Oh the seasons

In response to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge, a humorous take on the seasons four…

Hot days are past
Winter is here
Frost Giants aren’t real
But sleet’s a real fear
We rake leaves no more
Instead we get to shovel snow

The lakes are filling
The flowers start to bloom
A burst of colour
No more winter gloom
But good days pass fast
and sun’s about to blast

Goodness gracious
Great ball of fire
Even without budging
I still do tire
Will all the perfumes of Arabia
not camouflage this odor of mine!

The trees are shedding
making a really pretty mess.
Too bad I cant say the same
about the shedding of my tress.
Tis the perfect season for my bones old.
Its not too hot, and its not too cold.

In the farm

A second post in response to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge – This time a few farm bird.


There once was a bird on a tree
with disdain at me she did see
‘It’s lunch time dude
Staring is rude
So stop pointing your camera at me.’


Two birds of healthy stock
Primped for the catwalk
Goose boasted she was fair
Hen shook her colourful hair
While farmer went to fetch his chopping block.


I once met a family of geese
whose honking would never cease
All day they would scamper
The quiet they would hamper
Until they were locked up for the sake of world peace.


This week, Hindus world over celebrate Diwali.

Diwali or the festival of lights, is celebrated to signify the victory of light over darkness, good over evil, and knowledge over ignorance.

People light lamps and fireworks, and decorate their homes with colourful patterns called Rangoli, made using coloured rice flour, sand or rose petals.


The peacock, which is the national bird of India, symbolises grace, joy, beauty and love, and is considered to be auspicious in Hinduism.

In response to Frank’s Tuesday Photo Challenge – Bird.
My friend’s daughter is creating this beautiful Rangoli in their home and I decided to use it to share a bit of our culture.

Sands of Time


Who leaves these impressions on the sands of time?

The one who carries the burden of life on his head…


Or he who moves along with the wheels of time…

Each carrying his cross, each scribing his tale,
until we return to the bosom of dusk…