Winter Storm (Photo credit: elycefeliz)
Winters icy fingers
Clutch my frozen heart
I’m lost in raw December darkness
Chilled to the depths of my Siberian soul.
Trifextra Week Ninety Six:
This weekend we are asking for a 33-word free write. Give us whatever you’ve got.
…..April, June, and November. Except in 2013 when Mother Nature decided to skip the month of April altogether and put a super long extension on to the end of March instead. By my calculations it is now March 61st. We had a lovely little blizzard on Monday. I have a funny feeling March may continue to hold on for another couple of weeks. I don’t know what month it’s going to be next. Hope we don’t jump straight into October.
This is the scene that greeted us from our kitchen window on Monday morning. Where has all the green grass gone? Ah well, no point in obsessing about the weather, right? Might as well make a pretty picture and carry on.
On a blizzardy night in December, as she tossed and turned in her big feather bed, Birdie Bijou Berengaria had a rather unsettling dream. She was walking across a beautiful ballroom filled with laughing, chattering, fashionable people when she looked down at herself in alarm. She was loosing her color, slowly blending in with the woodwork; fading, dissolving, disappearing. She called out to the people milling around her, but her voice was muted and soft and could not be heard. She reached out to touch a shoulder but her hand passed through the material and the bone as if they were mist, leaving no impression whatsoever.
This is totally unacceptable, she thought to herself, as she attempted to stamp her foot in dismay, but that appendage had mysteriously turned to soft rubber and made no sound at all on the ballroom floor. She began to back away from the horror of this moment, glancing furtively around for some way to escape when she caught sight of her now nearly transparent reflection in the gilt mirror over the fireplace. She was a little grey mouse. No shine, no sparkle, no flare. Nothing. I am nobody, she moaned in despair. I am vanishing. I will be gone and never missed, and no one will remember me.
Birdie Bijou Berengaria suddenly sat up in bed with a start. What do I have to do to get noticed around here? she wailed. And suddenly she knew the answer.
From that day on, Birdie was bold. She wore shimmering sapphire and blinding scarlet, ruffles and lace and jewels. She threw away all her sensible shoes and replaced them with glossy black buckled mary janes that clicked and clacked and stomped with a lovely great racket. She held her head high and adorned it with lustrously flamboyant bows. She felt radiant and glorious. And because she positively glowed, she attracted attention as never before. She smiled and laughed and basked in the sunshine of her new reinvented self and her wonderful, interesting, and now thankfully very physically solid, friends.
She was so delighted to no longer be overlooked and ignored that she never once stopped to ponder what actually brought about this gratifying change. Let her go on believing it was the giant winged hair bow that suddenly turned her life around. We know what really happened.