It’s been a rough few days. I am very happy to report that my nearly 80-year-old father is now bionic. On Friday night, he was admitted to the hospital with a heart rate that was below 50bpm and was dipping into the 20s. Tuesday, they put in a pacemaker. He is coherent again and a much nicer color. But now he’s cranky that they aren’t going to let him go back to work immediately. I’m of the opinion that he needn’t ever go back, but that’s not the way he is made.
In any event, I’ve been a little lax on this blog. And the house really needs to be cleaned. And the reading list is sort of daunting. So there’s the usual backlog of work after anything to do with hospital stays. But at least I got the garden cleaned up in between pacemaker installation and today’s electrical storm. Lugh is throwing down with that lightning spear of his this week!
Wednesday Word
for 21 July 2021
storm
You can respond in the comments below or make a Twitter post to the Wednesday Word. Either way, begin your response with #storm. Your response can be anything made from words. I love poetry, but anything can be poetic and you needn’t even be limited to poetics. An observation, a story, a thought. Might even be an image — however, I am not a visual person and I am utterly uninterested in GIFs. A picture is not worth a thousand words to my mind. In the spirit of word prompts, it’s best if you use the word; but I’m not even a stickler about that. Especially if you can convey the meaning without ever touching the word.
If responding in Twitter, you are limited to the forms of Twitter. I would prefer that there be no threads because that is difficult. So if you have something long, post it in the comments below. That said, please don’t go too long. Keep it under 2000 words. I’m not going to count, but I’m also not promising to read a novel. Unless it’s really good!
If I receive something particularly impressive, I’ll post it next week. If not, well, that’s fine too. I know you all are busy. But if you’ve read this far, then I’ve made you think about… storm.
the crash into silence
the maelstrom of our making approaches
whirling eddies of annihilation
being vanishing into the void
they will never return
and what is the cost of the loss
of a butterfly
the broken wings that ne’er
beget the winds
what is the toll taken
when the hive is forsaken
how will we know our deprivation
when we do not know our plenitude
the storm approaches
but we will not see
until we feel the menacing silence
©Elizabeth Anker 2021
By My Solitary Hearth 