A Picture Book About Time, Love, and Being Grand By R. Bronte Brown
FMF: Longing My Gran: The Grandest in the Universe grew out of a longing I’ve felt at every stage of family life. As a child, I knew the freedom of being fully present. As a parent, I experienced the intensity and exhaustion of raising children. As a grandparent, I discovered a gentler joy, one rooted in time, patience, and deep love.
This story reflects my memories of childhood, raising my own children, and now watching my grandchildren grow. Each stage carries its own kind of joy and its own kind of loss. Childhood passes. Children grow. Grandchildren leave, and the house grows quiet again.
In today’s fast-paced world, time with family often feels rushed and fragmented. This book imagines a space where time slows down, where generations overlap, and where love is not measured by clocks or schedules.
At its heart, this story explores how families both fulfill us and awaken longing, a longing for what has been, what is fleeting, and what endures beyond time. For me, that longing ultimately points heavenward, toward a love that is complete, unhurried, and eternal.
This story is on submission and may not be reproduce, sold or used in any commercial avenue.
Page 4: Dedication
Grandbabies create— a rite of passage where parents become Grand.
Title Page 5 My Gran: The Grandest in the Universe A Picture Book About Time, Love, and Being Grand By: Rhonda Brown
Spread 1: Page 6-7 (Hook)
My Gran is the grandest. She's my shining star. Hi, I’m Annaleigh
Page 7 (Surprise)
My Gran is an alien. Oh, not the kind from outer space. She’s from another time and place. Mom calls it yesteryears. Tick-Tock / Tock-Tick
Spread 2: Page 8-9 (Time Shift)
At Gran’s house, time slows down and busyness disappears.
The old and the new blend in a cosmic way. Tock-Tock-Tock
Both the past and present are a part of who I am, and that makes me special. Gran's phone sits holstered.
But I'm never bored. I made the mistake of saying so once. (Illustration: Annaleigh whispering to the reader)
Spread 3 Pages 10-11 (Action +Play)
Gran swished me off to hunt for hidden treasures with only one clue. Gran calls it The Boardroom Challenge. I call it serious business.
Spread 4: Pages 12-13 (Imagination + Games)
The Boardroom Challenge: What lies beyond its borders takes wit and cunning to master. Yet, the cleverest of braves find a way to contend with the game-meister. Enter here.
Gran is the game wizard, and I'm the assigned scorekeeper.
We battle with carriers, crazy eights, and checkers. With a bit of strategy and luck, I win.
I am a whiz-kid at checkers. "Crown me!"
Spread 5: Pages 14-15 (Signature Moment)
But when it comes to marbles, Gran exists in a world all her own. Her marbles have names: Galaxy. Stardust. Blue Ice. Jupiter. Pearl!
We set the playing field— then disrupt the universe. She is the brightest star in the universe.
Spread 6: Pages 16-17 (Time Rules)
At Gran's house, we follow rules for time and space, but not in any particular order. We buckle up, watch the moon rise, ride through meteor showers, and watch the sun peek over the horizon.
We sleep till noon.
Spread 7: Page 18-19 (Food = Joy + Control)
Breakfast may come for dinner, dinner for lunch, and a snack for supper. The best thing?
I choose my veggies— cooked or raw, with my favorite dipping sauce and sweet corn on the cob.
I flatten my pizza dough into a moon-shaped disc. Then add my favorite toppings: pizza sauce, cheesy cheese, and a pepperoni moon face.
No onions, please. How cool is that!
Spread 8: Pages 20-21 (Ritual + Sound)
Peel, double whop- POP!
My job is to open the biscuit can, lay each biscuit on the cutting board, and slice it in half with a butter knife. Gran fries them up, light and golden.
I sprinkle stardust— crispy and warm. Yum!
Spread 9: Pages 22-23
Other rules are hard to remember: I forget to brush my teeth or hang the towel after a shower, or wash my hands with soap.
Growing up means learning something new every day. I mess up. I'm sad when I do. Yet-
Spread 10: Pages 24-25 (Reassurance)
Gran's shoulder is there to remind me that growing up takes time. I can't do it all at once.
Sweetest Gran in the universe.
Spread 11: Pages 26-27
Gran says quirky things like, "Spots on leopards don't change." “Good manners are free." Never leave the house without putting on your face. I don’t always get it.
Gran says my face is perfect. I'm always good to go.
I'm cool with that.
Spread 12: Pages 28-29 (Love Made Visible)
"Yeah, Mom's here." Mom sees smudges shining on the glass door. "Uh-oh!" Gran and I made those flowers with hot-air breaths and glittered fingertips. They sparkle like a prism bouquet in the sunlight. Mom grabs the window cleaner.
“Leave them there,” Gran says. “Annaleigh made those for me.”
I am loved.
Spread 13: Pages 30-31 (Generational Time)
We sit and watch old movies together.
Is that me? No!
It's Mamma giggling with Granny Sue swinging from my tree. Tock-Tock-Tick
Spread 14: Pages 32-33 (Goodbye) Time resets. The clock chimes.
Time to go.
Hugs and kisses and sweet goodbyes. "See you soon, Gran," I say with one last hug.
Spread 15: Pages 34-35 (Understanding)
As we head back to my everyday world, a question pops into my head. “Mom, why do you say Gran is an alien?” “That’s bits of silliness, dear.
Gran said the same thing about Granny Sue. Granny Sue and I were best buddies— like you and Gran. Grandparents have a special love for their grandchildren.”
Spread 16: Pages 36-37 (Resolution)
“Now I understand. Parents are parents,” I say, “and Gran is Grand.”
Both the past and present are part of who I am. And that makes me special.
One day, I hope to be an alien just like my Gran.
Final Spread: 38-39 (Echo Ending)
Grandbabies create— a rite of passage for parents to become Grand.
An alien kind of love.
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6 responses to “My Gran is the Grandest in the Universe”
I have noticed over the last couple of weeks that the link you add to FMF does not bring the reader directly to the post. It’s not a big deal to me but you may be losing readers who don’t want to spend the extra time searching for the connected post,
I’ve noticed the same thing. When I click on the link I get a message that the page did not exist. I had to actually go to your blog and do a search for the title and it took me here, which I’m not sure is actually what you intended to post. It looks like a draft to a children’s book you wrote. I did enjoy reading it though.
That was my fault…It had an error in the title and would not let me correct it, so it is reloaded to the right of it. . I’m checking with WordPress because last week someone couldn’t access the upload. Please let me know if it happens again.
The word for today was longing. Longing, time spent with family and how it is lost in today’s world. I wrote this story with memories of my childhood, my childrens and my grandchildren. I remember the fun I had as a child, raising my kids and the ease of having grandchildren. Families fulfill and create longing. I think it is representative of longing for heaven.
My Gran: The Grandest in the Universe grew out of a longing I’ve felt at every stage of family life. As a child, I knew the freedom of being fully present. As a parent, I experienced the intensity and exhaustion of raising children. As a grandparent, I discovered a gentler joy—one rooted in time, patience, and deep love.
This story reflects my memories of childhood, raising my own children, and now watching my grandchildren grow. Each stage carries its own kind of joy—and its own kind of loss. Childhood passes. Children grow. Grandchildren leave, and the house grows quiet again.
In today’s fast-paced world, time with family often feels rushed and fragmented. This book imagines a space where time slows down, where generations overlap, and where love is not measured by clocks or schedules.
At its heart, this story explores how families both fulfill us and awaken longing—longing for what has been, what is fleeting, and what endures beyond time. For me, that longing ultimately points heavenward, toward a love that is complete, unhurried, and eternal.
Rhonda Brown Faith-forward Picture Book Parable 1335 Montana Drive WC 450 Conway, AR 72034 leighbrontebrown2@gmail.com Word Press: https://brontebrown2.com/ X: @RhondaLBrown2
Age Range: 5-8 years old Faith-based/ Inspirational/ Read Aloud
Theme: This story explores the classic omnipotence paradox through a child’s conversation with God, revealing God's nature in a clear, relational way. Story my not be sold or reproduced. It is on query. Full Story below. ---------------------------
A Riddle in a Paradox: A Conversation with the Father By Rhonda Bronte Brown
Pages 5 (Hook) Some children grow up wrapped in hugs. Some hear bedtime stories every night. And some children wonder what love is supposed to feel like.
Pages 6-7 (Hook to inciting moment) One day, a quiet boy named Tom was thinking big thoughts- thoughts about family, thoughts about love, thoughts about truth.
Some thoughts felt confusing.
Pages 8-9 (Inciting Moment) “Hello, Tom,” said a deep, gentle voice. Tom looked up. “Do I know you?” “Not yet,” said the man. “But you have heard of Me.”
Pages 10-11 ( The Big Question) Tom studied Him for a moment. “Oh, you’re God, the one everyone talks about.” “Yes.” Tom took a breath. “I have a question.” “I like questions,” God said.
“Is it true that you can do anything?” “Yes,” God replied. “I created the heavens and the earth.” Curiosity tugged at Tom’s heart. “Is there anything You can’t do?” “Yes.”
Pages 12-13 (Paradox Introduction ) Tom’s eyes widened. He was not expecting that answer. “How can both be true?” Tom asked. “It is called a paradox.” Tom looked puzzled. “That means two surprising things can both be true,” God added.
Pages 14-15 (Imagination to meaning) “Here’s a riddle for you,” said God. “Imagine I made a rock so big that it would be impossible to pick up.” Tom thought big. He stretched his arms wide. “Humongous- bigger than a mountain, bigger than the moon.”
Pages 16-17 (Bedrock Explanation) God laughed, the kind of laugh that made Tom feel safe. “Yes. And one more—a solid rock,” God said. “A bedrock.” Tom blinked. “What’s a bedrock?” Tom nodded. “It is a rock of truth,” God said. “Like Me.” “Why a bedrock?”
Pages 18-19 (Truth vs Lies- Insight) “Because I spoke truth when I made the world,” God explained. “Truth is what the world stands on.” Tom was quiet. “So you cannot lie?” “I cannot.” God’s voice grew quiet. “Lies slip through like water on sand.”
Pages 20-21 (Insight) “They wash things away, even the things the heart wants to keep,” He said. Tom thought for a moment. “So truth keeps lies from taking root,” Tom said softly.
Pages 22-23 (Choice & Free will) “Yes,” God replied. “Truth stands strong.” Tom looked up. “How can I know it is really You?” “I am always here,” God said gently. “But it is your choice to see Me.” Tom thought for a moment. “Why do I decide?”
Pages 24-25 (Truth vs Free will) “Because love must be freely given,” God said. “I did not make you like a tree, rooted in one place. I made you with a heart- to come close or turn away.”
Pages 26-27 “And when you follow truth,” God added gently, “your heart stands safe, built on the solid rock of what is real.”
“I feel safe with You," Tom said.
Pages 28-29 (Resolution) Tom looked down, thinking. “So the riddle wasn’t really about the size of the rock.”
“It was about your heart,” God said, “and what you choose to build upon.”
“It’s up to me,” Tom said. “Always,” God replied. Tom smiled.
Theme: This story explores the classic omnipotence paradox through a child’s conversation with God, revealing God's nature in a clear, relational way.
Philosophical Question: If all things are possible for God, then can God create a rock so big that it is impossible for Him to pick up? Scripture Reference:
Hebrews 6: 17-20 – “…God, desiring even more to show to the heirs of promise, the unchangeableness of His purpose, interposed with an oath, in order that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we may have strong encouragement. This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast and one which enters within the veil, where Jesus entered as a forerunner for us…”
Reflection / Takeaway: The two unchangeable things: His purpose rooted in truth, and that God cannot lie. He gave an oath to anchor our souls to hope, to Him.
edits: A father's love guides us, wrapping us in hugs. But what if you never sat on your father's lap, never held his hand in kindness, never felt a hug for love's sake? This riddle is for you.
short version: A father's love guides us, wrapping us in hugs. Yet, some children may wonder what it feels like to be hugged for love’s sake This riddle is for them.
edits: “Why me?” “Because love must be chosen freely,” God said.
How? “I am always here,” God said gently. “It is your choice to see Me.” “So, I choose.” “Yes, I did not make you like a tree, rooted in one place. I made you with a heart that can feel and a will that can choose to know Me.
Note: Love built on the solid rock of truth sustains the heart. Truth remains when lies wash and wear away the heart. It is the boy's heart seeking truth when it is hard to find.
Synopsis: When Annaleigh steps into the Cedarville Library, she never expects to see a bespectacled elephant holding a book. But when Eleanor, the library’s magical Storykeeper, disappears, Annaleigh and her friend Riley set off on an adventure through swirling aisles and skies filled with story gems. Guided by Eleanor, the girls discover that the greatest treasures are in the stories themselves.
Why am I the one to tell this story? Annaleigh and the Library of Hidden Treasures is a whimsical adventure that celebrates imagination, friendship, and the magic found in libraries. I wrote this especially for Literary Night as the elementary school counselor. For each class, I read this story, discussed how to select a library book, and encouraged students to imagine their reactions to seeing a magical elephant.
How it begins:
End Pages:[Illustration: Characters peek from book lined shelves]
PAGES 3-4 TITLE SPREAD Annaleigh and the Library of Hidden Treasures By: Rhonda Brown
PAGE 5 The Cedarville Library smelled of stories, turning pages, and ink-whispered adventures. Tiny gems twinkled in the sunlight between the shelves. Annaleigh took two small steps inside. The air inside tingled with magic. Annaleigh gasped.
PAGE 6-7 Shimmering in the sunlight stood an elephant, wearing glasses and holding a book! She winked, then, Poof! The elephant disappeared. Annaleigh peered down every aisle. Ahh, there…
Seasonal Rhythms Autumn falls silent under the evening snow Sheltered seeds don winter’s coat below Spring buds pop their heads, winter snaps not yet March winds howl for spring’s warmth Worm Moon signals the nightcrawlers to rise Daylight and darkness reach a duality Equilux achieved, permafrost relents Sleepy pods shed winter’s dark cloak Pollinizers emit an earthy scent Spring pollinators take flight Sunrays titillate Terra’s loam Touching life’s impetus
Winter’s Lace
Vibrant winter blooms cast against a snowy canvas, beneath brooding skies
First snow, falling softly, Amaryllis’ view from the window, whisper-warm
A little ray of sunshine, melancholy banishment Winter jasmine.
Persistence cold dancing flurries Pansies thrive.
Deep into winter Primrose’s delightful colors, stark against the snow
Varied highs and lows, February vacillates, Snowdrops appear.
Narcissus’ beauty shines for all to see, defying winter’s hold
Colorful and sweet Pansies’ cousin, Viola, a winter survivor.
Glory-of-the-Snow, star-shaped and whimsical, greets winter’s end.
Nature’s Fury
a prelude whirlybirds in the wind bliss ignorance
whispered chaos swirls distance rumbles forewarn, sirens fill the air
wrapped by clouded storms, dark tornadoes, the March winds rumble
nature’s beauty shines from the eyes of the beholder beware of black bears
wintry winds whistling a graceful genuflection, mid-winter dance
the morning light hums dreams prance in dawn's shadow, the young at-heart dream
Death and Dementia
Fear and darkness abide side-by-side, hiding the old crone of despair. Cohorts of hatred entrench themselves against the light. Incoherent thoughts rattle the brain, searing the heart. Stirred agitation summons dementia.
Death grins from the abyss, as the human soul withers. Yet, darkness recoils at the light. The old crone flees, abandoning despair. Defeated, Death returns to the abyss.
Light dispels darkness. Love’s glow sparks hope. Life embraces the soul.
Winter folds a tree-- into a counterfeit death gray, bony, lifeless. Better than Starbucks, February 2022 Publication p. 41
Imagine
Sitting on the back porch swing, high in the Ozark Mountains, I feel the last remnants of the cool morning breeze wafting in. The deciduous trees that blanket the rolling hills vibrate with vibrant colors. White clouds hang in the pale blue sky, hinting at rain in their underbelly.
Tree limbs sway gently in the wind, and leaves rustle momentarily before falling silent. A red-headed woodpecker glides past, wings outstretched as it easily navigates the air currents. With slight turns among the branches, it soon disappears.
Birds sing their early morning melodies, hidden from sight. From the clouds above, shaded areas dot the mountainside, providing a cool retreat from the day’s heat. As nature dances in the wind, life thrives in the warmth of the sunlight.
Yet, amidst this bountiful backdrop of life stands a stark contrast: a giant dead stick, gray, bony, and lifeless. Its haggard branches extend outward, out of place, and exposed. This lifeless form yearns for the cloak of winter, embodying a facade of counterfeit sleep.
Winter’s Deep Sleep
winter's shield hoarfrost, snow blanket survive or succumb
silence broken winter creaks lost footfalls
relentless onslaught freezing, thawing, footfalls of a screed heart
[relentless onslaught of a screed heart freezing, thawing, lost]
safely tucked under subnivean snow, revealing rain
snow falling lightly
dreams prance on silver moonbeams, nestled deep, all sleep
Night Treasures
the night sky frolics under silvery moonbeams in stillness, dreams come
dancing in joyous leaps, dreams skate on imaginative trails, hidden sky treasures
night recedes behind the stars no thought to pending troubles, tomorrow sleeps
wintry winds whistling a graceful genuflection, mid-winter dance
Winter Solstice
motionless sun the darkest moment light breaks through
climactic pause night tide meets at Winter's gate light concatenates
the sun stands still, a brief magical moment winter begins
Psithurism Wind
burnt, buff, earthy, ushering in sienna hues, autumn's display
a shimmering dance a seasonal rain blurred lines
tree whispers back-porch sharing changing seasons
leaf-whistles, needles oscillate in a psithurism wind
wintry winds whistling a graceful genuflection, Autumn's last dance
Eventide falls on one mountain range as dawn rises on another.
Apposite
morning’s blush slips through the mizzling mist
The Troubadour's Song
As Judas, in his willful rejection, walked daily beside Jesus, a contrasting hope was about to be born. Judas’ callous heart longed for an earthly king, which led to betrayal with a sealed traitorous kiss.
Blind ignorance prevailed. The Pharisees denied their Messiah, and Jerusalem cried out, unable to see.
A despairing loss, overcome by fear, caused hope to flee. Peter denied Him. Overwhelming grief filled John. He could not contain his tears as his Messiah died. Dementia cried out. Darkness enveloped the cross as death’s grip shook the earth.
We, too, walk daily beside the true Messiah, unmoved by the truth and unable to see the light of hope.
With a heightened sense of loss and impending danger, man’s despair descended to hell’s depths. Their dreams captured by death, nailed to an old wooden beam. A tragic story with an untold ending.
Yet,
The morning light hummed with renewed hope. The eternal, wrapped in clay, set Terra free. The Troubadour sang, illuminating the darkness with the song of salvation.
A dream no longer, the day wakes with understanding. His message rang true: a gift of grace freely given.
The church’s song is the gospel story of God’s eternal plan. When the harvest is complete, marking the end of the church age, Israel will again have a hand in redeeming man.
IF
A question, If rain no longer fell, would tears cease to flow? If blue dropped from the sky, would a smile return? If darkness engulfs the world, would light find its way? If longing is understood, would yearning fade? If sadness disappeared, would you be free?
An Answer Rev. 21:4 I will dry your eyes; I am the world's light. Isaiah 41:13 I will help you when cannot cope. God will carry you in His hand. Ps 119:105 Your word will guide my feet and light my way. Eph 6:11 Armor up, God will stand by your side. Ex 14:14 I will fight your fight. Deut. 31:6 I will hold you tight; you belong to Me Ps 56:8 I have bottled all your tears. You are free.
An Epic Event
Snow blanketed the landscape with deep, powdery white flakes. This was not the typical crusty flurries that barely make a snowman, but perfectly delicate snow so fluffy and light that it beckoned you to step out and play. Icicles hung in a row across the roof. The trepidation about a significant winter event melted away by a sense of wonder at the beauty of this rare snowfall.
Birds swirled and swooped, forming a collective. A round of robins landed in the backyard. An echo of mockingbirds congregate on the limbs of an old River Birch tree out front. A conclave of cardinals sat along the fence row, as a cloud of blackbirds landed in the trees behind the fence.
It was this sight that piqued my curiosity—birds gathering in unusual clusters. Yet, they seemed to be ignoring the scattered birdseed. Why? The ground was covered in snow and devoid of food. It was as unusual as a fifteen-inch snowfall for hungry birds not to eat. This was fascinating to watch. Clueless as to why the birds waited, the answer came suddenly.
A robin swooped in to catch a water droplet from an icicle in mid-flight. Adding to the intrigue, other birds joined in.
With their usual water sources frozen, birds migrated in flocks, searching for water. As I filled water trays and scattered them around the yard, I saw a bigger picture of nature's workings. A simple solution to the problem was provided. Still, it was a rare moment to witness the shared struggle for survival in the face of adversity. The birds drank, ate, and then disappeared.
Though clueless, God was not. Seeing a bird catching a water droplet in mid-air was fantastic and incredible. But more importantly, it was my clue to see an epic event. Cold, still, frosty white
The glistening sun stirs, icicle droplets drip amid a frozen field.
Winter’s fountain flowing freely, ready for an acrobatic display; cardinals drink mid-stream.
As Judas, in his willful rejection, walked daily beside Jesus, a contrasting hope was about to be born.
Judas’ callous heart longed for an earthly king, which led to betrayal with a sealed traitorous kiss.
Blind ignorance prevailed. The Pharisees denied their Messiah, and Jerusalem cried out, unable to see.
A despairing loss, overcome by fear, caused hope to flee. Peter denied Him.
Overwhelming grief filled John. He cannot contain his tears as his Messiah died.
Dementia cried out. Darkness enveloped the cross as death’s grip shook the earth.
We, too, walk daily beside the true Messiah, unmoved by the truth and unable to see the light of hope.
Heartbreaking loneliness, man’s despair descended to hell’s depths, impending sense of loss.
YET,
The morning light hummed with renewed hope. The eternal, wrapped in clay, set Terra free. The Troubadour sang, illuminating the darkness with the song of salvation.
His message rings true: a gift of grace freely given honors choice. The church’s song is the gospel story of God’s eternal plan.
When the harvest is complete, marking the end of the church age, Israel will again have a hand in redeeming man.
The Christmas Story: The Arrival of the Troubadour
The Arrival of the Troubadour
Anticipation filled the air. To the Father’s delight, Emmanuel was born as a beacon in a world shrouded in darkness. The Eastern Star shone brightly through the night, illuminating the path to future hopes.
The Word sang a melody for my heart, a beautiful and poignant tune that resonates within the soul. For those with ears to hear, it was soft and gentle. Like the tiny beats of a hummingbird’s wings, a whispered message arrived.
Gabriel announced the arrival of the King; Jesus dwelt among us. The prophecies of old were fulfilled, awakening a sanguine hope for mankind’s redemption.
The longing for heaven’s echo of the Troubadour’s aria in a songless world. The dawning light of a new beginning quenches our thirst, bringing renewed hope in man’s redemption story.
Beginning of a New Year
The dawning light of a new beginning slates our thirst.
Arousing a sanguine hope for the coming year.
A salubrious optimism laced with intent, tempered.
Title: ’Un-Bee-Lievable’ Flower Facts: Polly Pollinizer reporting from your local garden. By Bronte Brown
Hi, I am Polly Pollinizer, reporting on 'un-bee-lievable' facts all flowers know!
Meet the busiest pollinators around the world. Bees are extraordinarily skilled at foraging flowers. Flowers have a hidden motif that only bees see using X-ray vision. Positively stunning!
Bees vibrate their wings so fast that they buzz and shake pollen all over their tiny bodies. Anyone ticklish?
Lavender flowers create an extra scent, especially for honeybees. Bees get so excited that they beeline it to the hive and waggle dance—just for flowers!
Bees are the busiest unless it rains. Imagine being hit by raindrops twice your size. But wait!
Bees are whiff masters. Bees smell the rain before it falls. Un-bee-lievable!
Which superpower would you choose: super-shaker, X-ray vision, waggle dancer or whiff master? "Me?" "I'd be a waggle dancer!' Polly Pollinizer, reporting live from your local garden. See you next week."
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https://giphy.com/gifs/supersimple-bees-MdM6yOgUWBPQkTm2du Honey Bee Bees GIF by Super Simple
Spring Fling Writing Contest April 1, 2025
6:54:33 Time posted on Spring Fling- Now I can find it again. Thank you to Ciara O’Neal, Kaitlyn Leann Sanchez, prize donors, and readers for the amazing Spring Fling Kidlit Contest!
6 responses to “Un-Bee-Lievable Flower Facts: Polly Pollinizer reporting from your local garden.”
Thank you for the sweet story and lovely invitation to Spring not just with your words but youse beautiful website as well! I feel like I’m out in the gardens breathing in all the fresh air around me!
Adorable! A great way to have an early education science moment in the classroom during the spring time. It sounds like great READ ALOUD picture book an educational video on software or a PBS kids show.
The sky looks down with the dark eye of a new moon; spring buds pop their heads. Winter snaps, not yet. March Moons howl for seasonal winds that breathe change. Terrestrial tides collide, and winter gives way. Sun and moon stand poised.
Worm Moon signals the nightcrawlers to rise and stir the loam, breaking free of the frozen dirt. Spring Moon stirs the sleepy pods to shed winter's coats and stretch their fertile roots. The Sugar Moon coaxes the sweet maples to release their sugary sap.
Permafrost relents. Skywatchers eagerly anticipate the moons of March.
A morrowless day arriving on the equinox perfectly balanced -- Spring arrives.
Sky Treasures With a crescent wink and radiating argent hues, the night sky wakes. Tomorrow sleeps while silver beams thread through the darkness, inviting whimsy to skate on imaginative trails. Dreams dance.
Slow, quick-quick, slow- a small step etched with sandy footprints. Chimerical images skirt golden pathways across a sea of midnight blue. From Ganymede's summit, a breathtaking view is suspended momentarily.
Laced with ice feathers, dreams frolic on through the night sky, searching for sky treasures. Stories lie quiet in star streams as wide-eyed tales fill the mind's eye. Tomorrow wakes.
dreams dance on silvery moonbeams, tomorrow sleeps
@TopTweetTuesday Write about moons in our Solar System without using the word moon.
March 4: Otherworldly
Darkness without night, a time with no view, quiet and contemplative breath, a word is spoken. A ripple of energy swirls and twirls; light breaks a new dawn.
Free and unfettered, the universe releases showers of thunderous speech, oozing liquid sunshine. The tug-a-war begins.
Light bursts forth, raining stars stream around Orion's belt. Sol joins the dance, separating night and day, laying its boundaries.
Solstice's scintillating rays stretch summer's boundaries as nighttide catenates. Midwinter, in a brief magical moment, light concatenates at winter's gate.
Imagining a never-seen ribbon of time- the universe whispers its story.
Psalms 139:12 and Genesis 1:1-3
From Top Tweet Tuesday: Strong start on the WIP. Have a go at surprising similes / metaphors within your descriptiveness, a couple of lesser known words. Dramatic sound patterning! Max out the invention!
Planetary Parade "Line up," Universe calls out, "Earth is watching."
Orange blossoms a delicate scent of lingering love
Planetary Parade "Line up," Universe calls out, "Earthsky is watching."
short version Earthsky watches Universe readies Showtime
titivate- make small enhancing
High Noon Every Wednesday Tornado Sirens #HaikuSaturday
Bordering Mamaw’s cotton field Besides Mamma's fence, now my backyard delight, Daffodils.
Morning stillness Rhythmic movement Zephyr and leaf I wrote this the day I buried my brother. Haiku Genius picked it up today. It is beautiful.
rhythmic rocking, steady breathing while sleeping, life with a newborn
living in the moment of childhood, a father sees the era.
sweet benison, sunlit air and golden rain, in a prismatic wash
spring light sparkles through a prismatic rainbow, a leprechaun's slide
spring sparkles revealing a sky slide leprechauns delight
The morning sun pours over the windowsill, tingling my face. Particles dance in the sunlight. [ A fuzzy image forms of Gramps 😅--standing de rigueur in overalls, wearing fishing cap.
a warblers' echo shimmering in the mist, morning descant
ending with a soft adagio of a mourning dove, coo-Coo-coo, coo-ah
With the last harvest winter comes, the weary soul find rest.
@Blue_Owl #HaikuSaturday Grace
Winter grants Fall's wish for an encore flower dance, frost procrastinates.
Summer's warmth lingers. Harvest-in, farmer's delight- Sweet whispers of thanks.
Winter winds whistling Indian Summer's last stance Bowing gracefully Posted Haiku Foundation for Early Harvest Aug 2022
Indian Summer Harvest-in, farmer's delight- Sweet whispers of thanks.
The Last Harvest By RL Brown
Wind rustles the leaves Trees shimmer yawning deeply Anticipation
Autumn equinox, the balance of light and dark, time juncture converts.
Turn your face eastward. Fall moon on the horizon blazing aureate hues.
(short version) Face eastward Harvest moon rises radiating aureate hues
Extravagant colors! A migratory birds last song. Light wanes for evening.
Nature's splendor yields a harvest of abundance, Thankfulness expressed.
Inner autumn calls, time to embrace season’s change. The wind howls for rest.
Light narrows yet shines. Truth displayed for all to see, God’s bountiful grace.
Counterfeit death nears. The last harvest, winter comes. Weary souls find rest.
frozen heart a kind touch melting point
When your soul has lost the fear of God’s design, you travel the road of fools.
When your soul’s meaningful purpose is lost, you search for your significance.
When you separate your soul from your heart, you fall into depths of despair.
When your soul is empty, you fill it with things.
When your soul yearns for love, you sacrifice your character.
But...
When your soul listens for God's whisper, you discern the words of the fool.
When your soul is filled with meaning, you find your purpose.
When your soul is linked to Jesus, you are filled with understanding.
When your soul is full, you pour out God’s wondrous love.
When your soul is loved, you stand your ground.
Truth-
Jesus is the solid rock, immovable and perfect.
God’s design is for you to know HIM.
The first time I saw a dead body was in the woods. Uncle Rufus open coffin sat where the porch swing once hung. The rusted ceiling bolts reminded me of what once was. That old dingy porch framed a poignant image. Unintentionally, I took a mental snapshot. I stood and stared. Death barred the doorway entrance. The splattered sunlight melded with the shadows. The white wood planks faded into the background as if engulfed in sadness. The inner light was gone. Only a shell remained. Nature reclaims what it intends. Yet, life lives on where memories flow like a sweet bension between the falling rain--
quiescent tide, the porch-swing rhythmic pace- tealights fade --
First Encounters First Encounters
The first time I ever saw a dead body was in the woods. The open coffin sat where the porch swing once hung. The rusted ceiling bolts served as a reminder of what once was. The porch framed a poignant image. I took a mental snapshot unintentionally.
I stood and stared. Death barred the doorway entrance as the splattered sunlight melded into the shadows. The white wood planks faded into the background, engulfed in the past. The inner light was gone. Only the shell remained. Nature reclaims what it intends to, sending life's events to where memories flow.
As we headed southeast from Memphis, Tennessee that morning, I had no idea what a funeral entailed. The paved roads gave way to winding backroads layered with gravel and dust. Hours stretch as time slows its pace. You weren’t allowed to ask, “Are we there, yet?”
After a few wrong turns, my aunt remembered the landmark and turned toward our destination. Traveling the backroads of the Mississippi hill country was not meant for newcomers. Country folks have no need for road signs. They get by with a few landmarks and directions as the crow flies.
Great Uncle Rufus was my Papaw's brother. I noted the same pointy nose as mine. Milling about, I listened to whispered stories: sad, funny; yarns and tall tales. Still, people act odd in the presence of death standing on the doorstep. Some ignore the open coffin and pass through the doorway. Some, like me, keep their distance.
Cousins departed for the clearing. Blue sky peeked through the trees, and sunlight warmed our insides. Time giggled along with us as we told our stories. Death remained on the porch which was comforting for a nine-year-old.
From a mischievous twinkle to the shape of a nose to a familiar gait, the past is intertwined with the future. Lessons taught, lessons learned, favorite recipes, a hand--me--down quilt, family stories, and my family nose. Everyday routines are instilled and handed down to the next generation.
faded white wood planks engulfed in quamoclit, a reclaimed quiescent
Slowly evanescing time spins memories of you
mental snapshot framed a poignant image old dingy porch
Haiku format:
Faded white wood planks engulfed in quamoclit, a reclaimed quiescent
Rusted ceiling bolts serve as a reminder of the porch swing
Now, the open coffin sits. Sending life's events to where memories flow.
The inner light gone reclaimed by nature, only the shell remains.
YET> Past lives on in family stories, recipes, my nose- as treasured memories.
I was nine years old This is my story - retold.
a prismatic wash in a golden mist- a sweet bension between the falling rain.
Faded white wood planks
engulfed in quamoclit,
reclaimed quiescent
The first time I saw a dead body was in the woods. The open coffin sat where the porch swing once hung. The rusted ceiling bolts served as a reminder of what once was. That old dingy porch framed a poignant image. Unintentionally, I took a mental snapshot.
I stood and stared. Death barred the doorway entrance. The splattered sunlight melded with the shadows. The white wood planks faded into the background as if engulfed in sadness. The inner light was gone. Only a shell remained. Nature reclaims what it intends to, sending life's events to where memories flow.
Haiku format:
Faded white wood planks
engulfed in quamoclit,
quiescent and quaint.
Rusted ceiling bolts
serve as a reminder
of the old porch swing
Now, the open coffin sits.
Sending life's events
to where memories flow.
The inner light gone
reclaimed by nature,
only the shell remains.
YET>
Past lives on in
family stories, recipes, my nose-
and treasured memories.
I was nine years old
This is my story -
retold.
brontebrown2 
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