THE WIND
AT MY CABIN DOOR
By Ross David Fortner, Jr.
Howl, mighty Wind,
Breath of winter come, knock upon my cabin door.
Beckon my soul to wander
Upon your mighty gale,
To enter into myself,
And find some solace, real.
Blow around my shuttered window,
Rattle . . .
The beginning of a brand new year puts most folks in a reflective mood-pondering over the past year and wondering what the new year has in store for us. After the bright festivities of the Christmas season, the year of 2016 seems to be off to a dismal . . .
I am back in the old Jenny Lind house of my childhood, and it is almost Christmas time. Waves of memories are washing over me.
It is snowing, and the wind is rising. It howls about the eaves of the house where the icicles hang in crystal spears and . . .
Blue skies and sunshine grace the last of our November days, yet there is a sharp bite in the air that gives the promise of colder weather to come. With its summit bathed in glory, Pilot Knob is a multicolored jewel shining in the sunlight this morning. . . .
The melancholy days are come,
the saddest of the year
With wailing winds and naked woods,
and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove,
the autumn leaves lie dead,
They rustle to the eddying gust
and . . .
Afar on the blue horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tints of the cornfield
And wild geese flying high.
All over upland and lowland,
The charm of the goldenrod,
Some of us call it autumn,
But others . . .
Matthew 5:44-45 “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you. Do good to them that hate you, pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you-“That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for He . . .
LIFE-LONG TIES OF FRIENDSHIP
MEMORIES
By Frank S. M. Samples
We are held in wonder as our years have left us old,
Of the friendships we have known and the ones we’re blessed to hold.
Though the web of years may dim the eye . . .
August has been called the bridge from summer to autumn. Well, we’ve crossed over now, and autumn can come in its fullness. It’s worth waiting for–this incomparable season in the West Virginia hills. It’s not only lovely to view, but it . . .
Summer’s ragged petticoat is showing as we slowly but surely drift toward autumn. Cornstalks are dying and turning brown, while purple ironweed makes its appearance in fields and meadows. The grandchildren are boarding the big yellow school buses, . . .
The evening sun dips below the horizon as another hot and humid day comes to a close. A pink tinge in the western sky is the only reminder that a bright sun ruled over the day, but twilight is closing in, and day is done.
The frantic pace of the day . . .
Summer sun is blazing down on our August days, but here and there are definite hints of autumn soon to come. Sprays of goldenrod are beginning to brighten up the road banks with their cheerful yellow, and Joe-Pye weed is blooming. There are many varieties . . .
Summer simmers along like the monotonous chirr of a jarfly, but here and there hints of autumn to come are already appearing. I found my first katydid this week, and son Andy says that he and daughter Taylor have been listening to the katydid chorus . . .
The thunderstorms keep coming, the grass keeps growing, the garden is saturated, and still it rains. Some of the vegetables are thriving, such as squash and cucumbers, which like this tropical weather, while our sweet pepper plants have succumbed to . . .
June’s blue moon shone last night, although at 5 o’clock this morning it was full and orange. Matthew called me outside to look at it, as wispy black clouds floated over the surface and clothed it in eerie shadows. As it sailed away over the horizon, . . .
Summertime weather simmers along as daisies bloom and leaves grow green and full on the trees. The hills surround and envelop us with rich greenery that protect and comfort us. I could never get used to the flatlands that seem to go on forever, but . . .
I wandered today to the hill, Maggie
To watch the scene below
The creek and the rusty old mill, Maggie
Where we sat in the long, long ago.
The green grove is gone from the hill, Maggie
Where first the daisies sprung
The old rusty mill is still, . . .
A yellow butterfly hovers over the Persian lilac bush, with its purple blooms swaying in the breeze. Purple and yellow seems to be the color scheme on this lovely spring day, with dandelions and violets vying for attention along the edge of the yard, . . .
The sun peeped up over Pilot Knob this morning, but was soon obscured by clouds that covered the sky. The air is warm and humid, with thunderstorms threatening to move into our hills. April showers are bringing forth May flowers, with little blue violets . . .
Warm weather is still hesitating on the threshold of spring, as if debating whether to enter or let winter weather linger a little longer. There is a rumor circulating through the hills that spring is truly coming back. It was first whispered to the . . .
The spring songbirds are lifting their voices in praise to their Creator this morning; they have deserted the feeder and are singing from the tree tops. Song of Solomon says it best, “For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The . . .
Bright sunshine glitters on a snowy landscape, and the sky is bright blue. It is a drastic change from yesterday’s gray, lowering clouds and snow that kept coming. It was a fluffy, soft snow that swiftly covered roads, rooftops and landscape. . . .
The very last day of February slides off the calendar, making way for the month of March. We are not sorry to see her go, as she has been a month full of wintertime surprises. A good old-fashioned winter, some folks say, as they waded through knee-high . . .
Bright sunshine glitters on a snowy landscape, and the sky is bright blue. It is a drastic change from yesterday’s gray, lowering clouds and snow that kept coming. It was a fluffy, soft snow that swiftly covered roads, rooftops and landscape. . . .
The sun is shining brightly on our hills today, although a wayward wind is laced through the sunshine. The cardinals are squabbling over the bird feeder, but it seems to be the females that are doing the fussing. I heard them singing early this morning, . . .