I follow teacher/writer/photographer Kim Douillard who lives in California. I envy her beach photos. Images of the beach take me away. They have the power to relax me. This photo brought me joy. One of my grandsons is particularly attracted to bubbles. If he is having a tough time, a single session of bubble time will soothe him. What is it about bubbles that is both fascinating and calming?
I am participating in Laura Shovan’s February Poetry Project over on Facebook. The prompts around Time are varied and interesting. Buffy Silverman posted photos of animal prints in snow. But my attention went somewhere else as soon as I drove to school and witnessed the phenomenon of a fog bow. I googled “White rainbow” to find out that a fog bow is similar to a rainbow, but the sun is shining through fog rather than rain. A cemetery is across the street from my morning school. I took some pictures of the fog bow over the cemetery and actually pointed it out to a parent in the parking lot. She obviously had somewhere else to be.
Fog bow by Margaret Simon
Fog Bow
Making excuses for being late, this morning a white rainbow rising above white tombs.
Science tells me it’s the fog– diffraction of small water droplets.
I shout to another driver probably running late like me.
See! Look!
Amazement lost in the rev of an engine.
Nature’s marker of time doesn’t need a watch or digital reminder of what to do when.
Welcome to Wednesday again. Time to take a minute to observe, breathe, and write. This week’s photo is one I took of balancing stones I’ve placed in a front flower bed. I gathered the stones from a labyrinth at Solomon House, our church’s outreach mission. The labyrinth was not being used and there were some maintenance issues, so the board decided to dismantle it. I feel the stones still have spiritual significance, so I stacked them. The literal term is cairn.
Balancing Stones, by Margaret Simon
For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. Romans 12:4-5
What are your gifts? How do you balance gifts and beauty and time? Will you ever find peace of mind? Look to the stones. Together they form one balanced structure. It’s possible.
Margaret Simon
Please share a snippet of a poem/ thoughts in the comments. Encourage other writers with comments.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Time collage by Linda Mitchell
This month I am participating in Laura Shovan’s February poetry project on Facebook. The theme this year is Time. This beautiful collage made by Linda Mitchell was our prompt on Monday. So much to write about, but I focused on the couple dancing. This weekend my husband and I were dancing to one of our favorite bands, Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys at an event at the Acadiana Center for the Arts. Opportunities to dance have been few during the pandemic. We were a little rusty, but so happy to be out there again. A nearby friend captured a photo of us on the dance floor.
Time in a Picture Frame
The photographer shutters the moment mid-glide of a waltz. You were smiling at him in the way a person whose known someone for a long time- familiarity mixed with joy.
In your mind’s eye, the planets spin an orbit of protection. No matter what, the photo will always show joy.
You do not know when loss will reveal something else hidden there- a child looking on or the tail of an astronaut’s lifeline.
This week’s photo comes from Janet Fagel’s daughter-in-law who captured a special moment when her children, Janet’s grandchildren, were walking at Washington Crossing Park in New Jersey.
Out for a brisk walk with their wonderful mom, the kids ask: Can we be adventurers today? Her answer? Absolutely!!!
Janet Fagel
Adventurers, by Kate Fagel
On Facebook, a friend responded “The first photo reminds me of this photo by W. Eugene Smith. It is on the last page of the book The Family of Man.”
Photo by W. Eugene Smith
I’m loving this line as a striking line for a poem.
We walk a step & another into a magical world side by side, brother to sister we’ll always be. We were born born for this adventure under a canopy of trees, your refuge the sound of our footsteps. Margaret Simon, draft
Please write your own small poem in the comments or on your blog. Leave encouraging comments for other writers. Most of all, have fun!
Last Wednesday I invited Mary Lee Hahn to teach my class. She is a retired 5th grade teacher in Ohio. Her poem Riches is the first poem in Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s invaluable teacher resource Poems are Teachers. I wanted to share Mary Lee’s poem with my students and when I emailed her, she agreed to meet with my students. The marvel of technology makes author visits reasonable, practical, and possible.
Mary Lee wrote Riches about a photograph. She told us that the bird bath had frozen over with a myriad of leaves in it. Her husband removed the slab of ice and placed it in the sun, and she photograph it. The play of light in the ice attracted her eye and her poetic self.
Riches by Mary Lee Hahn
Mary Lee talked to my students about all the things that she thought about when she wrote the poem. She included thoughts from a book she was reading as well as loving thoughts about her husband, how he sees things that she doesn’t notice.
Today, I invite you to sit with all that is in your head alongside this photo. What surfaces for you? Write a small poem in the comments or on Facebook or on your own blog (or all three!). Be sure to encourage other writers with comments.
My student Avalyn (2nd grade) came to class today and performed for me a poem she had heard on TicTok. At first I wasn’t really paying attention, but as she spoke on, I was drawn in. She memorized Brown Eyes by Nadia McGhee. The line that was in my head when I composed my poem is “Your eyes carry earthquakes that bring mountains to their knees.”
Your eyes like the brown of a leaf in winter glimmer in the sunlight and smile at me when you say, “I love this poem!”
Winter is here and in many places around the US, mounds of snow. In the deep south, we are expecting an Arctic blast later this week that may (accent on the word may) bring a mix of winter precipitation. The last time I was able to build any semblance of a snowman was in March of 1988. This is not true for my friend Molly in Maine. She posted a most amazing snowgirl that her daughter, Lydia, had created using old garden leftovers to accessorize. Let’s entertain our child-muse today and write a small poem about her. Feel free to give her a name.
Snow Girl by Molly Hogan
Betty White
Blonde pom-pom poofs fool you into thinking this girl is ditsy. Don’t underestimate a girl with sunlight in her hair. She’s a star in her own galaxy.
January has so far given us temperatures as high as 80 degrees and as low as 29. I’ve brought plants in (and back out and back in). I’ve gathered milkweed with monarch caterpillars. I’ve worn a heavy coat and shorts. Winter in South Louisiana has gotten weird. The Japanese magnolias are in full bloom. The sunrise and sunset are bright red. Since the New Year, I’ve released three monarch butterflies. And everywhere, Omicron Covid is on the steep rise. Nature is speaking. Is anyone listening?
Last night I had chosen a sunset photo from my phone; however, a sweep through Facebook revealed an amazing natural phenomenon from my friend and naturalist Susan H. Edmunds. She granted creative permission, so today I give you a rabbit hole you could choose to go down: frost flowers.
Frost flowers! When the temperature quickly drops, as it did last night in rural St. Martin Parish, sap remaining in the plants’ stems begin to freeze and crack the stem. When this liquid exudes through the minute cracks, it freezes and forms beautifully delicate frost flowers that vanish when the sun’s golden rays touch them. Isn’t nature just grand?
Susan H. Edmunds, Facebook Jan. 11, 2022
Frost flowers by Susan H. Edmunds
Golden light on frost illuminates, melts away cold morning moment.
Margaret Simon, draft
Write your own small poem in the comments. Leave encouraging comments for other writers.
This month’s Inkling challenge comes from Heidi. She invited us to “use the form” of the poem, The Lost Lagoon, by Emily Pauline Johnson (d. 1913) to build a “poem for children about a treasured place that you return to again and again.”
Most of our group had tackled this challenge early on. I thought I might not make it. After Christmas and a family trip, I had been away from writing for a few weeks. Often when I take a break like this, I feel I’ll never write another poem. I decided to take my head out of the sand and face it. On Sunday I opened The Lost Lagoon. I copied it into a document and went to work writing beside it. I didn’t follow the form exactly, but in many ways the exercise led me to say what I wanted to say.
One of my favorite photos from our family trip to North Carolina became my muse. The guys enjoyed making nightly fires in the fire pit outside our mountain house. The toddler boys enjoyed participating (at a safe distance) in blowing on the fire. My daughters captured the scene in two photographs.
Over Blue Mountain
See Sun set over blue mountain; Dada builds fire to light the way beneath a cloud-shining golden ray. I twirl in steam of an ending day and blow flames for a sparkling fountain.
In the dark, a song begins to bloom and follows a cow’s mooing tune, a howl of dogs under rising moon, the logs of the fire crackle and croon and gone is the nighttime gloom.
Oh, why can’t I stay out all night to watch Cow jump over the moon and feel the dawning sky too soon? I dream I’m lifted like a balloon– in Dada’s arms I’m safe and right.
This week it’s snowing in the Blue Ridge Mountains, but last week the weather was mild. Cool enough to set a fire outside in the fire pit, yet warm enough to run and play without a jacket on. Our family vacation the week after Christmas was as good as it gets. I wrote about it here for Slice of Life.
Today’s photo was one I took in the late afternoon as the sun was setting over the hills beyond our mountain house. This photo captures the peaceful magic of time to do nothing much. As the weather has turned to winter storms and cold temperatures this week, I hope this photo brings a peaceful moment of warmth. Write with me. Leave your small poem in the comments and come back to respond to other writers. Happy new year of writing.
Pleasant perch on Blue Ridge Mountains
Muse in the magic of a smoking fire freeing your soul to rest on God’s roof.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 