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 2, 2018 | Beauty, Poetry, poets
Besides the Autumn Poets Sing by Emily Dickinson Besides the autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the haze. A few incisive mornings, A few ascetic eves,— Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod, And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves....
by Prasanta | Oct 1, 2018 | Beauty, Quotes
“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” -L.M. Montgomery, in Anne Of Green Gables
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 22, 2018 | Poetry
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 | May 23, 2018 | Beauty, Poetry, Spring, Uncategorized
“Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair Our Speculations of the Foreigner! Some know Him whom We knew— Sweet Wonder— A Nature be Where Saints, and our plain going Neighbor Keep May!” – Emily Dickinson, Besides This May, #977,...
