Spring Dreams

 

SPRING DREAMS

Today I dream of spring:

tulips burning like fire

in the majestic mountains.

I celebrate the promise

of spring in midwinter:

the robins singing and flocking 

across my lawn 

like orange blankets.

The purple tulips

will pop up as blackberries

from the hard, cold ground.

"Winter can't last forever,"

the bulbs seem to say.

Knockout roses are just

waiting to put on a show

across the countryside.

The jonquils wearing golden

garments won't be upstaged.

They will spread churned

butter among the verdant grass.

Hold on just a little longer.

Nature gives her promise

that she will breakdance

in bold colors sooner than later.

                    --Brenda Kay Ledford 

Story Published in Good Old Days

 Wishing all my blogger friends a very Merry Christmas and  Happy New Year.

Some of you may subscribe to the "Good Old Days Magazine."  My story, "Special Fashion Show," appeared in the January/February 2023 print issue.   If you get the magazine, you might want to  read my true story about hand me down clothes.  

Peace and Joy to you this season!

Brenda 

Kristy's Christmas

 Snowflakes twirled like feathers over the Blue Ridge Mountains.  Christmas was coming in two days and I had a bushel of clothes to wash.  I lugged my baskets into the laundry mat.  A little blonde-headed girl held the door.  Her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled.

She watched me put my laundry into the washing machines and asked my name.

"Brenda.  What's your name?"

"Kristy, and I'm five," she said and held up her hand.

Ornaments glittered on the tiny Christmas tree that the attendant put on a table.  I hummed, "Jingle Bells."

Kristy gazed at the tree with sad eyes.  "I won't have Christmas."

An elderly lady limped to Kristy and hugged her.  "It's okay.  Don't cry, baby."

I gave the woman a sympathetic look.  "Are you her grandmother?"

"Yes, she lives with me.  Her parents died in a car crash.  We won't have much of a Christmas.  Can't afford it."

When the little girl and her grandma left the laundry mat, the attendant told me they lived in a modest house on Shooting Creek.  She whispered that at one time they parked a car in the woods and lived in it.

Our church filled a box with canned goods, gift cards, and wrapped presents for Kristy.  We delivered the box on Christmas Eve.

Little Kristy clapped her hands and ripped the paper off her presents.  She danced across the porch with her doll and teddy bear.  She had a joyful Christmas!

by:  Brenda Kay Ledford

This story appeared in "Joy to All," a poetry and prose anthology, printed by:  Old Mountain Press

I wish all my blogger friends a very Merry Christmas and Joyful New Year!

Brenda 

The Color Brown

 

November drapes the Blue Ridge Mountains with a tapestry of maroon, gold, and brown.  It weaves a mat of tan threads on the soybean field that's ready to harvest.

Two squirrels chase each other around a tree trunk, leap on a carpet of leaves, and scamper with walnuts into the woods.  The waking sun ricochets through a handful of golden foliage.

Autumn fades into earth tones.  These butternut colors depress some people because they announce the arrival of winter.

But my daddy's favorite color was brown.  He ran a bulldozer and loved the dirt.  Maybe it's because he was down-to-earth and made no pretense.  Kind, generous, and grateful were his qualities.

He passed away  on Thanksgiving Day.  This holiday will always hold a hollow place in my heart.  If it  had been possible, Daddy would have chosen this day to enter heaven.

Created from the earth, returning to the earth, and springing forth from the earth.  The cycle of life.

It's no wonder Daddy's favorite color was brown.

I wish all my blogger friends a blessed Thanksgiving!

Brenda 

Reagan Goes Punkin' Chunkin'

 This is a fictional children's story about Punkin' Chunkin' and I've written the story in the voice of my Great-Niece, Reagan.

"We're going to the Punkin' Chunkin'," said Mama.

Little Reagan Blanche had never seen a pumpkin.

Dada drove up and up and up the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Pumpkins soared, sailed, and somersaulted through the blueberry skies.

Pumpkins rolled with a thunderous roar and splish splashed.

Dada gobbled, gorged, and goooooed pumpkin pie.

An airplane buzzed.

"Let's ride the plane," said Mama.

Watercolors plunk-plopped the trees.

People looked like ants on the ground.

A mechanical bull bar-bucked Dada.

Reagan Blanche fell asleep.

She dreamed of pumpkins zigzagging.

Pumpkins zigzesting.

Pumpkins zip lining the mountains.

Children's story by:  Brenda Kay Ledford 

Compassion of the Wild Geese

 Adopt the pace of nature:

falling out of V-formation,

a lone goose is lifted

by the power of others.

An autumn palette decorates

the Shewbird Mountain.

Journey through a kaleidoscope,

the foliage sprinkled with spice.

Honking across the cobalt skies,

sick or wounded geese

are protected by their skein,

my cup runneth over.

                   --Brenda Kay Ledford

I wish all my blogger friends a beautiful autumn.

Brenda 

Opening of School

 A one-roomed schoolhouse where many mountain children learned the 3 R's.

The Full Sturgeon Moon

rose like a washtub

over the Brasstown Bald,

Mama's treadle sewing machine whizzed.

When she imagined the scent of chalk,

Mama raced to make

her children school clothes.

I longed for the penny loafers

in Cutworm Phillips' country store,

but Daddy bought brogans

to last me all year long.

The town girls laughed

at my ugly boy shoes.

Prissy Linda flouted the kids

wearing flour-sack dresses:

golden years settled the score!

                   --Brenda Kay Ledford

I hope all my blogger friends who have children, grandchildren, nieces, or nephews; will have a wonderful new school year.  My prayers are with our kids and teachers.

Mama made dresses for me from flour sacks and the fabric was pretty.  I loved those clothes!  Wish I had some flour-sack dresses today.  I would wear them with gratitude!