Category Archives: Children
On a pond in Center Sandwich, New Hampshire
—there was ripplin’ dimples on the shore
—toe dunkin’, foot slippin’ in mucky mud sinkin’.
—Tad poles at their feet were being ignored
As Lulu and Larry stepped further from shore.
“Watch out for old ‘Sticky tongue’!
That bullfrog is as big as a horse!
And he knows you’re in his ponnnnnnnduh.”
Shouted, older brother Horace
From the window of the family car.
Lulu heard a snap and a hard slap
on the water by her side.
Looking for Larry, finding only a big ripple
circling, melting at her knees in a chilling rise.
There he was! gone!* without a bubble or a scream
in ‘Sticky Tongue’s pond on a hot summer’s eve.
PS: Horace rolled up his window as running Lulu joined him –they locked all the car doors and hit the floor. As for Larry? His parents are still lookin’ fer’.
Yup! Cross my heart and hope to die .I don’t swim there, but I fish there; catching on a hot summer day, a wiggly reflection on the surface of the water, of sticky tongue’s lair.
This is for those of you who sit at the end of a movie and listen to the music reading the credits:
I received this glittering notebook as a gift from a wonderful writer friend Kelli T.–teaching as Adjunct faculty (English of course) at Plymouth State University NH—now living the glamorous life 😊 in Minneapolis. A great writer whom I have accepted gracious encouragement from.
The notebook has been kicking around for a while, buried among many journals. Some leather-bound, cloth bound, some on paper bags and some on any colored napkins.
PoPo, my 10 yr. old grandson who has such an imaginary virtual reality and somehow still maintains human sensitivity, along with his older brother Gav, were staying with me for the day. Which I enjoy often.
Trying to figure out how to get their creative attention, my attention was drawn to this glittering notebook. I reached over, sparkling as ever, opened it and wrote the first draft.
I made them French toast and as they were eating it (plenty of butter and syrup), I read them this draft. When I finished they chuckled, continuing to eat, PoPo asked me to lock the door.
In the foothills of New Hampshire, on the threshold of the White Mountains, the sun began to warm the valley. The warm spring morning sprayed glistening frost into fog. Another growing up season had passed. The children were getting dressed with some apprehension.
I looked out the kitchen window and I could smell, feel spring, and see it lightly, loftily, taking its place. The morning greeted me with multiple shadows getting more confident and larger behind cereal bowls and warm buttered coffee cake.
Budding on branches
Spring’s new born generation
Peaks beyond shadow
dVerse~ Haibun Monday: The Shadow Knows 4/3/2017