Lyn's a Witchy Woman I am so glad you, too, talk to the animals. I mean house cats and other pets, everyone does (I think), anyway. But the wildlife that isn't tamed is another story.
I talk to the hummingbirds and they've grown used to it. They hover around me and chatter like they're telling me something. They chatter with Pumpkin to when he's in the enclosure. The finches are a bit more guarded they land on the top of the trampoline and watch me as I talk to them. Once in a while one will sing back.
In Maine, the deer used to come to my living room window and watch television with me. I began talking with them and their ears would flicker. They were very happy when I started putting apple chunks in the window box so they could snack while watching television.
I've done a weel totally by myself camping by the 7th day I was so ready for civilization.
I talk to the hummingbirds and they've grown used to it. They hover around me and chatter like they're telling me something. They chatter with Pumpkin to when he's in the enclosure. The finches are a bit more guarded they land on the top of the trampoline and watch me as I talk to them. Once in a while one will sing back.
In Maine, the deer used to come to my living room window and watch television with me. I began talking with them and their ears would flicker. They were very happy when I started putting apple chunks in the window box so they could snack while watching television.
Vic works from home so I'm never actually alone, but I do spend a lot of time outside reading, I find it peaceful and restorative because I'm surrounded with the birds. Often, I simply sit and watch the hummingbirds. Those moments are precious.
I always wanted a library room, one that was just mine where I could write or read for hours, maybe someday.
Prompt:
Write a poem about autumn for your Blog entry today.
------------
Autumn
when summer fades,
nature plays a wistful song,
for soon, autumn will whisper
soft and slow, wearing a cloak
of red, amber, yellow
and I'll remember tales from
long ago, on nights wider
in gentle rain, with scent of cider
and fields of grain, harvest moon,
and falling leaves with their tune
a palette of colors they'd blend
for my broken heart to mend
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