NOVEMBER'S KALEIDOSCOPE

 NOVEMBER’S KALEIDOSCOPE

(Cinquain) by Sara Etgen-Baker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the leaves

fluttering down

in a vibrant display

nature's kaleidoscope of hues

dazzling






Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

REMEMBERING POP

Image
            From the beginning, my father was always there for me. He spilt tears of happiness whenever he held me in his arms. He carried me on his back and sometimes tossed me in the air. He caught me when I took my first steps and stumbled. He helped me color inside the lines and told me stories about Indians and the passage of time. He was the master chef who taught me how to make grilled cheese and spam sandwiches. He taught me how to put a minnow on a fishing line, toss it in Lake Lavon, and wait until the bobber sank under the surface of the water. He taught me how to tie my shoes and ride a bike. He sat with me by a campfire, told me stories, and set my spirit and imagination free. On the first day of school, he held my hand and walked me to the front door. With tears in his eyes, he hugged me and gave me courage by saying, “You are my brave daughter. I love you.” When mother told me to ask for his permission, he would always say, “Go ask your m...
Read more

A BOOK OF SPELLS AND MAGICAL ENCHANTMENTS

Image
Mother’s rectangular-shaped kitchen was tiny—no more than 7 feet long and 5 feet wide—which was to be expected since the house itself was small, less than 1,000 square feet. And like most houses built in the early 1950’s, the kitchen was designed primarily for functionality, equipped with only the basics—a moderate-sized refrigerator, a full-size gas range with stove, yet little countertop and storage space.   In fact, storage was so sparse that Mother kept her pots and pans in the oven overnight and removed them the next morning when she prepared breakfast. I learned to cook standing alongside her but often complained about her cramped, cracker box kitchen. “I hate cooking in here!   There’s no room for anything!   It’s ALWAYS hot in here, and I can’t breathe!”   I’d open the kitchen window and fan myself rather dramatically.   “You know, clean up would be so much easier if you just had a dishwasher and disposal.”   “Listen here, Missy!” Mother tur...
Read more

I'M GOING TO GRANNY'S HOUSE!

Image
North Texas summers are hot and dry and generally quite humid. And in the summer of 1961, the scorching sunlight and intense heat ignited one of the worst droughts on record. The sidewalks sizzled and roasted my bare feet, and the heat permeated the already parched ground in front of our home leaving huge cracks and crevices. The grassy lawns—yellow and burnt—smelled like bales of hay that had been sitting in the summer fields too long. We couldn’t afford air conditioning; and even though the air outside was motionless, Mother opened the windows wide every morning.   As each day progressed the oppressive heat thickened, singing the air in our tiny two-bedroom home making it feel stagnant and suffocating. So I often spent my summer days sitting by the open windows reading a book and—despite the still air—smelling the sweet aroma of Mother’s honeysuckle vines.   Occasionally, I escaped outdoors riding my bike up and down the neighborhood streets pedaling at whi...
Read more