Banner Mountain Girl # 67 from my journal . . .

from my journal . . .

Dark clouds were forming in the west but Kimberly still sat quietly in the sand. As the waves rushed toward the shore, touched it, spraying a fine mist over her, she dug her toes into the warm grains of sand, recalling Whitman’s words the night they met.

“Look, Kimberly. Over there, above the shimmering sea.”

She followed the direction that he pointed and she saw the harvest moon, silver and bright, and she thrilled to the rich tone of Whitman’s voice as he said, “I’ll give you that moon.”

She wanted to laugh with him, but she couldn’t. Something prevented her from feeling the joy that was so much a part of Whitman. He was a penniless poet and yet he seemed to be happier than she and Tony.

She was engaged to Tony. He offered her love, security, and wealth.

“I’m sorry, Whitman,” she had replied that night. “I can’t accept the moon. I’m engaged to Tony.”

“Ah, yes,” Whitman said.

She had laughed and he had laughed and the joy she felt was much greater than any feeling she had shared with Tony.

She ended her engagement with Tony and after time went by, he met and married Sarah.

Kimberly saw Whitman almost every day and she expected him to propose to her but there was no mention of marriage although he claimed to love her dearly.

So dearly that he gave her the stars along with the moon and that made her happy in a way that Tony never had.

Time passed and Tony and Sarah had a child, a little girl and people said that Tony adored the baby and that they were a happy family.

Whitman wrote poetry and he continued to be penniless but his poetry spoke of love and laughter, the moon, the stars and the sea.

Kimberly waited and she cried when Whitman wasn’t with her.

One day he said, “It’s over.” And he kissed her gently and said goodbye. He left and her heart felt like crushed velvet in an old-time dime store.

“Don’t go! It’s soon!” Kimberly cried.

The dark clouds hovered closer. And herpexels-photo-556666.jpeg heart declared, “The pain that’s in goodbye cries, ‘Look up, Whitman, see the dark and brooding sky? Where, Whitman, where is the silver moon?'”

© Freeda Baker Nichols


Christmas Gifts


Christmas Gifts 

Green cedar trees under the snow.
Two hearts, one package wrapped in red.
The Chevy’s engine running low.
Warm hands inside wool mitten thread. 

A barred owl shakes his furry head.
Green cedar trees under the snow.
The Chevy lurches like a sled
toward narrow trees straight in a row.

Bump bump bump bump! Watch out below!                    Banner Mountain
Don’t hit that little rabbit’s bed!
Green cedar trees under the snow,
fast turning wheels stop on a tread. 

One kiss, one hug, one moon that spread
its beam as soft as candle glow.                          DSC_0507
Two hearts, one package wrapped in red.
Green cedar trees under the snow.

© 2014 Freeda Baker Nichols


An August Interlude

Fog swirled before the mountains
hid them as a woman’s veil hides her
countenance. The sun languidly
pulled the fog away.  In the garden, grape
leaves, green the day before,
had disappeared, leaving a bare vine
around the cedar post. Three green tomato
worms crawled there, full-stomach guilty.
The farmer sentenced them as soon as he
discovered them. Four o’clocks in pink,
white and yellow tutus pirouetted like
ballerinas. Evening arrived speckled with
stars and a moon as bright as white magnolia
blooms dressed the darkness. A mockingbird
sang softly to the night.


© Freeda Baker Nichols

Free To Those Who Qualify

Oh, how I wanted a streamlined rocket ship
like Luke and Patty bought in ‘fifty-three!
Or one like Sam and Kay took on their trip
in Space where the Stars and Stripes wave free.
They traded in their shiny hover cars
for spacecraft well equipped with window view.
They rocketed to Moon and then to Mars,
did not invite me, left me here to stew.
Today, I smile and preen with pride of heart.
I got a raise, but friends are very few–
those few and I began to break apart.
We had a spat on Solar Avenue.
They needed dough to fix their rocket’s deck.
Their nerve! They asked me for my Welfare check!


© 2014 Freeda Baker Nichols

Embed from Getty Images

Pink Moon day 26 napowrimo

Pink moon

Pink moon (Photo credit: mhiguera)

“The moon will glow in pink tonight,” they said.
Is that a false line from some writer’s book?
The thought of pink full moon fills me with dread.
But still I know that I will have to look.
This month of April seems to be the clue.
It happens every year but I’ve not seen
the moon parade in pink––it’s sometimes blue
like when it’s high above Kentucky’s green.
When it gets dark I go outside to see.
And sure enough the moon is glowing pink.
It’s full and bright and shining light on me.
I stand and stare and don’t know what to think.
Then I surmise that lines the writers weave
must show the reader–and  he will believe.

Copyright 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols