where the writers are

changing seasons | changing seasons

mary-wilkinson's picture
The bog is slowly turning. Wheaten grasses tinged with brown, a whiff of gold. It is beautiful. I come down to the kitchen in the morning and once the coffee pot is on the burner I pull the blind and gaze out at the painting beyond and not once do I ever take for granted at what I see before me. A...
michael-seidel's picture
Just as I decided that the unusually cool morning felt like Autumn, I overheard Summer saying, "You know, like, I think I'm going to head out." Knowing Summer's voice since I was a child, I didn't doubt his identity and turned to see who he addressed.  Turned out Summer was talking with Autumn...
farzana-versey's picture
I saw the promise of rains in these clouds. Within minutes they disappeared leaving the sky dry. But the skies are not dry; it is not even skies. There is only one sky. But I like to think of them as skies, as they change in colour while remaining static in shape. You cannot mould the skies, but...
michael-seidel's picture
We've arrived at the point in our seasons where a little spring is tossed in with winter.  Buds are out.  Mid 50 temperatures are spied more frequently during the day. The sun gathers courage from its previous receptions and adds confidence daily. But winter rules the night, tugging...
mary-wilkinson's picture
It rained all day long. I paced a bit and then, desperately decided to be constructive by starting the recipe book for my son who returns to college in Dublin next week. We had talked about it. I did promise it. But time passed by without anything being produced. He appeared anxious today. He...
christine-bottaro's picture
Summer strolled up and laid itself in a hammock today, smiling. If a day can be an icon for a whole season, today was that day.  It was sun filled, with an aching pure loveliness at every turn.   Thinking back, I was filled with equanimity and didn't even notice if things were going wrong.  Wrong...