strawberry

a sigh of summer

the not lost ones

inverno

that time of the year when persephone goes back to hades and demeter begins to grieve

a ritual

I pick one from the tree, split it, knifeless.

Hold out my offering, wordless.

A half a pomegranate in each hand -

you choose your half.

We each indulge in the ruby red morsels,

biting handfuls of juice-bursts at a time.

The taste of a late summer transitioning into fall.

You could say that this is where it really started;

With a half-pomegranate offering.

Pomegranate © Christine Flintham

roman air

there is nothing that compares to the sweet spring scent of rome. if i could bottle it up and take it with me everywhere, just so i could sneak a sniff any moment of the day, i'd surely would.

palador da alma

how i miss thee, portugal