The Word Cloud

I am officially a blog-aholic; but never mind - it's good for the soul.

After much deliberation and self reflection, I have come to the conclusion that for now I will take pleasure in the little things.

Things like sitting in my bright conservatory watching Keeping up Appearances and knowing we're having chicken later make me very happy. I like thinking about things like how I'll look in ten years and whether flowers can sing and what colour a smurf would go if you choked it.

:)

From the East amber skies streak
Morning’s golden glory rising
becomes a giant yellow-white cheese melt sizzling
Burning down it’s fiery head

In the pond there’s a bubble, ripple, frog
Smiling its ‘I don’t give a damn look’
With sudden movement he’s up tall and stretched
and his froggy tongue darts out to catch insect

At waters edge hundreds of squirmy long tailed tadpoles
growing, wait to join the chorus
A dragonfly hovers a while before swooshing away
While waterboatman rows all way round pads of lily

The shining sun dances light and shadows
through the longer grasses and trees
Dazzling unexpectedly the one who awakens from sun-bathing
pepper red from too long, an agonising site and dangerously sore skin

Through the garden’s archway
a perfumed breeze fills the nostrils
transcends such simple heady delights
jasmine clematis and honeysuckle scented pleasantries

With silky gossamer velvet coated wings
the brightest yet most delicate of these things
Flutters prettyness as it flirticiously plays with companion
Carefully avoiding the intricate weave of woven spiders web

A hum and buzz from the flapping wings of wasps and bees
as they go about collecting their dusty pollen from each flower
A pretty red ladybird four black spots on wing
and a caterpillar crawling munching lettuce leaves for dinner

A rainbow of colourful beauty
garlands swags baskets and beds (le jardin en fleur)
Few daisies dandelions hold their own
until tomorrows mower sees them gone

Nature’s hands unveil baby birds
trialling first flight from nest
and babbling brook as it rushes chance carried stones
washed, tumbled, turned, have no rest

Psychic Dreamer was lonely, so she dreamed herself a rainbow. It was the most beautiful rainbow she had ever seen. It had the bluest eyes and the reddest lips and it shimmered violet, orange and yellow in the palm of her hand.

She loved her rainbow and carried it everywhere that she went, stroking it gently and whispering her secrets into its tiny ears.

The trouble was, everyone else loved her gentle rainbow too and wanted to touch it and hear it sing as they whispered all their hopes and fears into those wise old ears.

Psychic Dreamer grew angry and jealous and she decided that no-one else should see her beautiful rainbow anymore. So she built a cage and coaxed the rainbow in with promises of gold. Then she draped a heavy cloth made from her darkest thoughts over the cage. She took a long wooden pole and hung the cage high up in the dense part of the forest where the leaves grew in a tangle of olive green and where no-one, not even the sunlight could go.

The rainbow was cold up there and shivered as it lost the warmth of the sun. Then it began to fade into the shadows until the wind came, lifted the cloth, and blew the sad little rainbow away.

Now Psychic Dreamer is lonely again and not even the sun or the wind are her friends.