Roses in Octoberby Rose Owens Copyright 2010 Roses, I see rosesRed, yellow, pink,Old fashioned roses,Full bloom roses,Roses blooming,Summer’s glory. Childhood memories ‘neath Utah skiesWhisper in my mind. Rose petals scatteredBefore a dress-up bride,Carefully cradling a rose bouquet.Stems wrapped in toilet paper,Defense against the thorns.Petals spread like frostingAdorning mud-pie cakes,Imaginary food for imaginary friends. Roses,I see […]
“There’s a scary noise,” she said. “It goes ker-thump, ker-thump, ker-thump. It’s on the stairs.” Agnes drug herself out of bed. She put a finger to her lips as a reminder to her daughter that they needed to be quiet. It would not be a good thing if she woke her father. They tiptoed out
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A flicker of movement caught my eye as I walked up the sidewalk. A small flock of tiny birds scurried around and hunted for breakfast. Their colors blended with the asphalt driveway in my neighbor’s side yard, and they were hard to see. When they saw me, they ran to the safety of the bushes.
I played hooky one morning. Instead of turning on my computer at my appointed writing time, I decided to go for a walk. I stood on my front porch and considered where to walk. An asphalt path between sheltering trees at the end of our street looked inviting. That path had changed in the years
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A little owl wakes up in the daytime and he is wowed by all that he sees—the yellow sun, blue sky, orange flowers, red butterflies, green leaves. Wow Said the Owl* is a charming picture book about colors and discovery. I began to remember “Wow!” moments in my life. One rainy morning I dropped my
The tulips, lilacs and flowers in Idaho and Utah remind me of a song my brother used to sing: “When it’s springtime in the Rockies, I’ll be coming back to you, little sweetheart of the mountains with your bonnie eyes so blue.” My sister and I would climb the pole fence around the corral and
Taking out the trash was a mundane task for me, but as I walked past the persimmon tree, a choir of birds prompted me to look up. The bare branches of the persimmon tree with tiny leaf buds waiting to unfurl was covered with a crowd of tiny birds twittering and singing. Each bird sang
A small brown bird sat on a post near my front yard. I listened to his cheerful little song. When he finished the last note, I spoke. “I like your little song.” He cocked his head and trilled a few more notes before stopping again. I spoke once more. He cocked his head, looked at
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