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how do I love thee?

1 Oct

Let me (briefly) count the ways…

hellooctober

My frowning face entered this world in the month of October. We’ve been lovers since then.

fallleaves

I spend many evenings listening to the symphony of my feet pressing down on an endless sea of crunchy leaves in October. And I don’t feel like I’m hurting them, either. They live to fall, don’t they?

october

I can count every star in the evening sky in October, owing to that vivid, clear sky that seems inches away from my upturned head.

octoberlove

There’s a weird romantic electricity that roams around the atmosphere in October. It makes you want to grab someone and cuddle while you watch the slow setting of the autumn sun. (This, dear friends, will never happen–I don’t think “because it’s October” will suffice when said random stranger has me arrested for grabbing him and forcing him to cuddle.)

lmmont

Well said.

And So It Goes.

31 Aug

We bid goodbye to summer.

We bid goodbye to 31WriteNow, pleased that the effort to blog all 31 days of August was successful. (Yay!) We also hope that blogging everyday will become a second nature thing and not just in response to a challenge. Baby steps.

We bid goodbye to long days and long nights (yes, I’m aware that meteorological summer doesn’t end until mid-September, but work with me, people).

We bid goodbye to empty, non school-is-in session streets. No traffic was good while it lasted, huh?

We bid goodbye.

A tear for summer.

But we await you, Autumn! (See the countdown below.)

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a friendly reminder…

23 Aug

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That face.

Those eyes.

That stare.

That talent.

Kitten Heel Marvel loves Paul Newman. In case you forgot.

sleep come free me.

20 Aug

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I’d really like to get that sleep, though. Please and thank you, whoever you are that has me awake.

Crazy in Love.

9 Aug

oak linedWhat is it about oak-lined streets that make me so dizzy and crazy in love?

Why do I have visions of wearing an antebellum dress and strolling down one of these long, gorgeous paths with a beau named Shelby or Logan or…Beau?

During my trip to Savannah, I gazed down streets like these and nearly squealed from the romance and mystery of it all.

Sigh. Happy Friday, ya’ll.

American Sonnet.

8 Aug

American Sonnet
Billy Collins

We do not speak like Petrarch or wear a hat like Spenser
and it is not fourteen lines
like furrows in a small, carefully plowed field

but the picture postcard, a poem on vacation,
that forces us to sing our songs in little rooms
or pour our sentiments into measuring cups.

We write on the back of a waterfall or lake,
adding to the view a caption as conventional
as an Elizabethan woman’s heliocentric eyes.

We locate an adjective for the weather.
We announce that we are having a wonderful time.
We express the wish that you were here

and hide the wish that we were where you are,
walking back from the mailbox, your head lowered
as you read and turn the thin message in your hands.

A slice of this place, a length of white beach,
a piazza or carved spires of a cathedral
will pierce the familiar place where you remain,

and you will toss on the table this reversible display:
a few square inches of where we have strayed
and a compression of what we feel.

I went to the woods.

6 Aug

thoreau

BJ & FE SCOTT

...LIVING THE BEST LIFE EVER!

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