors, away from the light, in nearly complete silence.

The only joy of such a life is a focused expression.  Whether it is writing or some other creation, the scope is narrowed and intense.

Think of a funnel.  Pour a liquid in the broad end and forcing it to condense, collapse in order to exit a narrow port.  Kinda sounds like giving birth, which I guess in a sense it is.

Writing is one joy, when I can retrieve the words from a reluctant brain that hurts intensely.  Samuel and Adventures in the Sock Drawer are part of that joy.

For Benjamin

Colors and color combination.  Working with shapes.  Putting them in a pleasing, exciting pattern is the reward. Sewing and quilting is that reward.

For Eli (still in progress)

For Aimee

For Benjamin

Wall hanging for Erin (unfinished when photo was taken)

Obviously, I have had many migraines.

For me

But I have much joy.

P.S.  There are other quilts, but could not locate my photos. Dang.