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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #1000369 added December 17, 2020 at 10:30am
Restrictions: None
December 17
For "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" 
Prompt: "The Nutcracker sits under the holiday tree. A guardian of childhood stories." Vera Nazarian
Write about the Nutcracker in your Blog entry today.
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The nutcracker is a tool to crack walnuts and other such nutty things, and I guess, it would make a nice gift while sitting under a tree, wrapped up in ribbons and tinsel.
The nutcracker is also a story written by E. T. A. Hoffmann, titled "The Nutcracker and the Mouse King." It was later made into a two-act ballet together with the music of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Russian choreographers. Although not popular in its first showing, the ballet has become a regular Christmas fare performed all over the world.
The ballet and the music was a dreamlike experience when I saw it for the first time and a few others after that. Recently however, it has become “too much of a good thing.” Still, I like its music and from it the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
For: "Space Blog"
Prompt: From Solace.Bring   "Still and Snow"
Do you like snow? Tell us about it.
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Snow is. Whether I like it or not, it comes down on us first beautiful and bold, then turning to ugly slush.
I used to love snow when we had house with a two-acre backyard secluded because of tall pine trees on its sides and several oaks in the middle. There was a clearing about 30 yards from the house where I had a rose garden and a small vegetable plot. After the snow would stop and a full moon would come up at night, the entire place looked like a fairyland out of this earth. That scene is etched inside my mind, and anytime I think of snow, I view that scene.
Yet, I didn’t like it when the snow came down harsh with the wind in a slanted or even a horizontal blur. It was like being invaded by some unearthly militia, paratrooping from the sky and covering everything dead or alive.
Where I live now, there is no snow. Do I miss it? Honestly, no. I don’t miss the cold. I don’t miss the circles we rubbed on the windowpanes just to take a peek at the outside. Yet, most of all, I don’t miss the shoveling.
Still, I have to admit. Snow is a pretty thing.
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