Morning frost and Sunday melodies. 

Morning mist sweeping through quiet streets, kissing frost embraced blades of luscious Green grass as a pale sun hides from sight, gathering Sunday morning thoughts on gentle melodies of songs gone by. And I watch the magpie, watching me and I know the ancient symbolism of its soul like the back of my expressive pen that pours ink haphazardly across the blank canvas of a soul awakening, sleeping, awakening and I hear the whispers of higher thought calling through droplets of dew quenching a thirst I cannot see and she is gone, her song echoing still…I watch the mist curling, swirling thick and heavy as an ancient, Druid perhaps, corner of my soul awakens at the soft call of home.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest. 

Lavender raindrops


It pit patters
a symphony across
flat roofs through
lush blades of grass.
Fragrant earth,
rich lavender,
Oh the lavender, how it
rises into the warm air.

I am one with
the universe, her scent
entwined with
my soul.
And oh how the
lavender warms

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words