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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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Daily Cascade
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one.
Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.
September 15, 2025 at 12:41pm September 15, 2025 at 12:41pm
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Prompt: Change of Seasons
"To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring."
George Santayana
When seasons change, say from summer to fall or fall to winter, what becomes challenging for you during these changes? And how do you think you react when life changes its seasons for you?
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Seasons are like chapters in a book, and in a good book, as brilliant and interesting a chapter may be, if there would not be a next chapter, I would not like it. So, from that point of view, I agree with Santayana's quote.
Also, I don't think the change of seasons are challenging for me, since any change means moving on, letting go, reflecting on what has been gained and lost. Don't we all do this in life, anyway!
It is just that where I live. summers--especially this summer--was so sizzling hot that I welcomed the autumn. Normally, here, autumn's arrival means only a slight drop in heat; however that iffy ease also comes with the warning of the hurricane season. Still, since I've lived all over the place in my much younger days, I look at autumn as my semi-sweet treat. This is because autumn glows and aches all at once. The air sharpens, and leaves burn bright before surrendering to the ground. Change is visible, beautiful, and bittersweet.
Next, winter settles in, and depending on the climate of the place, snow can be beautiful but far too cold. So maybe, some of us are forced to turn inward and deal with ourselves using the strange peace in winter's stillness. Luckily, for me, nothing ever has remained frozen, and I found that beneath the ice and frost, something new, something like hope, always gathered strength.
That hope is the spring arriving with a breath of renewal, with green insisting on being seen and the world awakening to moments and thoughts of love, recovery, and ambition. When this happens, our fragility gives way to exhilaration, and I--together with the rest of us--dare to bloom, like the flower buds.
Then, summer peeks in or arrives fast, glowing with light, bold and unashamed. For most of us, life in summer is full of friendships, fun spilling over, and endless energy. Yet, hidden inside this energy is restlessness as if we know this fun time cannot last forever. And for me, right now, I am glad summer is over, since extreme heat is not much fun in old age. So I try to move with the rhythm of the year as if dancing through joy and loss, energy and rest, and beginnings and endings becoming one and the same. As if reading a book, as if to live means just to keep turning the page.
Autumn comes as a blaze of farewell
as leaves flare into fire, then fall
into this season of memory, with
a quiet ache of letting go.
Under winter's cloak of silence, bare trees
like truth revealed, and in the sharpness of air,
a mercy or a chance to hear the heartbeat
of life beneath the frost.
Then, tiptoeing in, comes spring, its arms full
with blossoms, and petals opening like hope, over
rain-washed ground, and once more, the heart
dares to believe in renewal.
Next, is summer, bursting in a relentless laughter and
fun, and long endless days in the sun, until shadows
grow their own radiance with wave of farewell, for
nothing can hold the sun forever.
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