Words from Wednesday

  There is a canopy of color outside my office window.  Dark grey clouds.  Trees with new, lime green leaves.  Flowering trees of burgundy red and dark pink.  Ivy of dark green climbing tree trunks.

  The ground is also a canopy of color.  Green grass and leaves from spent daffodils.  A spunky grey squirrel.  New shoots from a climbing rose bush I planted with still green thorns.  Brown leaves from last fall that needs to be raked.  A bright blue jay scavaging sunflower seeds that the rowdy eating machine starlings have spilled from the feeder.  Purple finches look for charity scraps left by the jays.

  On a limp tree limb above the feeders, the iridescent blue, green, and purple common grackles observe the proceedings, waiting for an opportunity to join the fray.

  In my mind, I'm planning aisles of slate rocks between groups of spring flowers in the yard.  I want the appearance of Holland's spring colors like the ones that mesmerized me when I was a child visiting the country for the first time.  Nothing has ever compared to the magic of those memories.  I long to sneak into the carry-on of a certain international flight attendant I know, and just stand in her shoes for a while.

Words for Wednesday is a traveling feast of creativity, and can currently be found [click there> on The Other Side of Sixty.