September 12, 2026
August 29, 2026
Embraced
Embraced
A storm rolled through last night
that shook the house with thunder,
sent rain drumming across the roof,
and wind howling through the trees.
After the storm had passed
and the light of day had come
it was time to survey the aftermath
of what the storm had left.
Venturing out for a walk
all appeared to be well
but then I saw it . . .
a tree branch had fallen.
Only the branch
never reached the ground
but was caught by a lower branch
and now they clung to each other.
The branches now embraced
were holding to each other
like lovers refusing to part
hoping to weather the next storm.
A storm rolled through last night
that shook the house with thunder,
sent rain drumming across the roof,
and wind howling through the trees.
After the storm had passed
and the light of day had come
it was time to survey the aftermath
of what the storm had left.
Venturing out for a walk
all appeared to be well
but then I saw it . . .
a tree branch had fallen.
Only the branch
never reached the ground
but was caught by a lower branch
and now they clung to each other.
The branches now embraced
were holding to each other
like lovers refusing to part
hoping to weather the next storm.
August 15, 2026
August 1, 2026
Penmanship
Postcard: Appalachian Scenic Highway, Crossing the Blue Ridge Mountains
Linen Era (1930-1945), postmarked 1941
Linen Era (1930-1945), postmarked 1941
Penmanship
For the young person
who stood staring blankly
at the old postcard
the message on the back
could have been written
in a foreign language.
Maybe a form of shorthand
or it could be encrypted,
perhaps an ancient glyph
whose cypher has been lost,
certainly a long-ago language
now impossible to comprehend.
But I remember school days
spent learning to write in cursive
practicing the joining of letters
to create a flowing script
patterned after the alphabet
in cursive hanging on the wall.
The postcard with its words
elegantly and painstakingly
written from edge to edge
whether ornamental or elegant,
conventional or personal in style,
is now in need of a translator.
— Dan Hardison
For the young person
who stood staring blankly
at the old postcard
the message on the back
could have been written
in a foreign language.
Maybe a form of shorthand
or it could be encrypted,
perhaps an ancient glyph
whose cypher has been lost,
certainly a long-ago language
now impossible to comprehend.
But I remember school days
spent learning to write in cursive
practicing the joining of letters
to create a flowing script
patterned after the alphabet
in cursive hanging on the wall.
The postcard with its words
elegantly and painstakingly
written from edge to edge
whether ornamental or elegant,
conventional or personal in style,
is now in need of a translator.
— Dan Hardison
Translation:
Took a seven mile
hike up the mtn.
to a place called
the Eagle’s Nest &
am still alive to tell
the story. This is
lovely country & I’m
having a grand time
taking in the sights.
Eleanore
Took a seven mile
hike up the mtn.
to a place called
the Eagle’s Nest &
am still alive to tell
the story. This is
lovely country & I’m
having a grand time
taking in the sights.
Eleanore
July 5, 2026
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