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Writers Corner October 28, 2011

Coeur d'Alene Press | UPDATED 14 years, 10 months AGO
| October 28, 2011 9:00 PM

TREE FROCKING CYCLE

The russet tinge--rustle of fall--

begins a dramatic change

of natures foliage. Shades of green

leaf shrub cover are inheriting

shades of many colorations. Red,

varying greens, scarlet, gold, yellow,

and even shades of blue and lavender.

Most all colors excluding black. After

their departure from a summer home,

some reluctantly clinging, all will become

earth visitors. Changing weather patterns

will alter their color and texture further.

For now a subtle breeze bearing message

impregnates the placid autumn air. First frost

tinge transformation begins. Some will

travel downward in a mock fairy dance,

fluttering, floating, flittering on an erratic

breeze. Others will, unceremoniously be

blasted, by gale force big brother winds.

Regardless where their new home be,

all are subject to nature's transformation.

The combo of ever changing weather-

fall rains, frost, snow and ice-then spring's

gentle showers further their cycle. Nature's

great metamorphosis takes stage in their

last life cycle. After exposure to these many

life phases, they will now endure their last

fulfillment. The shade of black now emerges

drawing more warmth from the sun. Thus

hastening their last purpose: The true nature,

compost to enrich the soil with next year's nutrients,

circling the wagons in one more of nature's

beautiful, ever repeating, annual cycles of

God's therapeutic, gracious gifts.

- Larry L. Laws, Dalton Gardens

DEER WIDERS LAMENT

Saw a brown and furry hide today

A hangin' in the shed.

Took a closer look - yeah ah!!!

I do believe its dead.

Was the only sign I'd had

That hubby had stopped home.

Musta forgot 'dem bullets agin'

Or chilled to the bone.

Couda' been the gun was bent,

Maybe whiskey was needed inside the tent.

'Er dozen roses he couda' sent.

Instead I'm speekin' a deer widers lament.

- Judith Lanier, Rathdrum

THE MAGIC OF ROSES

Long ago, there was a wooden box that was in love and complete. However, his sweet love found a bigger and better box to live in. When she was no longer present, he was left without a top or a bottom. He found himself existing from season to season. He never gave up hope of finding another heart to love. As the years went by he traveled down many roads, but most were dead ends. So he sat himself alongside a rose bush on a dirt road, hoping someday a heart would come. One spring day, he noticed a wounded heart wandering down the road. She had been terribly hurt by a deceptive box, and she wandered from season to season aimlessly. The chilly winds of time had left her thinking she would never find another love. As she approached the box, she did not notice him.

However, she saw the brilliant yellow roses, and they made her feel warm. The hollow box watched as she approached. What the box and the heart did not know was that the rose bush was a magic rose bush. The box was there for a reason, and the warmth she felt was for the same reason. She reached out to touch the roses, and the magic of the flowers caused her to enter the box. Finally she had found the warm love she had been searching for. Suddenly the roses turned bright red. At that moment, her love gave the box a top and a bottom, making him whole again.

- Keith Sargent, Mullan

The Press Writers Corner features original, creative writing submitted by our readers.

Send your Writers Corner submissions to Maureen Dolan, [email protected].

We prefer e-mail submissions, and we ask that you limit the length of your stories and poems. Please include your hometown with your submission.

You can send hard-copies by mail to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814.