I gently inhale so not to disturb my friend a thrilling moment
checkerspot observes while sipping from the buckeye I click quietly
buckeyeâs pure white blooms invite the bay checkerspot for mid-morning drink
a relationship two partners depend on each equally to live
our presence caused no panic to the winged beauty fortunate for us
Š Lauren Scott, Baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved. Photo: Roy’s Redwoods – I researched and this is the type of butterfly that is attracted to buckeye trees. More inspiration to write! Which is your favorite haiku?
Thanks for your visit, and I hope you enjoyed! Have an awesome weekend! â¤ď¸
Simply click on the image to purchase your copy. Thank you! And if you enjoyed this collection, I’d appreciate a review. đ
If you’ve followed my story, you know that I’ve been dealing with health changes in the last year. And so, the trials commenced figuring out how to manage the pain while maintaining some sense of normalcy in my daily routines. In the beginning, I couldn’t walk long distances. I felt like this basic activity was taken away from me, which was tough to accept. I missed hiking. Well, in February, I had an epidural in my lower back (recommended treatment). Talk about miracles! So, recently, I went on ‘my first hike in the last year’ with my husband. I was able to hike at a moderate clip, and it felt so good to be on the trail again! We went to one of our favorite places, Deer Park, and of course, I had to take photos to document this incredible day where I hiked two miles without pain! I hope you enjoy the pics, and is there ever a time when Nature doesn’t inspire poetry? I don’t think so! These poems are written in Shadorma form!
Forest
Is it so that some believe the forest is not alive? We are all living creatures communicating.
Fascination
Standing tall with architecture to showcase, passersby drop jaws in fascination – one of natureâs gifts.
California Bay
Swinging
Stretch the legs pump with all our might back and forth swinging high while California Bay peeks with utter delight
SmileA new friend
Picnic Table memories
Two buddies slightly underaged ignore signs (no malice) they chug beer and chew the fat, officer stops by.
On the trail again!
Trees
A network of fungi grows deep in the roots, Wood Wide Web is the label given for interconnection.
Thank you for joining us on this memorable hike! I’m still doing well, and it’s good to feel good!
Lastly, today is the final day to vote for Nomination of the Month at Spillwords Press! If you missed it, here is my prior post. “Resilience is Her Saving Grace” is my first fiction short story to be published at Spillwords, so this nomination really means a lot, but especially for the vital message it conveys regarding abusive relationships. I am including the story below if you haven’t read it.
Resilience is Her Saving Grace
The tempest held its vigil on the horizon but continued to fool her. Devotion in his eyes mesmerized her whole being, awakened every pulse in her body. Eyes that spoke the language of love where their future glowed like an apricot dawn. She bestowed her heart permission to be swept into his pools of blueâŚ
And yet, every day she anticipates the sting from his hand â the palm or back, makes no difference. The sting smarts like hell, but her heart secures the brunt of the damage. The slaps begin early each morning if she doesnât move fast enough to appease his caffeine demands. And itâs ironic that he chose âchaletâ for his cell alarm because the calming tone contrasts to his horrific demeanor. After he walks through the front door following a dayâs work, if she so much as smiles unknowingly to his disliking, his hand finds her cheek, and she feels the strike of skin even before impact. 5 p.m. on the mantel clock makes her heart pound as though trying to make a getaway.
The house that once was a home mirrors a prison. Cameras keep their eyes on her as he watches from his downtown office. Claustrophobia slithers down her spine. She struggles to quell the panic attacks. And her cell is meant only to reach him or to answer his calls. He tracks her like a wild animal. The ring on her finger stole all contact from the outside world â lost like a loved oneâs passing. Grieving has no end, but she doesnât dare misbehave because the pain is relentless.
She recalls the beautiful moments when his hands would send tingles from her neck down the map of her body. What did I do wrong? consumed her every thought when he transformed from loving husband to beast. Thoughts that became so tangled, she couldnât ruminate until the truth stared her in the face. Her cheeks grew hot like asphalt in August from the realization that the monster had always existed.
Before the perfect couple whispered those two celebrated words on that breezy afternoon, signifying âYou are my forever person,â he wore charm impeccably like a well-pressed dress shirt â his kisses intoxicating as jasmine, gentle like summer rain â respect enfolded in each embrace. Then donning satin and lace, the solitaire sparkled like her heart and soul, but true personas can take cover behind convincing eyes and smiles.
How could she have missed the signs? She ponders over and over.
Time â revelations, decisions, and strategies always take time. Her defense, submission, though she loathes appearing weak, and the agony tests her strength. But the path will wend its way, leading her to a door for a fresh start, caressing her bruised face and her body, his punching bag.
Gazing out the window, she watches courage whirl among the cottony clouds. Around the corner, freedom waits with intensity, as though motioning for her to come closer, excited for her new, safe beginning. She witnesses a glimpse of hope in the pink daisy pushing through the crack in the sidewalk.
But biding her time means life, and staying alive is her objective. She must bleed toughly. Resilience is her saving grace and not meant to be scattered on the floor, anymore. She must be smart to be free.
Š Lauren Scott
If you haven’t voted yet, I’m asking for your support, and here is the link to cast your vote: https://spillwords.com/vote/
Thank you again to Dagmara and her team at Spillwords for allowing my writing to reach so many readers. I am grateful beyond words! Not to mention, standing beside the other fabulous nominees! And a Huge Thanks to you who have already voted! Your support means the world to me!
Thanks so much for stopping by my neck of the woods, and I hope you enjoyed the beauty of nature, along with the significance of perseverance!
Love and hugs, Lauren â¤ď¸
Š Lauren Scott, Baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved. Voting & Spillwords images courtesy of Spillwords Press.
I am excited to share that my story âResilience is Her Saving Graceâ has been nominated for Publication of the Month by Spillwords Press. In the past, I’ve only submitted poetry, but I stepped out of the box and submitted this fiction short story that is reality for many, so I am thrilled with this nomination! This recognition means the world to me, and it is an honor to be in the company of so many amazing writers. Thank you to Dagmara, her team at Spillwords, and to the readers who offer the most wonderful support of my writing. The email that landed in my inbox last night was…
Dear writers,
We are thrilled to extend our heartfelt congratulations to every one of you! Your exceptional pieces have been nominated due to popular demand for May’s Publication of The Month.
We encourage you to share this link with your family, friends, and supporters, as their votes can make all the difference.
Please note that voting will conclude on 5/29; soon after, we will reveal the well-deserved recipient of this prestigious title.
To vote, kindly register and/or log in to ensure your voice is heard.
The winning publication will be prominently featured on the Spillwords.com sidebar throughout the entire month of June, gaining well-deserved recognition from our global audience.
HERE ARE THE NOMINEES:
The Antiquarian by Steven Elvy
Crescendo by Alan David Gould
Resilience is Her Saving Grace by Lauren Scott
The Road Less Travelled by Vidya Venkataramanan
A Squirrelâs Front Teeth Never Stop Growing by Barbara Harris Leonhard
Sun Over CadaquĂŠs by Kate Aranda Nye
The Dark Night of the Soul by Michael Balner
There Are Angels on Earth by Simona Prilogan
Passages – Last Sailing by Gerry Stefanson
(My) Night-Long Lament by Michelle Ayon Navajas
From The Land of Olives by Nada M. Sobhi
Turning Tables by Nova Loverro
In Memory of Harold Bloom by Jake Sheff
French Fry Etiquette by Judge Burdon
To all the nominees, good luck! Your contributions have enriched our platform, and we deeply appreciate your excellent collaboration and participation.
The tempest held its vigil on the horizon but continued to fool her. Devotion in his eyes mesmerized her whole being, awakened every pulse in her body. Eyes that spoke the language of love where their future glowed like an apricot dawn. She bestowed her heart permission to be swept into his pools of blueâŚ
And yet, every day she anticipates the sting from his hand â the palm or back, makes no difference. The sting smarts like hell, but her heart secures the brunt of the damage. The slaps begin early each morning if she doesnât move fast enough to appease his caffeine demands. And it’s ironic that he chose âchaletâ for his cell alarm because the calming tone contrasts to his horrific demeanor. After he walks through the front door following a dayâs work, if she so much as smiles unknowingly to his disliking, his hand finds her cheek, and she feels the strike of skin even before impact. 5 p.m. on the mantel clock makes her heart pound as though trying to make a getaway.
The house that once was a home mirrors a prison. Cameras keep their eyes on her as he watches from his downtown office. Claustrophobia slithers down her spine. She struggles to quell the panic attacks. And her cell is meant only to reach him or to answer his calls. He tracks her like a wild animal. The ring on her finger stole all contact from the outside world â lost like a loved oneâs passing. Grieving has no end, but she doesnât dare misbehave because the pain is relentless.
She recalls the beautiful moments when his hands would send tingles from her neck down the map of her body. What did I do wrong? consumed her every thought when he transformed from loving husband to beast. Thoughts that became so tangled, she couldnât ruminate until the truth stared her in the face. Her cheeks grew hot like asphalt in August from the realization that the monster had always existed.
Before the perfect couple whispered those two celebrated words on that breezy afternoon, signifying âYou are my forever person,â he wore charm impeccably like a well-pressed dress shirt â his kisses intoxicating as jasmine, gentle like summer rain â respect enfolded in each embrace. Then donning satin and lace, the solitaire sparkled like her heart and soul, but true personas can take cover behind convincing eyes and smiles.
How could she have missed the signs? She ponders over and over.
Time â revelations, decisions, and strategies always take time. Her defense, submission, though she loathes appearing weak, and the agony tests her strength. But the path will wend its way, leading her to a door for a fresh start, caressing her bruised face and her body, his punching bag.
Gazing out the window, she watches courage whirl among the cottony clouds. Around the corner, freedom waits with intensity, as though motioning for her to come closer, excited for her new, safe beginning. She witnesses a glimpse of hope in the pink daisy pushing through the crack in the sidewalk.
But biding her time means life, and staying alive is her objective. She must bleed toughly. Resilience is her saving grace and not meant to be scattered on the floor, anymore. She must be smart to be free.
If you’d like, you canvisit the original post of “Resilience is Her Saving Grace” on Spillwords by clicking here.
Thank you for stopping by! Voting will conclude on Wednesday, May 29th, so I would greatly appreciate your vote here:Â https://spillwords.com/vote/If you don’t have an account, registering is required, and I know one more account and password is a lot to ask of you, but please know that I appreciate your time! And if you already have an account, simply log in and click on the circle next to my story. đđ
I invite you to visit Rebecca’s blog to listen to our conversation on poetry. You can also find our podcast on Spotify, Facebook, SoundCloud, Instagram, and Mastodon.
Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy the podcast!
And another Huge Thank you to Rebecca and Don! â¤ď¸
~ Lauren â¤ď¸
Š Lauren Scott, Baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.
Sunrise calls early, an Alarm, golden, intense Tickling with its rays, sending an Undercurrent to venture outside and Renew spirits with beauty surrounding. Dive into nature’s inspiring offerings, Abandon heavy burdens in mind, Yesterday becomes todayâs gift.
Š Lauren Scott, Baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.
** An acrostic is a piece of writing in which a particular set of lettersâtypically the first letter of each line, word, or paragraphâspells out a word or phrase with special significance to the text. Acrostics are most commonly written as a form of poetry, but they can also be found in prose or used as word puzzles. While the most common type of acrostic is one formed by the initial letters of each line, there are many different types of acrostics with letters in different positions.
We’re heading for the trail this morning for a hike (my first since dealing with health changes in the last year). So, if you can, get outdoors to inhale the fragrance of nature and enjoy!
Have a lovely Saturday and weekend! Laurenâ¤ď¸â¤ď¸
I’m thrilled to share that my poem “Burdens to Buoyancy” is published on Gobblers & Masticadores today! Thank you to Manuela Timofte for believing in my workand providing the opportunity to be a monthly contributor to her literary site. I am in the company of so many talented writers. Thanks again, Manuela!
Burdens to Buoyancy
Stones of burdens can seem like pebbles⨠barely tripping us up in our routines,⨠but sometimes, theyâre boulder massive,⨠sliding us deeply into our heads⨠when the need to escape⨠from our own selves⨠becomes vital for our sanity.
We pause in our footsteps,⨠holding our breath, fighting tears⨠pushing as fiercely as a category five…
The rest of the poem can be read here, and as always, a BIG THANKS to all of you for your wonderful support!
Š Lauren Scott, BaydreamerWrites – All rights reserved.
Thank you for visiting, and I wish you a lovely day!â¤ď¸ Photo by Ir Solyanaya on Pexels.com
My latest collection of poetry, touching on nature, love, and the mysteries of life that would make a great for any holiday! Click on the image for your copy. Thank you! đ
I am thrilled to share that Spillwords Press has published my story âResilience is Her Saving Grace.” Thank you to Dagmara and her team for accepting my submission. It is a great honor to have my writing spotlighted again, and to be in the company of so many talented authors.This story is meaningful because it means I’ve stepped out of the poetry box to dabble in fiction. And while it is fiction, the topic is reality for so many people. It was my desire to end ‘her’ story with hope so that hope could take on a ripple effect for anyone experiencing a similar scenario. Thank you for reading…
Resilience is Her Saving Grace
The tempest held its vigil on the horizon but continued to fool her. Devotion in his eyes mesmerized her whole being, awakened every pulse in her body. Eyes that spoke the language of love where their future glowed like an apricot dawn. She bestowed her heart permission to be swept into his pools of blueâŚ
And yet, every day she anticipates the sting from his hand â the palm or back, makes no difference. The sting smarts like hell, but her heart secures the brunt of the damage. The slaps begin early each morning if she doesnât move fast enough to appease his caffeine demands. And it’s ironic that he chose âchaletâ for his cell alarm because the calming tone contrasts to his horrific demeanor. After he walks through the front door following a dayâs work, if she so much as smiles unknowingly to his disliking, his hand finds her cheek, and she feels the strike of skin even before impact. 5 p.m. on the mantel clock makes her heart pound as though trying to make a getaway.
You can read the rest of my story here, and if you can give it a â¤ď¸, I’d really appreciate your support! đ¤
You donât need to log in to give it a lovely â¤ď¸, but you do need to if youâd like to leave a comment. And I would love to read your thoughts, but either way, I would appreciate your time and support. Thank you so much! đ
Thank you again to Dagmara K. and her team! I am truly grateful! đˇ
Thank you for visiting, and I wish you a lovely day!â¤ď¸ Both photos are courtesy of Spillwords Press.
My latest collection of poetry, touching on nature, love, and the mysteries of life that would make a great for any holiday! Click on the image for your copy. Thank you! đ
I’m sharing this story again that ties into my review of Dawn’s book from my prior post. I hope you enjoy again if you’ve already read it.And if you’re reading for the first time, I hope it brings a smile or makes you laugh. đ
Dad saved my life when I was a little girl! He was my hero, and the unforgettable episode took place when my parents, sisters, and I were at our cabin for a weekend getaway in Big Bear, California. Sugar pines surrounded our little bungalow on the big corner lot in the mountains. We had just finished Momâs delicious lasagna dinner, and everyone was relaxing in their own way for the rest of the evening. With crayons, I was bringing to life a picture in my coloring book, sitting on our coffee-colored sofa by our stone fireplace, and thatâs when Dad noticed the spider on the cushion heading for me at lightning speed. He caught it just before it began the climb onto my leg. In those days, any spider who found itself inside our home didnât live to see the sunrise the next morning. This moment was traumatic for me, so spiders have been the bane of my existence ever since. Even in my teen years, spiders seemed to follow my every move!
These wee beasts spent much of their time in my bathroom with the sky-blue walls and plush soft matching rugs. Never did they tour my parentâs bathroom. My mind drifts to the morning when I was about to take a shower, getting ready for another day of high schoolâŚas I turned the knob and looked up, I watched a spider ride the waves of the cascading waterfall down, down, down. I jerked my head back just in time, and I cringed thinking of that eight-legged creature tangled up in my long brown hair.
Mornings began to fuel anxiety as spider social calls manifested soon after the crack of dawn. The sun brightened the sky and another high school day was on the horizon. I grabbed a towel to dry off after showering when I felt something unnatural. Looking down, I watched in horror as a brown spider scuttled across my chest. I jumped, avoiding a nasty fall in the tub, and brushed the spider off not caring where it landed. I just wanted it off my skin!
I think these creepy-crawlies watched for me so they could plan their next prank. During another shower with my head full of shampoo suds, I spotted a black spider near my feet. The routine my feet performed was not one of a happy dance! With a swish here and there, my foot managed to nudge the scary intruder down the drain with ripples of water. I imagined it whirling into the dark depth of the water system. I quickly rinsed the suds out. Just as I felt calm run through my body, I looked down and noticed that spider climbing out of the drain! This could only happen to me!
Iâm not afraid of fangs digging into me. Fear rears its ugly head when they appear out of the blue, startling me out of my wits! Any hope of building armor is hopeless. And they have too many legs; this, combined with their sudden movements of jumping or crawling at high-speed, send me into a tizzy, as my dad used to say. Also, spiders are not pretty. Not to me. The visual doesnât compare to the beauty of a butterfly. In fact, their creepy appearance propels me into a panic as much as their sudden company!
Even after five decades, I havenât been able to shake my skittish reactions. Even though Iâm a giant compared to the spider, with any fear, the source becomes magnified. So, Iâve diagnosed myself with arachnophobia. And the tale continuesâŚ
One incident took place later in life. Iâm now a wife and mom with two young children. On an evening like any other while my family was getting ready for bed, I walked through the house locking up. I turned the lights out in the living room, but noticed a dark spot the size of my palm on the carpet. I almost â almost – reached down to touch it, but a bell went off in my subconscious warning me not to. I turned on the light and staring back at me was a black hairy tarantula!
âOh, Shit!â I screamed, backing up slowly.
âUh, oh! A spider found mom!â My husband, Matt, said to our daughter and son, who thankfully, didn’t share my fear. But he silently questioned the kind of spider that would cause me to shriek. This scenario sounded different.
After I managed to widen the space between the tarantula and me, my feet felt like cement blocks. Fear crept into my veins like a drug. I had never seen a tarantula up close, although I was thankful it stayed put. It didnât budge. It was not afraid of me. What a fiasco if the tarantula had run! If it had, I would’ve run too! Heebie-jeebies creep up my arms imagining the leggy intruder finding comfort beneath the sofas (that I would never sit on again!).
Matt was taken back when he joined me in the living room and was surprised that I hadnât passed out! My daughter had instituted the trend of saving spiders with a glass and a paper plate. So, by grabbing those two items, Matt scooped up the uninvited guest while I held the door. Per my request, he walked far enough away from the house before setting the big guy free in the yard. No tarantula was killed in the telling of this event. Our front door had been open earlier in the evening with the screen door closed. Spiders can maneuver through any cracks, but how that tarantula the size of my palm squeezed through baffles me to this day!
A few weeks after Matt had introduced âHarryâ to his outdoor residence, my phobia eventually quieted down. Until recently when I sat at the kitchen table typing on my laptop. I noticed a spider crawling over the top of the screen. You have got to be kidding me! It was the color of vanilla and appeared like out of a horror flick, magnified by the white backdrop, growing to an enormous size – my skewed perception! Each leg made its way over the top! Since Matt was home, I yelled for his help. He grabbed the spider-saving tools but was too slow for the speedy spider who was off to the races! So, Matt lobbed the glass to me like we had teamed up for an egg toss! âOh no, I missed him, too!â
âHon, itâs just a spider,âMatt said with a smile and a pinch of courage. He knew Harryâs ugly image had been engrained in my mind, and no matter how much effort I exerted, it was stuck there forever. So, I couldnât believe my ears, just a spider, but I knew he was teasing.
As it happened, this spider was faster than lightning!
âHeâs on the floorâŚhand me the glass!âMatt tried again. âAhh, now I canât see him; he blends into the tile.â
âItâs time for the vacuum then; Iâm so sorry,â I said out loud. When I finished pushing the vacuum back and forth, relief washed over me because I assumed the spider had been swallowed into oblivion. Then guilt followed because we tried to save the creepy creatures. My emotions were mixed! I sat down at the table again, but not before examining my laptop with eagle eyes to ensure no more spiders needed screen time!
Five minutes later, I saw the spider again!
âOh my gosh, Honey, heâs following me!â
âWhoâs following you?â
âWho do you think is following me?!â
I ignored Mattâs razzing, but a chuckle managed to escape anyway. I grabbed the glass but missed the spider again. Good thing we werenât on a baseball team! The spider certainly had an agenda â still racing to an unknown destination and much faster than us. My eyes stayed focused on the little fellow as it headed for the living room. He must be having the time of his life â the furniture would be a stellar playground!
âJust watch, Iâll find him on my chair in the morning,â I said.
âCould be. Should I make a bigger pot of coffee?â Matt replied, as he hid behind a grin.
After all the commotion, I had survived because we didnât see the eight-legged visitor again, and extra coffee wasnât needed in the morning.
However, I admit and without apology that I donât step into the shower before peeking behind the curtain first. Overcoming this fear most likely wonât happen. But if I can save a spider, and manage to hang onto the glass while it skitters around, then make my way to the door to give it freedom, thatâs progress. Amazing progress! Once outside, I gently lay the glass down and with leg synchronicity, the spider crawls out heading to the roses and lantana, making us both sigh with relief.
Neither of my thumbs have ever been green for the garden, and the last thing I wanted to do was deliberately put my hands in a spiderâs haven. Nowadays though, Iâm in tune with the blooms, so I donât worry about the creepy-crawlies when Iâm offering the blooms a drink. Fear doesnât have the firm grip that it had in years past.
But have I conquered arachnophobia one hundred percent? No, but I realize this phobia doesnât prey only on me. Knowing Iâm not alone while learning to exist with arachnids, that some are good for gardens, and acknowledging that theyâre not out to get me is a work-in-progress. Iâve come a long way since that evening at the cabin when Dad saved my life. Maybe his reaction incited fear. Yet, if the spider had begun its ascent onto my leg, fear wouldâve hurled into full force anyway!
And so I wonder, had the spiders been laughing at me when their presence whirled me into a frenzy? My intentions were always good. I simply didnât want to be roommates. Laughing with me wouldâve been perfectly welcomed.
Š Lauren Scott, Baydreamerwrites.com â All rights reserved. Cute spider photo found on the web.
Thank you for stopping by, and for taking the time to read this lengthy story. Enjoy your weekend! â¤ď¸
My latest collection of poetry, touching on nature, love, and the mysteries of life that would make a great for any holiday! Click on the image for your copy. Thank you! đ