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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. Kiya's gift. I love it!
Everyday Canvas
Kathleen-613's creation for my blog

"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN


Blog City image small

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.

David Whyte


Marci's gift sig










This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.

December 1, 2023 at 2:25pm
December 1, 2023 at 2:25pm
#1060393
Prompt:
Let this quote inspire your entry: "Snow flurries began to fall and they swirled around people's legs like house cats. It was magical, this snow globe world." — Sarah Addison Allen
Have fun!


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Anything about cats, especially those cats that "swirl around people's legs," is like heaven and I'm mush. On the other hand, I don't have the same positive feeling about snow. True, it looks good and fancy, but I've shoveled enough snow in my past and shivered enough in the cold to find a soft spot in my heart for snow.

Yet, the best kind of snow is the one that is captured and incarcerated inside a snow globe. That globe, a fragile sphere of glass, captures a fleeting moment in time in a scene that transports me to a serene and magical landscape.

I like to shake the snow globes just to watch the flurry of those tiny snowflakes dance and twirl, while the world under inside the glass is transformed into a winter wonderland. There, the rooftops of charming cottages are crowned with glistening icicles, and smoke curls from chimneys into the crisp, cold air while people stroll through the village square bundled up in scarves and hats as their children play on the snow. Even with the depiction of people here, a sense of stillness is in this setting, as if a world untouched by time that is made to stay inside a perpetual winter scene.

Is this really a world of tranquility and nostalgia with quiet reflection and enchantment? Or is it a miniature, fake universe created for our momentary escaping from the real world? I bet the answer is yes to both.

As for me, I'd rather watch the snow inside a snow-globe rather than braving it in a real wintry scene. After all, this world in snow is hushed, beautiful, and I don't feel the cold.


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