Some Days Rain Gold...

One of my favourite fall things; Cortland apples!

I began this poem yesterday as I laughed out loud 

as I attempted to balance backdrops never exposed 

on the page where a poem serenely rests.

Yesterday morning's poem backdrop;

I put in a load of laundry first thing in the morning. 

Later, as I walked to the washing machine to change the load 

I stepped on a little toy car I didn't see and the next thing I knew

I was sitting in a puddle of  'Sie-shlop' aka pig-slop/compost scraps.

Why?!!

 because the night before after I got home kinda late, 

then, after calling Jim (truckdriver husband),

 I decided I can't leave the kitchen all in a mess 

so I did the dishes, piled in the sink

 because of some more pressing things that needed doing 

after kiddos left, before leaving for Small Group,

 (aka church Bible Study/encourage each other group)

but because it was almost midnight I decided to set the compost bowl 

on the laundry room floor till morning--

and that's where I landed, in a big puddle of  'YUCK!'

I cleaned up midst phone calls and texts like 'can you use carrots?'

so I paused to pop over to my sister's house to pick them up

  then, since I was on the road I stopped by Orchard Lane 

(local country store) to get some apples before their Cortland apple bin is empty,

and THEN, I returned home to finish the poem still in progress 😅

I snapped this photo at my sister's place

when I picked up the carrots.

It was raining gold!

 Stunning.

Behind the ink that spills love's verse

We weather life's for better-worse

Where thrills and spills erupt and merge

In medleys of delight and dirge

So then, let's be more patient, dears

Nothing is quite as it appears

Some days are smiles and some are frowns

Life's miles, a purge/surge of ups and downs 

Sometimes life is warm handshake

A cup of tea, a slice of cake

Sometimes it is a fist, clenched, mean

A ka-pow where wide smiles had been

Behind the part that meets our eyes 

A hidden world of learning lies

The ink that spills in poetry

Culled from so much we never see

In life's poetry, still unpenned

Let's treat people we meet, as friend

Because of backdrops hid from view

Some days rain gold, some cold gray-blue 

 

Janet Martin

Today is a mingling of cold gray and culled gold...