The following is my response to the visual prompt at Magpie Tales, #49. Follow the link and read the responses of other writers.
Three sisters,
three fates.
three witches,
bell, book, candle:
each carries a wish,
a separate wisdom,
a special gift,
or warning.
They surround, confound.
They are mystery and history.
And we always
invite them in.
I put a cake in the oven, set the timer, and went to search through my poetry for something to submit. The cake is overdone. Much of my poetry is, as well.
a shadow on the stairs
where there should be none
— a black cat asleep
From a small mound of snow emerges the head of a squirrel, who seems to take a breath and then disappear. Above the mound hangs what’s left of a bird feeder that the squirrel had demolished before the snows. Up and down, he pops and plops, delighting in the fact that the birds can’t get at his stash.
Watching Kathy Bates in “Harry’s Law.” Gray hair, a few extra pounds, well-dressed, feisty and female. It’s about time.
went out to romp in the snow. unfortunately, my age came with me.
When I took geometry in high school, I never thought I’d have any reason to remember the Pythagorean Therum or Algebra. More than 50 years later, I’m learning to do modular knitting and I have to figure out how many stitches to pick up along the hypotenuse of a knitted right triangle. But these days, even if I don’t know, Google knows.
What would you think of a brother who, one week before his mother passed away, used his ability, as her Power of Attorney, to quietly change the beneficiary of his mother’s small life insurance policy from his sister to himself. Yes.
My 8 year old grandson put together a Rube Goldberg contraption that actually worked. Sometimes I feel like my life was designed by Rube Goldberg. Wheeeee……..
it’s just too easy to loose/lose my day into the internet