Changing Seasons

  • Changing Seasons

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Changing Seasons

    By Julie Sherman

    My garden is feeing anxious. The hydrangeas are protesting with powdery mildew on her large leaves. The yellow stargazers are shrinking back into themselves refusing to open. The last of the white roses are reluctantly peeling back one petal at a time, objecting to the assault of cold temperatures after having owned a sunny resort for the past 4 months. The plumbago has given up altogether, and the sweet peas are trying their best to climb the trellis. The last few pink ballerinas are hanging precariously to their brittle fuchsia branches before folding in their tutus, turning brown, and falling to the ground. Only the chrysanthemums are welcoming the morning chill and pale gray skies.

    The veteran plants know what’s coming and are bracing themselves, feeling tough enough to survive. They look to me for protection and comfort, knowing I will gently shroud them in netted mesh when it dips below 40.

    Some of my beauties will not last. The nasturtium and alyssum will die, but their seeds will stubbornly stay hidden below the rocks and dirt until spring, then surprise me by showing up in different corners around my house. I never know where those flowery renegades will appear, but they always do.

    The hummers, so brazen and audacious, are beginning to retreat. The six feeders filled every Sunday due to the hummers’ gluttony have been full for the last 10 days, only an occasional daring flutterer visiting while the others huddle together for warmth in the tree across the street.

    Fall. My favorite time, my garden’s fearful time. We shift the balance and she tries to hang on another day, waiting for warmth and light to come, only to concede and brace for months of brisk, biting temperatures and darkness to come three full hours sooner than just a month ago.

    I move my sleeveless cotton tops to the back of the closet pulling forward my sweatshirts, long-sleeved tops and jeans. Like my garden, I pull in, nestle, protect, and try to keep my tutu from falling to the ground.

    Julie Sherman is a native San Franciscan and long-time resident of Petaluma, California.  Raised in a family of readers, writers, performers, musicians and political activists, Julie followed her dream of singing professionally.

    While working on “The Love Boat” for Princess Cruises, she met her husband, bassist Jeff Sherman. After a 20-year career as a professional singer, Julie worked in education and technology.

    Now retired, Julie enjoys writing, baking, gardening and worldwide travel, most recently having visited Viet Nam, Ireland, and Thailand. She is the mother of twin girls, opera singer Camille Sherman and music producer Emily Sherman. Julie resides in a little house with her husband, a dog and two cats while enjoying reading, writing, eating well, and tending to her garden.

    Marlene C

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  • Seasonal Considerations in 14 Stanzas

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Seasonal Considerations in 14 Stanzas

    By Christine Renaudin

    Yesterday’s rain was announced,
    yet came as a surprise,
    we’ve grown so used to dreading drought and fire.

    Yesterday’s rain was a gift
    early for the wet season,
    tardy for the thirsty and parched.

    Yesterday’s rain relieved anxieties,
    expectations, released myriads of winged
    insects dancing in today’s afternoon sunlight.

    Some are termites, I think, roused by the premature sprinkle.
    They flutter aimlessly as if lost in the midst of dream.
    In two hours, I hear, their wings will fall and drop them home to thrive or die.

    Yesterday’s rain took us inside
    trading shade for shelter
    to share a Sunday lunch with friends.

    Today the sun glistens over puddles,
    the air feels clean, cobwebs glitter,
    alive with earthy fragrances.

    Breath deepens, heart quickens,
    there is a bounce in the season:
    I want to catch its tune.

    Soon the grass will grow green again
    before the first frosty mornings,
    as usual I wish for a drizzle on my birthday.

    Inside, a child wonders,
    tracing California with a finger on a blue rug:
    “the world does not fit on a rug.

    Too many maps crowding Wikipedia
    telling stories of migrations
    —atoms, animals, tectonic plates, people—

    Over centuries and beyond
    six thousand years old for some,
    several billion years for many, many, most others.

    The world is worth a million maps before one rug is born
    out of the weaver’s hand or the machine that replaced it,”
    the child pursues aloud within mother’s earshot.

    My child has grown, she thinks,
    like grass on October Sundays
    between new and full moon.

    I see the fruit of the buckeye dangling like tiny lanterns in the dusky sky;
    soon persimmons will hang round and orange in naked branches,
    like ornaments out of season glowing through morning fog or against bright blue skies.

    Christine Renaudin’s writing has been featured in several of The Write Spot’s Sparks, as well as in The Write Spot anthologies:  “Discoveries,” and “Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year,”  available at your local bookseller and on Amazon (print and as an e-reader).

    Christine lives, writes, and paints in Petaluma, CA. She is also a dancer. Her most recent performances in 2022 include Sunset in Spring (Fort Bragg, May 2022), The Slow Show (San Francisco, September 2022), Run, Or Don’t (San Francisco, April 2023).An avid practitioner of Contact Improvisation, she facilitates the monthly West Marin Contact Improvisation Jam at The Dance Palace in Point Reyes Station. She loves to see these various practices interact and inform her art-making process.

    Marlene C

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  • Favorite Job . . . Prompt #759

    Write about your favorite job.

    #justwrite #iamwriting #iamawriter

    Marlene C

  • Why do you keep it? . . . Prompt #758

    Write about something you own that you really don’t like.

    Why do you keep it?

    #justwrite #iamwriting #iamawriter

    Marlene C

  • Treasured possession . . . Prompt #757

    Write about your most treasured possession.

    #justwrite #iamawriter #iamwriting

    Marlene C

  • Halloween

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Halloween

    By Tina Deason

    This season holds mystery and thrill, as the sun fades and the fog clings to the earth. The darkness hides creatures and haunted beings. The empty trees have died for a bit, but plan to return in the spring. The thought of witches casting spells and making potions right out in the open after hiding away for the eleven other months of the year, intrigues me.

    The creaking bones of the dead and the soft sound of earth moving as the zombies unearth themselves to rise to life. . .

    And Dracula!

    I had the most fear of Dracula when I was a kid. I used to slam my hand against the light switch and run up the stairs as fast as my legs could get me to the top. In my mind, I’d hear the basement door below flying open, the sound of thunder and pouring rain, and then, in the flash of lightning, he would be standing on the threshold. Dracula in his black cape with red lining and his white shirt. He’d wear his family medallion and the twinkle of his fang would scare the hell out of me. I could imagine his black polished shoes as he stood there, in the rainiest weather I could dream of, and he waited patiently for me to invite him in.

    All of that happened in a split second while I ran to the top of the stairs and opened the door to the main floor of the house. On the other side of the door was a warm, cheery home where no one could get to me. Our house was built by my dad, and so I felt as if the fortress could never be invaded, and old Count Dracula could stand in the rain forever for all I cared.

    At least, when I closed the door at the top of the stairs.

    Tina Deason lives in Sonoma County, CA. She is a wife, mother, grandma.

    She is the author of “One’s Own Sweet Way,” a novel about her daughter’s challenges with debilitating anxiety in high school.

    Tina is also a spiritual leader who writes rituals and ceremonies. 

    Marlene C

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  • Caring and sharing . . . Prompt #756

    Caring and sharing make emotional journeys bearable.

    Write about a time someone made you feel cared for.

    Or, a time you showed care and concern.

    Bonus points if it was a surprise.

    Marlene C

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  • I’ve been struggling . . . Prompt #755

    I’ve been struggling with . . .  

    Or, I struggled . . .

    #iamwriting #iamawriter #justwrite

    Marlene C

  • The thing about grief . . . Prompt #754

    Inspired by an email from Susan Bono:

    I was at Dollar Tree the other day and didn’t have quite enough cash to cover my Halloween garlands.

    As I fumbled with my card, the cashier said, “I never carry cash anymore.”

    I said, “I don’t either, but I miss it sometimes.”

    She looked at me full in the face and said, “There are things I miss every single day about the way things used to be.”

    I saw such grief in her face before she smiled and urged me to have a nice day.

    Prompt: Write whatever comes up for you . . .

    Shopping at the Dollar Tree store

    Halloween

    Cash vs credit card

    I miss . . .

    The way things used to be . . .

    The thing about grief is . . .

    Susan Bono is the author of “What Have We Here: Essays about Keeping House and Finding Home.” Available on Amazon.

    “The world is full of stories. Mine collect in journals, spill onto postcards and scraps of paper, come to conclusions in computer files, call to me in dreams. I write what I believe is true about my experiences, not just events that happened to me. 

    I’m not sure what’s more important: the raw aliveness of a dashed-off journal entry or the carefully developed and edited essay, finally (one hopes) complete.  I only know that every story is a shard of mirror that shows me pieces of who I am and what it means to be human.” —Susan Bono

    Marlene C

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  • Delights . . . Prompt #751

    There are big delights . . . being treated to a meal, a stimulating conversation where the other person looks right at you and hears you.

    Medium delights . . .

    And small delights . .

    Write about something that delighted you.

    Writing Prompt: Delights

    Prompt inspired by “The Book of Delights” by Ross Gay.

    Marlene C

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