Today at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie we’re doing Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille. The prompt is “vague perfume of autumn.”
The earthy perfume
crisp autumn leaves flutter, there’s
a chill in the air


Today at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie we’re doing Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille. The prompt is “vague perfume of autumn.”
The earthy perfume
crisp autumn leaves flutter, there’s
a chill in the air



Speak truth to power:
rebellion sparks changes of
socks and underwear.


Today is Wordle #207 at the MindLoveMisery Menagerie Blog.
This means we must use at least ten of the words below to create a story or poem.
Hemmablind ((adj.) To become so accustomed to the flaws in one’s own home as to no longer notice them even if those flaws require certain adaptations to be made. (Does this word exist in English?)
Pinfeather
Decorous ((adj.) characterized by dignified propriety in conduct, manners, appearance, character, etc.)
Final
Able
Underwater
Marigold
Pester
Token
Falsify
Draw
Crutch
Sigrid Sundqvist woke up early that morning to tend to her marigold garden and make the tinctures. It was Thursday, which meant the customers would be coming early to purchase Sigrid’s marigold elixir. This would be the final batch of the season and people wanted to stock up. While many tried, no one was able to craft such a powerful potion as Sigrid. The stuff worked on almost any malady.
Sigrid looked up when she heard footsteps shuffling down the lane. Gunnar Gustavsson and his hemorrhoids, here to pester me again. Sigrid sighed. Gunnar was a pain in the keister. Every day he came for the elixir, even though he knew it was only available on Thursdays.
On his heels was Gisela Axelsson, a lovely girl who was plagued with varicose veins. Sigrid enjoyed talking with Gisela. At least she didn’t describe her varicose veins in excruciating detail the way Gunnar did with his hemorrhoids. There was such a thing as too much information, after all.
Gisela passed by Gunnar, (which was no great effort since he hobbled along on one crutch) and made her way toward Sigrid with a friendly wave.
“Good morning, Sigrid!”
“Morning, Gisela.” Sigrid noticed she was carrying a small box decorated with a bow.
“I’ve brought you something as a token of my appreciation. I just don’t know what I’d have done without you and your lovely marigold cream!”
“Oh, now you didn’t have to do that,” she said as she took the box from Gisela’s proffered hand.
Sigrid quickly pulled of the bow and unwrapped with box. “Oh, my!” She exclaimed. “A pinfeather and inkwell! It’s truly lovely, Gisela. Thank you!”
“Do you really like it?”
“Oh, indeed!” Sigrid smiled wistfully. “My mother had one similar to this. Brings back fond memories.” She admired it and then quietly added “And now I’ve got one of my very own.”
By this time, Gunnar had made it up the path and was standing near the two women.
“Hiya, Ladies!” Gunnar greeted them in his usual booming voice. “Hey, Sig! Ya got any o’ that flower stuff I rub on my ass?” Gunnar scratched his rear end through his jeans. “The ‘roids are drivin’ me nuts today.”
Gisela blushed and Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Of course, Mr. Gustavsson,” Sigrid forced a smile. How she wished Gunnar had gleaned a more decorous manner over the years, but how could he? The whole family was gauche. Perhaps he and his family were hemmablind to their unpolished ways.
“Good. Gimme as much as ya got,” he spoke gruffly. “God knows I need it to draw the goop out o’ my ‘roids…”
That wasn’t at all the way the elixir worked, but Sigrid didn’t want to engage Gunnar in conversation unless it was necessary. She smiled and handed him three containers, for which he paid 20 Krona.
“Thank you, Mr. Gustavsson!” Sigrid called as he hobbled away down the path.
He held up a hand in acknowledgement without turning around.
“A real charmer, isn’t he?” Gisela joked.
“Speaking of charmers, her comes another one,” Sigrid nodded toward the path.
“Astrid Larsson…”
“With her warts and sebaceous glands,” Sigrid added. “Huh, would you look at that?”
Gisela turned her head to see Gunnar and Astrid chatting it up mid-way down the path. Gunnar laughed his booming laughed while Astrid cackled in her usual shrill manner.
“I can only imagine what’s so funny,” Sigrid remarked drily.
“I shudder to think!”
After several minutes, the two turned away from Sigrid’s yard and walked arm-in-arm toward the town.
“Now, there’s a match made in…somewhere other than heaven!”
“Oh, dear,” Sigrid put her hand to her mouth. “You don’t suppose they’ll procreate, do you?”
“Surely you can concoct an elixir for that, yes?”


Today’s writing prompt over at MindLoveMisery Menagerie is the image below: Poem–“Alone”, by Edgar Allen Poe.
From the moment I was born, I was alone. Even with my parents and nine brothers and sisters, I was alone. I didn’t look like them — any of them — nor did I think the way they did. I had nothing in common with my “family.” For awhile I thought that perhaps I’d been adopted, but this was not the case. I was a blood-Poe, yet I felt invisible.
I remember this one time when I was invited to a birthday party. I was maybe six or seven, and very shy. In fact, I was sick over the whole thing and scared to go. But, I went. I didn’t join the Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey game, but no one noticed. I sat at the table with the empty plates and half-eaten birthday cake and watched. Afterward, they all went upstairs for some reason, but I stayed in the basement at the empty birthday table. Two older kids, teen-agers I guess, were watching TV but they didn’t notice me either.
Such a helpless feeling it was, not being noticed, not mattering.
When the party was over, my mother came to pick me up. When I heard her ’66 Plymouth Belvedere pull up, I ran out of that house as fast as I could.
If you’re going to be alone, it’s better to do it with family than strangers.
