Inspiration for May 2012

Flowers to you - Copyright Sisse Singh

"Flowers to you, from Sunflower to Llola" by Llola Lane

"Flowers to you, from Sunflower to Llola" by Llola Lane

Sunflower opened the door of the store. It was to early to open up but she wanted to be sure she knew where everything was. This was not her usual store to work in. It was noisy being so close to the train track, but this was an overtime day so she really didn't mind too much. She could use the extra money. Little did she know HOW exciting of a day it would be!

My Garden by Lillian Morpork

I went into the garden,
Where the bright red poppies grow,
The baby’s breath and cosmos,
And carnations, row on row.
And I sat beside the rosebush
In the lovely summer’s glow
And I thought I saw a fairy –
Or perhaps, a faint rainbow.

"My Garden - A Tribute to Memorial Day" by Teri and Jayme

"My Garden - A Tribute to Memorial Day" by Teri and Jayme

1837-38: Our family moved to here in 1837 to escape the bank failures, unemployment, and despair of New York City. We wanted to leave the chaos and crowdedness of the big city and settle into a much quieter, simpler, and self-sufficient lifestyle, away from the crime, poverty, and desperation of the big city. We wanted air we could breathe, clean, fertile soil under our feet, and fresh, clear, sparkling spring water we could drink. We settled into a quiet valley, near the river, on a little 25 acre homestead of rich arable land. We never realized how difficult this life would be and the challenges that we would face. We arrived too late in the summer to put in more than a few fast growing vegetables. The first winter was a nightmare as we nearly starved to death. We had no stockpile of wood and each day had to cut and burn green logs to keep the cabin above freezing. Fevers and coughs wracked us all. It was a blessing when spring arrived, and with it, better times. One bright sunny day, as our family gathered together in a respite from the constant work of running a farm, I discovered a little flower garden that I would often come to visit and where I could be alone and daydream. I loved my garden and spent lots of time there, enjoying the tranquility and beauty that surrounded me. While I would sometimes have to leave to perform my chores, my spirit never truly left that place.

Who Is Ian? – part 3 – Lillian Morpork

Ruth sighed as she settled in her favourite chair, with yet another glass of iced tea. For a moment, she just sat, relaxing and looking out at the patio and garden. Alice had not only had the tea ready when she got home, but a lovely cold dinner. Now she was in her room working on a computer program, and Ruth could get to work on the things in the shoe boxes.

"Flowers to you, from Raphaela to Ariadne" by Llola Lane

"Flowers to you, from Raphaela to Ariadne" by Llola Lane

Ariadne was a great friend, and Raphaela wanted to make sure she knew it. Being alone in a hospital bed for a week was no fun. Poor Ari. All she had told Raph was that the operation was for "woman stuff." How much "woman stuff" could one little dragon have?

Happy Anniversary - by Jayme and Teri

He wasn't going to make the same mistake as last year! Even though it wasn't really his fault, he did try to be a dutiful husband and remember their anniversary. Each year, in the lazy days between Christmas and New Years, he would diligently record all his important dates in the day planner someone inevitably gave him as a present. Damn that new Blackberry that had made him lazy and lulled him into a false sense of security. Somehow the automatic calendar reminder had failed to happen and the day came and went. He had been totally oblivious to the fact that he had even missed it. She had never even mentioned it, in fact, and he had wondered if she also had forgotten their anniversary after all these years.

Petals: A Woman's Musings by Teri

When I was younger, my older sister used to play a game. She would pluck the petals from a flower to decide if her current sweetheart truly loved her. Well finally, after so many years of waiting and hoping, I too get to play her game. It is a breezy and bright morning when I venture out into the garden. Where, hiding in the recently cut grass, I see a small yellow buttercup that will be perfect for my game. I sit down on the lawn, still slightly damp with dew, and pluck the little flower from its stem. I begin my litany as I carefully remove the petals, one at a time.

"Pansies" by Teri

"Pansies" by Teri

The pansies in the garden were a gift from her. I had come home one night after another long tiring day at work to find a blister-pack of 12 icicle pansies sitting on my front deck. Stuck to the black plastic tray was a small yellow post-it note, “Enjoy. I know these are your favourites. S.” That evening, in the pale orange light of the setting sun, I had sat on the cool damp ground and lovingly placed each small plant in the little bed beneath my living room window. I don’t know how long it took me to plant and water the little flowers, but it was far longer than it needed to be. I’m not even sure if it was necessary to water them or if my falling tears had been sufficient on their own.

Who Is Ian? Part two – Lillian Morpork

Who Is Ian? Part two – Lillian Morpork

“Hi, Ruthie! What has got you so excited?” Matt asked as he came hurrying in. “You were almost incoherent on the phone.”

"Sample 2207" by Teri

"Sample 2207" by Teri

Each day, as she had for the last 9,875,213 days, her assignment was the same, “Tend, protect, and preserve specimen sample 2207.” She had no knowledge of where samples 1 to 2206 were located, or if they even existed. Similarly, she lacked any knowledge of samples 2208 or higher. Her entire databanks were filled with the knowledge needed to care for her sample: Plantae (Angiosperm, Eudicot, Rosid), Rosales, Rosaceae, Rosa, R. Virginiana (Rosa Virginiana; “Virginia Rose,” “Common Wild Rose,” “Prairie Rose.”) As far as samples went it was fairly mundane. Her database description was suitably terse:

"A Childish Gift" by Jayme Svoboda

"A Childish Gift" by Jayme Svoboda (With some help from Teri)

The clouds hung low, close to the ground, depressing and slate grey, as they dampened the world with an endless drizzle. It was mid-May and, after a cold damp spring, the trees were still not in leaf. Their skeletal branches were, only this week, showing the first signs of budding. I remember these big oaks. I used to run, hide and play among them all those many years ago. They seemed more majestic back then. Now, they just seem sad.

"Flowers to you, from Arwin to Iliana" by Llola Lane

"Flowers to you, from Arwin to Iliana" by Llola Lane

The bus screeeeeeeached to a hault. Arwin had 10 minutes to grab what she needed and get back to the bus before she had to be at her next stop. If she hadn't taken time to help that old lady get out of the bus, she'd have more time... but she saw her struggling and Arwin couldn't help but help the old woman. Oh well... can't cry over that now... She had her mission... Get in and get out of the store as fast as she could.

A triad of haiku on lost love - by Sven Pertelson

Gave flowers to you.
Held you tightly in my arms,
then you slipped away.

Who Is Ian? - Lillian Morpork – part one

The house was empty. All the furniture, pictures and whatnot the family had wanted were delivered to their destinations, the rest were in the auction house awaiting the sale on Saturday. All that was left were the cedar chest and the old steamer trunk in the attic, and the odds and ends of broken chairs, decrepit cabinets, and boxes of odds and ends. Ruth had decided to look at the chest and trunk, and leave the rest for whoever bought the house to worry about.

"Flowers to you, from Sven to Llola" by Llola Lane

"Flowers to you, from Sven to Llola" by Llola Lane

This was taking too long. Sven's feet hurt as he stood starting at the words....

Memories – Lillian Morpork

The old man stood at the foot of the bed, head bent, eyes closed in sorrow. After a moment, he straightened up, his gaze resting on the face of the woman lying there. Her white hair formed a halo around her pale, peaceful face, and his heart ached, his stomach knotted up as he fought the tears. His gaze drifted around the room as he tried to control himself. His eyes caught on a card sitting on the bedside stand.

Of Times Past - by Sven Pertelson

Images from the past arise, unbidden,
Like a half forgotten song.
Misty, watercolour memories,
Of a time when love and laughter
Filled two hearts.