forgiveness from crows is an honor, when bestowed, not to be tested, the faces they remember rouse ire fueled by vengeance
~kat
Day One Na/GloPoWriMo 2026 Prompt: write your own tanka – or multi-tanka poem. Theme and tone are up to you, but try to maintain the five-line stanza and syllable count.
Tanka is a traditional Japanese poetic form consisting of 31 syllables arranged in five lines with a 5-7-5-7-7 structure. Originating over 1,300 years ago, it is a deeply emotional, often melancholic form centered on love, nature, and personal reflection. It often features a pivotal “turn” (kami-no-ku to shimo-no-ku) between the first three lines and the last two, offering a “long haiku” with more depth.
A note about today’s poem:
The crow featured above is special because it is actually against a crow’s nature to forgive. a year ago one of their comrades died at my crow feeder. It was clear after this unfortunate event that my murder of crows thought I had something to do with its demise. As a result, they avoided me like the plague. Of course I was heartbroken. I kept putting out peanuts for them which they staunchly ignored. (The squirrels and blue joys loved having those treats all to themselves!) And then one day one of them got brave, I assume, and helped himself to a peanut. I was persistent and it seemed to pay off. Before long a half dozen, more than my original murder of three granted me clemency. They visit me everyday now. I am honored to have regained their trust, and believe me I don’t take likely the trust they’ve placed on me. It’s a true blessing. So of course the fellow above while paired with my cautionary tanka, is also my glimmer for today.
tell the bees . I understand now how important they are not only because they are master keepers of all life in balance but as sages of great wisdom. consider the hive… . a bustling community of workers, drones, and one queen, each of whom has a vital role to play in the health, safety, and prosperity of the whole where the swarm protects at all cost the matriarch, the very heart. it’s not honey that drives them, it is she… . ancient feminine energy hidden away just buzzing to be known by humanity gone astray honey drunk, where drones have taken over the hive… they forgot, the workers are legion
~kat
The poem is a pi-sequenced offering based on three sections: 3.1415926535.8979323846. 2643383279, determining the syllable count for each line. Happy 3/14!
Wisdom from the Bees
There are three vital roles played out by very distinct players in the life of a hive. It’s not about the honey. While it is a sweet byproduct of the harmony of a healthy brood of bees, it is not the heart.
That would be the queen. A single fertile female who holds everything together. Bee queens live 2-3 years laying up to 3000 eggs a day. She is literally the mother of all bees, the quintessential life giver of the colony as well as the anchor that keeps the hive humming.
The queen is sustained by worker bees (also female). These busy bees tend the hive, clean and feed the queen royal jelly, a special food reserved only for queens, and provide for her every need so that she can spend her short productive reign reproducing. Worker bees are born from the fertilized eggs of the queen. Given the fertile reproductive qualities of a heathy queen, workers are legion. Throughout their relatively short lifespan (in the summer two to six weeks, and in winter, up to 20 weeks because they don’t venture out of the hive during colder months) worker bees do it all! After 21 days, honey bee larvae emerge fully grown and the work begins with cleaning the cells (days 1-3), feeding the worker and drone larvae (days 3-7), and attending exclusively to the queen (days 7-11). Around days 13 – 18 the workers use wax from four glands in their abdomen’s to build and restore the cells of the hive. On days 18 – 21 when their stinger has matured, they move on to guard duty protecting the hive, and finally, in the last sweet stage of life these busy workers emerge from the hive to scout and forage for water, pollen, and nectar. A foraging bee will make 9-10 hour-long trips to and from the hive in a single day. There are other tasks which worker bees do such as maintaining the temperature of the hive and mortuary duty (removing dead and non viable eggs from the hive). I’m figuring out where the term “busy as a bee” comes from.
Which brings us to the drones. These guys (the male component in the life of bee colonies) are born from the unfertilized eggs of the queen. She basically creates these fellows for herself, as they have one vital role to play. They do not have stingers (an important fact to ponder), they do not feed themselves (worker bees provide them royal jelly for a few days, then a steady diet of honey), they do not scout or forage or protect the hive (remember…no stingers). When a queen emerges from her nest, she takes a maiden flight solely for the purpose of mating with several drones. This act will fertilize all the eggs she will ever lay in her lifetime, so once the deed is done, each drone dies.
I could go on and on…there are so many details i could share regarding the masterpiece that is a bee colony. And there are a few analogies as well that I could indulge, but I won’t. I’ll let you fill in the rest of the story. Suffice to say, is it any wonder that compassion, kindness, peace, community, conservation, nurturing, the arts and wisdom are making a bold resurgence in these times we find ourselves living through? And what can we learn from the bees? I’ll just leave all of this here for you to ponder. 🤔😉 😊
Much love, peace, compassion, and honeybee wisdom glimmers to you.
when the great winds blow some unyielding trees topple and we lose power
~kat
Viewership and ratings are very important things to some people, which is why I am watching an early century rom-com and writing cryptic, double-speak haiku this very evening. If you don’t already know it about me, I am a bit rebellious, especially when rebellion is called for. I refuse to give the orange one ratings. I’ll catch the cliff notes later. Not that there will be anything said that we haven’t heard…ad nauseam. No one needs to tell me about the state of this union of states. I’m living it. Trying to make it better. Trying to highlight a few glimmers along the way.
Which brings me to the photo above. True story. The winds came. Big, blustery, mean, cold winds, and as fate would have it, it took a few trees down over some distant power lines that shut my lights off for 22 hours. I was ready this time. I fired up the remote gas logs we picked up recently, especially for an occasion such as this. Hooked up a few small generators…one for the fish tank, one for T’s c-pap machine. Tucked us all in and slept soundly under our sturdy metal roof under the stars. Even in the dark there are glimmers. The fire’s warmth and glow, flickering candlelight, and the sweet silence that happens when my houseful of buzzing, ticking, grinding appliances goes silent. It’s good sleeping in the quiet of a dark night in the woods.
With that I’ll close and get this uploaded. No doubt our emperor in chief is still babbling. Makes me smile to know I have the freedom still, to choose not to listen. 😊
A Moment of Clarity ~ Storm Sage, Virginia January 2026
no plan z . when my best laid plans fail again and again, forced to let go my best intentions, face truth, and accept reality, how grateful am I for moments of soft clarity reminding me how small I am reminding me to embrace the truth… this life is not a battle to be won but an clear invitation to remember i am one with all that I am the calm before, and the tempest, made of stardust one with all living things
~kat A pi-sequence poem. Syllable count: 3.1415926535 8979323846
Life has been a bit of a blur lately. The foothills where I live has been visited by Fern and Sage (don’t let their sweet names fool you…these girls were quite tempestuous!) over the past week and a half with temperatures deep and frigid.
I immediately snapped into survival mode keenly aware that I am a caretaker to not only my menagerie of furry, feathered and finned aquatic friends, but my disabled spouse who depends on me to provide for and protect. In no way am I complaining. It is a labor of love to care for my little family. I did what I have always done as a master-survivor. I assess the situation, come up with a plan, and execute the solution. It has worked for me over and over throughout my life. But this time as I worked through plans A, B, C, and on, just when I thought I had a clear directive, nature reminded me that I clearly did not.
Hitting a wall will wake you up. I had to accept the reality that we are snowed in until nature turns up the temperature and melts the snow and ice that refuses to play by my rules. As far as I can tell, that means another week or two stranded. Plows cannot clear our steep driveway. I know this because they told us so. “So sorry…good luck!”
When you get to plan Z there is only one thing you can do. Take stock of what is, and make the best of it. During this exercise I realized what a blessing i am receiving when I took stock of the reality of our situation.
We are safe and warm with no power loss (I’m knocking on wood as I type), and the investment we made this autumn of a battery operated gas log system for our hearth ensures we will have heat if the power does go out.
We have food and water to last a good long while.
We have friends who can meet me at the road and neighbors just past the fence who can get out and about if I need essentials or medicine from the store.
I have snow cleats for my boots to help keep me upright when I need to trek across the property. (Thanks for that tip last year Peter!)
We have each other and our beloved animal family, and lovely friends and neighbors.
And finally, when I was forced to stop surviving…I realized the incredible beauty around me, the gift of peace and presence, and the assurance that we would be okay. We have all we need to be okay.
Some of the blessings…glimmers if you will ✨💚✨
And so I settled in, baked my first loaf of artisan bread in a new Dutch oven I was gifted at Christmas, and made a big pot of chicken soup. Oh, and I binge-watched the entire first season of a series I had been wanting to see but never had time for, with Gabby my pup napping next to me.
Instead of cursing the weather, I settled in to our haven on an impassable hill during ice and snow, in the midst of trees. And I finally feel like I’ve come home.
Much love, peace, kindness, and gentle glimmers to you!
she doesn’t know the world’s burning everything is pink her innocence intact, fiercely protected by her loving parents all parents hope as much for their children it’s why they...it's why we come here promised by Liberty that the pursuit of happiness could be ours too, once upon a time when tutus, bunny-eared hats, and Spider-Man backpacks were protected rights of passage for all
~kat
5-year-old Liam Conejo Ramos was abducted by ICE from his school in Minnesota. He was used as bait to lure his father outside where he was taken into custody. Liam and his father are now at a Texas ICE facility. His father had applied for asylum at the border, and has no criminal record according to their immigration attorney. He was doing all the right things like immigrants from centuries past have done to become a citizen.
Today’s poem is a tale of two young children. One, my great granddaughter at her first ballet lesson. The other, young Liam, whose only crime is the color of his skin and his country of origin. Both of these angels are glimmers. Both deserving of love, compassion, happiness, opportunity, safety, and respect. I pray everyday for the children. For every single one.
So it is easier for you to find all the parts/chapters of my ongoing fiction series, I created a new page that lists all the links. You can check it out HERE!
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