by Prasanta | Nov 12, 2021 | Change, The Mudroom, Wisdom
Leaf Abscission (noun)* the act of cutting off; sudden termination. Botany. the normal separation of flowers, fruit, and leaves from plants. Leaves change color in a glorious display for only a short time, only to fall to the ground, dead. Trees lose their...
by Prasanta | Apr 30, 2020 | Life, Seasons, Time, Work, Writing, writing journey
We’ve heard of kairos time and chronos time. Maybe, tongue in cheek, now we have “pandemic time”. Indeed, how do we define time during a pandemic? There is the slow, thick movement of monotonous days at home during quarantines. Simultaneously, there is the sense of...
by Prasanta | Nov 1, 2019 | Beauty, Growth, Writing, writing journey
Abscission (noun)* the act of cutting off; sudden termination. Botany. the normal separation of flowers, fruit, and leaves from plants. The Tree From a place deep within itself, the autumn tree bursts forth in glorious color, and shows a different face of its...
by Prasanta | Oct 31, 2018 | Garden, Wordless Wednesday
These photos were taken in the past week.
by Prasanta | Oct 6, 2018 | Beauty, Poetry, trees
Senescent (adjective) growing old; aging. Cell Biology. (of a cell) no longer capable of dividing but still alive and metabolically active. As in: trees laughing leaves, dropping down on me, floating in the wind. I catch a handful of laughter, toss it back in the air....
by Prasanta | Oct 1, 2018 | Holy Spirit, surrender
The wind whispers in the leaves, “Change is coming, can you hear it?” Autumn breezes softly blow and colors subtly change. The wind scatters the few fallen leaves like my thoughts. That is when I remember the Holy Spirit moves like the wind, a gentle...
by Prasanta | Sep 8, 2018 | Five Minute Friday, Journey, Rainy Days
A Shift With Rain A long wind brushes its fingers through the trees in a stretched whisper. On occasion, it moves angrily, and other times, it shakes and howls at the windowpanes. The long whispers flutter sweetly, softly, welcoming the listener into the...
by Prasanta | Aug 31, 2018 | Haiku, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Uncategorized
… and so the day slips the long mournings of trees last traces of gold © prasanta – August 2018 “August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” ― Sylvia...
by Prasanta | Aug 29, 2018 | Summer
People are ready to roll out the pumpkins. Me? Not so much. Maybe it would be true, if I still lived in the south. Because I live in the land of a seemingly endless winter, I grasp onto every last sliver of summer. (I know what’s coming each fall, each...
by Prasanta | Apr 22, 2018 | Pain, Quotes, sorrow, Spring, Time
” April was just beginning, and after the warm spring day it turned cooler, slightly frosty, and a breath of spring could be felt in the soft, cold air… And everyone was silent, deep in thought, everything around was welcoming, young, so near— the...
