That old tune played in the juke box from the dusty corner of the roadhouse bar.
“To everything, turn, turn, turn
There is a season, turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under heaven”
I nursed my warm beer watching the fat men playing pool, an’ I ask myself “da hell does dat mean? ‘There is a season’ hell there ain’t! All I got’s anuther damn day at da steel mill a’fore it folds. what da hell am I ‘posed ta do? Ain’t no seasons for me.” Fingers with dirt under nails pounded the bar “anuther beer maestro!”
The first body dropped at midnight. We never knew who’d be first. There wasn’t any discoloration, swelling, slowing, or other signs of distress.
Last year, it was Maggie who with cup of coffee in hand went out to water her Prize geraniums and didn’t return. Her husband didn’t find her until he returned from the piazza, and dropped dead from shock. This year, we assigned collectors, neighbors who had strong stomachs to do Wellness checks at home. Scour streets, trails, for those who went out to run errands or other day to day activities but never arrived or returned.
It was fall hunting season . Tan vests were loaded with shells . Two hunters crossed the corn stubble and tall amber grass. The spaniel dog leaped ahead, no birds flew up that day. The dog tired of leaping ; circled around and came up behind the hunters that tromped down the grass. Now the dog had the last laugh. The hunters called and the dog’s bark gave him away. It appeared to be the seasonal fall joke of the day as the hunters empty handed carried the spaniel home.
I like to watch the weather change with each new season.
I prefer living where there are four distinct seasons. Each has its own character and allure.
Spring holds the promise of new crops and hopes for a bountiful harvest.
Summer is vacation time; schools are on break and family vacations are de rigueur.
Fall is the time when leaves change color, a time of harvest and canning foods for the winter.
Winter can be brutal depending upon where one lives.
My favorite season is the fall, the high-country temperatures drop and the tourists are all gone.
What sweet solitude.
woof. that end really got me. same question over here!
Seasons - Four Haikus 🌸
Spring
Seeds of life take root,
A rapid heartbeat hidden-
New beginnings stir.
Summer
Warmth swells, cradles growth,
Life unfolds beneath her skin,
Blooms in sun’s comfort.
Autumn
Rust and gold descend,
Heavy autumnal harvest -
The world holds its breath.
Winter
Snow falls, silence breaks,
Fresh cries birthed to darkened night
Held in mother’s arms.
miguel for God's sake you're breaking my heart already!
Im sorry 🥺
you made me go all sentimental now, you swine.... im writing about rescued kittens now for heavens sake... im ruined.... 😉
PROMPT: SEASON
THE SALT
It definitely needed more salt.
But just a pinch wasn’t enough.
It was barely noticeable, and did almost nothing.
Even sprinkling generously from a salt cellar wasn’t having the desired effect.
So he grabbed a spoon.
And he tried one spoonful, then two.
But that didn’t produce the results he was looking for, either.
It still needed more.
Much more.
So he poured it all out.
A whole bag of seasoning that should have lasted months, gone in a few seconds.
But it was worth it, if it finally got rid of the slugs that had been eating his plants… 😎
100 mg Seasons
That old tune played in the juke box from the dusty corner of the roadhouse bar.
“To everything, turn, turn, turn
There is a season, turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under heaven”
I nursed my warm beer watching the fat men playing pool, an’ I ask myself “da hell does dat mean? ‘There is a season’ hell there ain’t! All I got’s anuther damn day at da steel mill a’fore it folds. what da hell am I ‘posed ta do? Ain’t no seasons for me.” Fingers with dirt under nails pounded the bar “anuther beer maestro!”
The first body dropped at midnight. We never knew who’d be first. There wasn’t any discoloration, swelling, slowing, or other signs of distress.
Last year, it was Maggie who with cup of coffee in hand went out to water her Prize geraniums and didn’t return. Her husband didn’t find her until he returned from the piazza, and dropped dead from shock. This year, we assigned collectors, neighbors who had strong stomachs to do Wellness checks at home. Scour streets, trails, for those who went out to run errands or other day to day activities but never arrived or returned.
It was fall hunting season . Tan vests were loaded with shells . Two hunters crossed the corn stubble and tall amber grass. The spaniel dog leaped ahead, no birds flew up that day. The dog tired of leaping ; circled around and came up behind the hunters that tromped down the grass. Now the dog had the last laugh. The hunters called and the dog’s bark gave him away. It appeared to be the seasonal fall joke of the day as the hunters empty handed carried the spaniel home.
The last line hits so hard 😭
🥊 boxing them feelings
This one melted my heart. ❤️ it touches really deep. Beautiful.
❤️ I felt like a poet scibbling this one yesterday haha
Yes, it is poetry! ❤️👏👏👏
Come July, Aldo got the call to rub out some guy in Bariloche. Argentina. Resort town. Sounded like a sweet summertime gig.
Fast forward to Aldo in a Patagonian cell, hearing how he got pinched.
“You stood out. Looked suspicious. Flip flops, shorts and tank top on a snowy,1-degree day.”
Aldo stared blankly. He realized, now, he was underdressed but insisted the temperature was at least 30.
The constable wondered at the vaunted American educational system, obviously lacking the basics in both geography and climate science.
“You’ll be out by Christmas,” he said dryly, “and your outfit will be perfect.”
My heart! 💔
Sorry 😭