The strong one fighting not too Shed a tear. Holding back the anxiety. Holding back emotional turmoil. The strong one keeping an eye on the horizon, while deep inside is a threshing sea. Mixing emotions welling up in the throat, only to be swallowed down again, and again. The strong one begging, pleading to be alone to let it all rush to the surface. Letting the emotions flood, pouring tears like rain. Only the strong one knowing what’s behind the steal plated mask.  Worn too protect, and defend.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Weeping willows line the creek bank, their long branches out stretched over the water. Flowing strands hang down almost touching, reflecting back a ripply image.  Water Striders skip, while fish create mini echoes then swim away. A deer stands on the bank drinking the cool water. Down stream the babbling water splashes over the smooth creek stone. The sun shines down creating a hazy fog raising from the stream, and surrounding dew covered grass. The smell of the water, and damp earth hangs in the air. Just a simple scene of nature’s beauty.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

If Autumn had a flavor what would it be? If each turning leafs color were a flavor, maybe it would be citrus, or spice? Maybe, it would be cool like ice, or burn with a bite? Maybe, it would be sweet like candy, but unfortunately leaves are just leaves. Pretty, pleasing to the eyes, not the pallet. So it would be unwise to go around eating leaves, trying to see what the flavor of Autumn would be.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Ever wonder why each generation claims the music they grew up listening to was the best, and nothing before, or after can compare ?  This debate has sparked, the question inside of me, the question being why, this is?

Now,  I believe, and this is solely based on my opinion, and nothing more than a perplexing, wandering thought.

My guess would have to be that the memories we made while listening to our favorite songs growing up are attached to our favorite songs. How listening to a song can take you to a moment in time where your sixteen again.

In conclusion, I guess what we really find great about our favorite music, is the memories we made while listening to our favorite songs.

Fragile wings bent by pain. Broken by despair. Each fragile wing wrapped in bandages. Unraveling layer at a time, to reveal two radiant strong wings stretching wide ready too fly. Hope raises from within taking on whatever lie ahead. To follow a dream paved by the heart, and carved in the soul. With every beat of the heart, the wings grow stronger, and stronger. Until its time to take flight. A flight solely based upon blind faith. The time has come to close my eyes, and open my heart. Only then can I find my true self, and follow the course of flight, too where ever it may lead me.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Gathering twigs scattered throughout the yard, to light a fire, the first of the year.  Dead wood that lay, not going to waste, or turn to peat, resuming to earth yet again. No, I’ll take these logs instead, and put them to good use. Fueling the flame, and warming my home. As I take the twigs placing them in the fireplace. Along with a few small logs. Lighting the match, smelling the smoke as it raises up through the chimney. Feeling the radiant warmth of the flame, as it flickers, and dances a blaze. I think I’ll sit here a while, and watch the dancing flame. As it casts a flickering shadow on the wall, and floor.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

With all the abundance Fall has to offer some of the most delectable, to say the least. Would have to be, the ripened fresh harvest whether it be from vine, or tree. Freshly plucked apples, plump pumpkins, and root vegetables, just waiting to be made into the perfect dish. Filling the home with warmth, and the aroma of Fall. The vanilla, cinnamon of the baked goods flow from the warm oven filling the air. Making the house smell more like home. The gathering of family, and friends breaking bread, and sharing laughs. Of all the things I love about Fall. What I love most is the aroma of Fall.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Sometimes I write morning, noon, and night. Any line that comes to mind, is spelled upon the page. Some lines jump from the page with excitement, and glee. While others fall flat. I guess the only logical explanation for that would be they’re not all ten’s. But any line written is better than none. Either a ten, or a one. So I write, and write, to fire the light. Keeping it lit morning, noon, and night.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Frosted breath, frosted grass, frozen earth crunches with every step. Breathing in the brisk October morning air. It burns a little as I inhale, but also refreshes with every frosted breath exhaled. Morning sun rising slow, see the frosted grass shimmer, gliming like a field of diamonds. The frosted October morn enchanting all the more. The crow caws , and pecks at the ground. Searching for a morsel if there is any too be found.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Waking to the sight of the first snow glistening as it blankets the ground. Everything draped in the pure white of the snow. No step trodden yet. The fluffy snowflakes floating each their own. Landing in unison to form layer upon layer. Inch upon inch. Feet upon feet. Until the entire scene beyond the front door is a crisp, clean, wondrous sight. A cardinal flys landing on a snow covered branch. The red of the cardinal so vibrant against the white of the snow. A hot cup of coffee in hand. Looking out the window, taking in the first snow.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©