Author Archives: Debbie

Looking for Spring 2025

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The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month. ~Henry Van Dyke, American author, educator, and clergyman

I can’t speak for everyone, but it seems to me that Central Illinois is weather-weary.

Tired of gray days and cold temperatures. Bored by day after day of rain and thunderstorms. Frustrated at the capriciousness of Mother Nature.

Still, on the one pretty day we’ve had since, oh, I don’t know, February or so, the Monk and I managed to get outdoors and look for signs that Spring is on the horizon.

Take a look at what we found!

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Monkey Makes A Mistake

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Every mistake must be paid for, rarely by the person who committed it. ~Jacques Deval, French playwright, screenwriter, and film director

I Monkey here.

Mama says confession is good for the soul. I don’t know about that, but if I can teach another pup NOT to do what I’ve done, then maybe confession is all right.

Don’t thank me — I’m generous like that (or at least, I’m trying to be, it being Lent and all!)

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What’s Up, Buttercup?

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No man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. ~Auguste Rodin, French sculptor

A

Pretty

Yellow gold

Bulb was blooming

Beneath a large tree

Waiting to be admired

By me and Monk on our walk.

After appreciating it

And checking my plant app for ID,

I learned its name is Winter Aconite.

 

Native to Europe’s woodlands and meadows,

Part of the buttercup family,

One of Spring’s earliest bloomers,

Winter Aconite attracts

Pollinators, but is

Poisonous to man

And pets, so look,

But don’t touch

It at

All!

Note: Poetry form is Double Etheree.

Gone, But Never Forgotten

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Miss you still, my beautiful Dallas 11/28/06 – 3/2/20

The summer will bloom into roses,
And laughter will follow your tears;
I linger alone in the shadows
That fell from the beautiful years.
The autumn will shine into harvests,
The grapes will hang purple with wine,
The lark will sing high in the meadow;
The shadow forever is mine…
~Josephine Butterfield Walcott (1840–1906), “Destiny,” World of Song, 1878

Fighting the Bug

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The doctor is often more to be feared than the disease. ~Proverb

I Monkey here.

As a rule, Mama is pretty healthy. She takes extra-good care of herself, doing all those things humans are supposed to do — eat right, get enough sleep, exercise, avoid crowds of people coughing.

So it’s a Big Deal when she finally takes sick.

Especially when I Monkey am by nature so needy and, shall we say, anxious for her full attention.

All the time.

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One Year Gone

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He only half dies who leaves an image of himself in his children. ~ Carlo Goldoni, Italian playwright and librettist

Dear Mom,

It’s been a year now since you left this world and entered the next, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss you.

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Is Spring Here Yet?

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So before long we can open the windows wide and let Spring in, and we can go out to the park or sit on a hillside and let Spring into us. ~Hal Borland, American writer, journalist, and naturalist

Glued to this window

Waiting for Spring (or a cat!)

Enjoying sun’s warmth

Frequent Visitor

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The robins were singing vespers in the high tree-tops, filling the golden air with their jubilant voices. ~L. M. Montgomery, Canadian author, Anne of the Island, 1915

An inquisitive
Bird sitting in a tree
Can sometimes seem
Dreamily calm
Even as it’s obviously
Fraught with tension
Giving an observer
Half a chance to wonder
If it is even thinking at all.
Just so, the bird and I are
Kindred spirits
Loving the outdoors
Making music at will
Noticing whatever moves
Oh, how wonderful it must be
Perhaps for a day or more
Quietly flitting from tree to tree
Round about the yard
Settling high in the branches
Taking notice and being noticed
Under the bright sunshine
Volume turned up
With eyes wide open
X-ray vision
You can’t help but admire
Zealous living.

Note: Poetry form is A-B-C Poem.

Nostalgic Birthday

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Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes. ~Gloria Naylor, African-American novelist

Today would have been my dad’s birthday.

He’s been gone 16 years now, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.

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Silent Sunday

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What quaint seduction lurks within the snow. ~Frances M. Frost, American poet, novelist, and children’s writer