Lost and Found by Veronica Jorge
January 22, 2024 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as flowers, Friendship, poetry, Spring, Winter
Winter. Lifeless, asleep, dead. All is gone. Lost. Until the last frost melts away. A sprig peeks up through the earth and winks at the sky. Buds and flowers appear bearing gifts of fruitfulness. Year after year, spring arrives; ever the same, dependable, faithful. Life renews. Time passes. Distance separates. But vibrant colors burst through the faded tapestry of memories. Friendship. Never-ending, never-waning. Ever alive.
Veronica Jorge
See you next time on February 22nd!
Books Reviewed by Veronica
Real Talk.
March 16, 2023 by Renae Wrich in category Writing tagged as Multi-tasking, parenting, snow, Thin Mints, WinterReal talk rn…I have to give so much kudos to those of you that have mastered the multi-tasking of parenting, working full-time, and writing. I’ll fully admit that I’m not the greatest at it.
Last fall my youngest came home with a flier for the Girl Scouts. She waved that thing in my face and said, “Mommy, I want to do this!”
Being that both my kids are already enrolled in multiple sports, swimming lessons, and that she was just getting into the groove of kindergarten, I was a little hesitant. I’m so glad that I ultimately said yes because she’s truly found her tribe in this pint-sized troop, and it’s been a wonderful experience.
What I didn’t expect was that cookie season would be a FULL TIME SIDE HUSTLE!
I anticipated that there would be some time commitment, but let’s be real, six year olds are not equipped to manage the inventory and sales of this (at least my six year old isn’t). I can barely figure out the application used for online sales!! I had to create my own spreadsheet for keeping track of the cookie inventory that we’ll be responsible for if we don’t sell these things. For the love of Thin Mints, my sanity (and my waistline) is very much ready for cookie season to end.
Another thing that I need to end is the SNOW.
As I write this, Minnesota is experiencing our seventh snowiest winter on record. This miserable achievement is compounded by the fact that my husband injured his neck earlier this winter and I’ve been tasked with mastering the BEAST of a snow blower that we own. My husband is basically “Tim The Tool Man Taylor” and every motorized piece of equipment we own is unnecessarily massive.
Please send sunshine and red wine (It pairs nicely with Thin Mints).
Rite of Fir
December 30, 2022 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as Dianna Sinovic, flash Fiction, köknar, perspective, short story, Winter
Twig stood silent in the silver light of the full moon, listening to the rustle of mice or maybe voles in the dried grasses and brown leaves around her. No snow yet, but with the crystal clarity of the December night sky slowly being consumed by the advancing clouds, it was likely by morning.
Dipping into the deep shadows of the trees, she walked quickly back to the cabin. The stack of wood on the porch should be enough to last through the storm.
In the smaller of the two bedrooms, Kayla lay asleep, snoring softly. Twig closed the door to the room and brought in more wood from the porch for the fire.
It was nearly midnight, and Charlie had yet to show up. Just like him, to promise and not deliver.
Twig decided to wait up in case he texted that he was lost. From the cabinet near the kitchen, she took out twine, cloth ribbon and glue. She’d make a köknar, for the season, even if just for their short stay. Her grandmother had taught her how when she was nine, and Twig had made one every year since then. One day she would show Kayla how to make her own.
She set her supplies on the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the rag rug to begin her work. The bough of balsam fir she’d cut in the afternoon wasn’t exactly the right shape, but Grandma Pati said any shape would work if you looked at it from the right perspective. That was true for many things in life, Twig knew. Like her own situation.
Likewise, the story of the köknar could be appreciated from different angles, depending on the weaver of the tale. It was a talisman of good luck. Or it represented winter, with the needles and twine standing in for ice and the thread of family and friendship. Or the red cloth ribbon spoke of the new buds of spring, still months away. The version Twig preferred was that the köknar whispered an alluring call to the sun, inviting it to stay aloft a few minutes longer each day.
By the time she heard Charlie’s SUV outside, she had finished the form. When she opened the cabin door to welcome him, the clearing was covered in fresh snow, the flakes still falling thickly. She hung her creation on the nail she’d driven in last year, their first year in that place, free finally from a past that was better forgotten.
Charlie slipped a strap over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of another suitcase. The falling snow turned his head white and speckled his beard.
“You’re here,” she said. Her shoulders relaxed. The weekend would be good after all.
“The interstate’s a mess,” he said, reaching the porch and setting down his bags. “No cell service. I was afraid I’d have to pull off and spend the night and then come the rest of the way tomorrow. Kayla’s asleep?”
She nodded. His embrace pulled her tight and she felt him shiver slightly. “You’re cold. Get inside. I’ve kept the fire up, knowing you’d show up soon.”
He paused at the doorway, staring at the köknar. “You made one.” His voice held wonder, and Twig felt her eyes smart. He’d watched her fashion one last winter, asking questions, holding a knot in place while she glued.
“I did. Just this evening.”
Charlie picked up his bags and smiled at her. “Then we’re safe.”
As she shut the door after him, Twig briefly touched the woven bough. “Do your best,” she whispered.
Some of Dianna’s Books
Sunflowers by Neetu
January 26, 2022 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as Neetu, renewal, Spring, Sunflowers, Winter
Sunflowers
I will plant sunflowers
in the hollows we have dug
with a rusty spade
it is time to pull old roots
rotten with dead habit
in this neglected garden
long-choked
by winter’s breath
it is time to till the soil
let it soak in fresh April rain
steam in this year’s sun
and exhale pungent fumes
until its pores are free
to seed new grass
and soft beds for my flowers.
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
Lost and Found by Veronica Jorge
July 22, 2021 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as flowers, Friendship, poetry, Spring, WinterWinter. Lifeless, asleep, dead. All is gone. Lost. Until the last frost melts away. A sprig peeks up through the earth and winks at the sky. Buds and flowers appear bearing gifts of fruitfulness. Year after year, spring arrives; ever the same, dependable, faithful. Life renews. Time passes. Distance separates. But vibrant colors burst through the faded tapestry of memories. Friendship. Never-ending, never-waning. Ever alive.
Veronica Jorge
See you next time on August 22nd!
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