Soothing Sunday

Happy International Women’s Day! Not so happy Daylight Savings Spring Forward Day. Where does the time go?

Sunday is devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Thank you. Thank you for coming to commune at the blog, and to read, and to contemplate, and to rest, and to support. Thank you to those of you who have bravely shared your poems in the past. Please keep sharing. This is friendly, safe format – an online poetry workshop, to send our heart waves out in the form of words and of phrases and of nuances. Here is my poetry offering for today:

Spring Cleaning

Grumbling, hesitant, resigned.

Annoyed with the prospect of the task at hand.

Necessary evil, spring clean up, in the yard.

Mellowing, energy flowing, smiling.

Slowly opening to commune with nature.

Family venture, another tie that binds us.

Laughing, singing, glowing.

In love with creation, ours and His.

Everything breathes. Everything makes perfect sense.

We’re done? The project, completed too soon.

I wanted to bottle the moment up,

and to hold it in my hands,

so that I could keep the inseparableness of it all, forever.

3 thoughts on “Soothing Sunday”

  1. Soup…

    Granny’s stockpot
    half full of water
    broth from last night’s roast
    and the ends and trimmings.
    Waste not. Want not.

    Several new red ‘taters
    dug fresh from the garden
    and a quart jar of those
    ‘maters we put up this summer

    Five bright orange carrots
    scraped and cut into chunks
    and a whole onion
    chopped.

    (…hold that match between yer teeth
    and ya won’t bawl none…)

    Oh an’ hand me a wedge
    of that cabbage, too.

    Open a quart of those green beans
    an’ toss me three or four
    of those roastin’ ears.
    And we’ll spice ‘er up sum
    with savory and such…grow’d in
    the basket outsides the porch.

    Yep…she’s boilin’ good now…we’ll just
    cut this corn off and let ‘er simmer a spell.

    Sis, reach me down the flour
    might’n as well raise a round loaf
    while we’re waitin’

    We gots the butter.

    1. I imagine that you have never had better soup, Carla. Good for the soul! Beautiful, visualizing poem!

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