Hello to Those who Grow Weary


Purple Flowers
The only serious thing about this post are the flowers, so I give honor to them for performing so beautifully, and thanksgiving to our Lord God for His bountiful blessings.

It began as a perfectly ordinary day. The sun came up, a cool breeze blessed those who were waked and had decided to stay up even though more alterations slip in when days are so scheduled, but I was optimistic. I stretched and yawned, toddled to the small room connected to my bedroom and proceeded to take care of the necessities. I looked at my ragged hair and pursuant to the kind of day I expected I smiled at myself and said “good morning, I’m Marie, who are you?” As there was no answer, I chuckled by my hearty view of life and returned to my bed. Don’t be concerned I said to no one in sight, because no one was; so saying, I plumped my multitude of pillows and moved right along.

I am a writer. Writers require lots of pictures or illustrations to set-off mere words, so I had decided, since time was with me, to search for pictures from Pexel on my computer, which is something like looking for an English pea in a comforter of air and feathers. I pressed the keys and nothing happened, so I tried again and the keys clicked happily and thus my first frown of the day managed to take charge, not just as a know-it-all but as a sudden premonition of nium-gathenum, or in more realistic words, optimistic nothingness. This having occurred with my first exhibited frown of the morning I felt time was challenging me in a race. However in the process of arguing with the computer, I had lost interest in hunting down pictures to describe what I was saying. Suddenly, time reminded me of the impossibility of winning a race with him so I gritted my teeth tucked in my ego and hit the keys.

It was obvious someone was in guidance. The typing moved along smoothly, my pictures were appearing as if from nowhere, and I was suddenly very pleased with myself. Uh-O. Big mistake, never, I repeat never claim credit. How it all came about I will never know, so I am switching from my Morning Perusal to a poem that turned up a day or so ago that I wrote on a hot day in July in…humm…uh, well, never mind, no one likes to remember the year this or that happened. I hope the survival of this poem will take the place of the end of that other story I was bent on putting to paper. Here it is! the title is…

The Telephone

Telephones are handy
Unless you’re fast asleep
Then you’ll yell into the mouth-piece
Of your Mother’s favorite niece.
“Don’t you ever sleep” I yell
‘And then you’ll hear her cry, and
The confusion of the encounter
Makes you sorry you didn’t…
Think, before saying “Hi”.

Picture by Marie from her garden
Poem by Marie Hunter Atwood 7/4/naim-gathenum

1 thought on “Hello to Those who Grow Weary

  1. The flowers are the only thing serious about this post, but it was fun doing. My honor, therefore goes to the flowers and my dedication to the Lord for the bounty of his many gifts; the flowers were first formed in the wilds of our acreage, and were transferred to the garden where the performed in magnificence.


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