I walked down to the bottom of my garden this morning, the jungle, as it has become affectionately known. Hiding among the undergrowth, I spied a purple flash of colour and moved closer…
Fighting for its life was the glorious purple rhododendron that I vaguely remember seeing before in the distant past. I felt so guilty at leaving it to fend for itself and made a promise then and there to do something about it… and soon… Nothing that beautiful should have to struggle so much!
For those new to our website and blog, we would like to thank you for visiting. Between us, we write in several different genres, so there should be something for everyone to enjoy. Anita’s books tend to be varied, from horror to supernatural romance and coming of age, where mine (Jaye) are all mystery thrillers.
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I am so excited about this post. As a huge fan of all things romantic and someone who gets very carried away at the sight of any romance, within a ten mile radius, this blog post is going to leave me lying on my sofa with a cold compress on my forehead. Today we are talking about how to write a good kiss.
Now, back in the day, when I was looking for love in Leeds (in the 90s) kissing was a big thing. Especially since most of my dating was done in Ritzy’s nightclub and once a male suitor had impressed me with his dance moves, surrounded by clouds of dry ice, we’d go in for the kiss.
The kiss was animportantstage – because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone whose kissing skills reminded me of:
“By virtue of Creation, and still more the Incarnation,
nothing here below is profane for those who know how to see.”
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
I remember one hot, summer’s day as a child, laying in the long, tickly grass of the field behind my home, watching the clouds race. All around me I could hear the bees and insects buzzing away, drowning the distant traffic noise and the passing train. As I write I can smell again that particular perfume of hot earth, sweat and new mown grass, with a little tang of melting tar hovering as an afternote. I watched as a ladybird and a very strange caterpillar made their way to the tip of the burdock, neither bending the leaves, but moving lightly as if that was where they belonged.
I knew, even then, that I was lucky. I had been raised in a family where belief…
Ugly events happen in dark hours. Horrifying images assault my senses and threaten to overwhelm my mind. Disgust churns in my stomach, and I feel the blackness consuming me. Hope flees, depression rises, and I fear the future of humankind. Sleep is a hard-won escape.
Contrast rises with the sun, revealing a magical quality to early Sunday mornings. Bright red cardinals compete for fat sunflower seeds. Red-winged blackbirds, chickadees, goldfinches, and a downy woodpecker flit between the feeder and the evergreens. Squirrels chase each other through the yard, oblivious to the hawk floating in lazy circles in the crystal blue sky. It may not be Walden, but it is my slice of nature carved from a suburban landscape.
A gentle mist rises in the chill air as the sun promises hope. A deep breath, a hot cup of coffee, and a soft breeze eases worry and clears the mind…
When you’ve always been an avid nature lover and scribbled your musings in your daily blog, It’s happiness writing. But when life throws an invincible opportunity to convert that blog into a book- your dream poetry bouquet, it’s blissful writing!!
I recently participated in the May 2020 blogchatter ebook carnival launching my ebook- a poetry bouquet- Blossoms and Foliages. Life has never been the same again. It’s an enlightening successful feeling of being published and getting accomplished. A big thank you to the blogchatter platform for this riveting success.
The central message of my book is nature and it’s paraphernalia. I echo the sentiments of Vincent Van Gogh who quoted
“ If you truly love nature, you will find beauty in everything “
I believe, if you stay close to nature,it will never fail you. When you walk the woods drinking through your…
In the description of the the franklin, one of the pilgrims, I came across a term I’ve skimmed over in the past when I’ve encountered it. I didn’t really have much of an idea of what a knight of the shire was, but the notes of my edition of The Canterbury Tales told me that it was a member of parliament and that Chaucer had been one. So I did a bit of reading.
Two knights were chosen to represent each county at a parliament. They were supposed to be elected, but usually they were chosen by the county’s sheriff. As representatives of people in a certain location, rather than invited directly by the king, they were in the Commons. Parliaments were called by the king, usually when he needed to raise money by means of taxes. They could meet anywhere in the country, depending on where the king was…