First May Blog

First May Blog

Glorious May.

Yes, May, that glorious month
When summer breezes replace
Winter chills, and warmth from
A distant sun brings forth seedlings,
Poking their heads above ground,
Reaching for the sky, for the
Celestial moon. Quickly pouring
Forth green shoots, leaves,
To greet the lengthening days.
That rare beauty, perceived by
All who walk this fertile earth.
Southern Hemisphere or North,
When the sun moves on its
Orbital path, it leaves a longing
For its return, back to the full
Bloom and majesty of
Its life-giving presence.
The South sees her bringing
Autumnal goodness, a ripening
Of fruits and crops.
But the North rejoices as she
Wends her way back to us.
Birds, wintering in warmer climes,
Flap wings, heading to summertime
Homes, to nest, replenish, grow.
This is the May I know.

Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. May, 2016.

I know I tend to be a bit predictable, in that I often write on the time of year, the month I am in, the seasons. My apologies if this creates boredom. It is meant to inspire, to feed the soul, to chivvy us into enjoying what we have, as the time passes, those that are possibly too busy to keep awareness on such thngs. It is, after all, a busy, busy world these days. Just surviving sometimes takes all kinds of time, perhaps just as it used to in olden days.

Anyway, that is by way of an introduction to this first of May blog. A journey through this glorious month that passes by so fast, it seems as if it is hardly here at all before we are in the month of June, halfway through the year.

So, a small rendition to show that I do write more than just a blog, more than just poetry. I also write fictional pieces that may or may not lead somewhere in the future. My ideas, if you will, to float about in my head, ready to be called upon when I finally get my work (already completed,) from my old computer. I had intended to get this done sooner than now, but it is a funny old world. You can make plans, with all the resolve in the world, then something comes along to change all that. So hete is a short piece. >>>>>

*********’It seems to me that many writers now are delving into time travel. I have not gone that route, as yet, but, with things as they are, I feel I should delve a little into that genre. The thing with time travel is, you have to know and presearch, the time you wish to evoke. Say, Victorian! You have to know costume, foods, transportation so that the plot has some background with a ring of truth.’****

Benny looked at the speech she had just begun for her lecture at the Writer’s Guild in two weeks time. She was sure that she was preaching to the converted, as they say. Never mind, she had to say something.

The sun shone brightly through the window. It was a glorious day. Timmy, her cat, leapt onto the windowsill outside, mewing to be let in.

Getting up carefully so as not to disturb the piles of papers lying about her desk, she reached over to open the window wide enough for her ginger darling to come in. Picking up his feet and delicately stepping around each pile of papers he moved towards Benny’s outstretched hand, all the while purring like a well-oiled engine.

“Are you tired, my Pet?” She cooed at him.

Timmy rubbed his head against her hand. The purring became louder, thrumming as he suddenly flumped down onto the desk, his long hair splaying out all around him, his fluffy tail gently lashing to and fro, as if he had no contol over it. MIn fact, it was all a ploy. His way of elliciting a gentle belly rub which, in very short order, would send him into a delicious comfy sleep.

Like most cats, he did only as much as was really needed. No more, no less. He had already inspected the garden. Traces of the black and white feline at the end of the Avenue had ventured in during the night. But she was not around now. A frog had left the lily pond. He had smelt its dustinctive aroma. But that too had disappeared before Timmy had made his rounds. He deemed that it needed no more surveilance thisk morning. Time for a nap.

Benny sat down in her swivel chair. His soft belly fur was wll within reach and atroking Timmy was just as relaing to her as it was soporific to Timmy. And what with the warm May sunshine beaming through the window with its coloured glass lights at the top, spreading reds and blues, greens and purples down across the desk top, very soon, Benny’s hand flipped over and her head slumped onto the bright shiny wood.

When she awoke later, she began to feel a little strange, as if she wasn’t herself but someone else. And Timmy was not there. He must have become too heated, she thought, with all that fur. His favouite spot,as with any cats, is somewhere soft and inviting, like her bed.

Oh well, if that was what he wanted, then who was she to complain. He was a great companion. Nearby while she was working, not far away when doing his own thing. Still a little sleepy, she reached for the bottle of water she always kept close by. It wa not there.

“Timmy, you rascal,” she said out loud, ” have you knocked my water on rhe floor?” She looked around where she sat, trying to ascertain its whereabouts. No water! And then she realised, the desk was empty. No papers, no computer, no keyboard. Just red shiny wood of the desk top. *********

Well my friends, it is something to think about.
Take good care of yourselves.


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