They’ve been predicting snow, but I didn’t really believe it might happen until I walked my dog this morning. I walked outside and the clamor of the birds in the trees greeted me. So I wrote a villanelle about it. It’s still kind of rough, but thought I would share it.
the day before it snowed by Michelle Garren-Flye
walking, the day before the snow the world hushed, except the birds singing songs of cold with gusto
the treetops housed their show and I stopped to hear their words sung the day before the snow
what wisdom do they know these creatures making records, singing songs of cold with gusto
Nature whispers pianissimo, Her voice lower than the birds, “‘tis the day before the snow”
the wind may breeze and blow but won’t cut their sound by thirds as they sing of cold with gusto
oh, hear the song of the sparrow for they are the wisest of the birds listen, the day before the snow as they sing songs of cold with gusto
My resolution for 2025: I’m going to figure out who I am and why I was given the gifts I was given. I’m going to finish the novel I’ve stopped and restarted multiple times. Maybe I’ll figure out why I am not as kind or giving as I want to be. Maybe I’ll figure out what it is I actually want.
Why is my hair pink, anyway? Obviously because I dye it pink, it doesn’t grow that way. But why? I feel like it’s always been pink, whether that was my doing or not. At one point, I thought dramatically that it turned pink from my broken heart, but now I think, just as dramatically, that my heart never really broke.
It’s probably somewhere in the middle. That’s usually where you find truth.
Anyway, Happy 2025, everyone! May we all find something new and shiny this year.
Stranger By Michelle Garren-Flye
I want to know you better, stranger. Why do you tick on even when beat? I know you quicken when in danger that so far you’ve managed to cheat.
Breaking you once was a simple chore but now you’re smart and made of stone. Like the pig’s house, you’re something more than straw, but you survive there alone.
I dread with anticipation the day we meet, come face-to-face and I can no longer pretend. If only we could shake hands on the street, perfect strangers right up ‘til the end.
It’s no use, it must be confessed: I feel you beating away in my chest.
Today is the winter solstice, aka the darkest day of the year. There are fewer minutes of daylight today than on any other day.
It’s my favorite day, not because I don’t like light but because I do. I love light, and if today is the shortest day, then we start getting longer days tomorrow. It’s like hitting rock bottom but knowing you will have the strength to climb back up.
That’s why I wrote my book Winter Solstice, which is now in print in my “Author’s Edition”. This is a day we don’t always appreciate or even note, but it’s worth remembering if there’s a down, there’s usually an up that follows.
I’m exploring a connection between haiku and sonnets again. I did it once before with a haiku by Matsuo Basho. I like the way that one turned out, and as I’m either at an impasse with my novel or at least a long hesitation, I thought I’d try to break out of it by writing a haiku and turning it into a sonnet.
It’s not the most cheerful of poems. In fact, as I wrote the sonnet, I began thinking about how we all try to hang onto our youth and how that can appear. I used to think I’d prefer to age gracefully, now I’m working out daily, trying things I’ve never tried before, dying my hair pink…it all feels right, but maybe it’s not?
Then again, if you never had a chance to bloom in spring, maybe you take the opportunity when you find it.
fall shadows don’t flatter your rosy vernal blossoms it’s too late for you
Out of Season By Michelle Garren-Flye
What are you doing here, little pink bloom? It’s obvious to all your time is long past and putting off death just creates gloom. Your beauty offends, you weren’t meant to last.
You weren’t meant for this kind of shadow when even the sunlight is just a tad too gold casting bare limbs in an unearthly glow as a wind shivers by, leaving you cold.
I’ll have to bury you in the dry, brown leaves. Remember how they looked in your youth? That’s when your beauty was sure to please! Now I’m afraid, it seems uncouth.
Stay buried please, accept what’s been done; for flurries and frigid winds, the time has come.
Photo and poem copyright 2024 Michelle Garren-Flye
I try not to get too political…anymore. And yet, it has not escaped my attention that November 5 is much more frightening to many of us than October 31. In that spirit, I would like to wish you all a Happy Halloween and ask that you please vote this year. Our democracy may or may not be at stake, but just in case, wouldn’t it be nice to say its success or failure was decided by a fair vote?
In case you’d like to watch a mini movie in which I read the poem:
Winter Solstice was my second book, published in 2011 by Lyrical Press, now part of Kensington Press. It was a fun story to write and I was thrilled to have two books published by Lyrical Press, but Winter Solstice, unlike Secrets of the Lotus, was never published as a paperback. So I’ve never had it at my store, so it really feels new!
I was super hesitant to republish Winter Solstice because I actually got a lot of great feedback on the cover, lol. Everybody liked the bare-chested man on it, and the model (yes, he really exists) actually contacted me for information about my book way back (his name is Jason Aaron Baca and if you google him, you’ll find out he’s been on the covers of 500+ romance novels—look out Fabio!). He offered to post the cover on his web page, and if you want to see his other novel covers check it out here. Of course, the cover of Winter Solstice is long since crowded out by the others that have come since then, but I’m sure it’s still there somewhere.
Jason, if you’re still out there somewhere, I had to say goodbye to my old cover in order to republish my book, but still appreciate my little brush with celebrity. 🙂
My new cover probably won’t get that kind of attention, but I did design it myself. Thanks to Canva, I’ve gotten pretty handy at the cover design thing, and it saves money, which, as a bookstore owner and indie author I definitely appreciate!
Below, you’ll find the new cover and blurb for Winter Solstice: Author’s Edition. I hope you enjoy. I’ll have copies in my store next week!
Is it a one-night stand or a lifetime romance?
Becky Gray, newest public relations guru for Buncombe County Hospital in Asheville, N.C., does not do one-night stands. Until she meets sexy ER doc John Grant. He’s got a reputation as a womanizer, and Becky tries to stay away, but she finds herself inevitably drawn to him. It doesn’t help that her first assignment involves writing a blog about John and the hospital’s award-winning Emergency Department. For his part, John finds Becky unique combination of strength and vulnerability intriguing. When the two are thrown together in the crisis situations of the Emergency Room, they can’t help but find comfort in their mutual attraction.
Becky never meant for it to be more than one night. John never even meant for it to happen. Where do they go from here?
There’s nothing like a mountain fog. It’s hard to put it into words. I remember when I was a kid growing up in Brevard, N.C., I loved foggy mornings. Waiting at the bus stop, I felt like the sky had fallen on me, soft and cool and protective. Later, as a grown-up navigating mountain roads in the fog, I still felt that mystical sense of otherworldliness.
For the past few days, I’ve spent a lot of time poring over pictures of flattened, flooded towns and videos of raging, red rivers full of debris. It’s hard for me to believe this is what’s left of some of the beautiful mountains where I grew up. I’ve lived on the eastern side of the state long enough to know there’s probably more saltwater in my veins than the red clay of the mountains now, but at times like this, I know there’s no denying it.
The coast may have been my destiny, but the mountains are my origin.
I haven’t been back in nearly two years. My mother passed away in February 2023 and I went back for her funeral. After that, my father moved down to Charlotte to be with my uncle and my older brother, and my mountains were just two hours too far to go.
I wonder how it became this hard to take time to get somewhere that’s still important to me.
I heard today that Interstate 40 Westbound was closed at Statesville to stop people wanting to get into the mountains—searching for friends and family, most likely, but maybe just curious. Maybe people like me who suddenly realized that the mountains of their origin might not always be there. The towns we grew up in can be wiped off the earth’s slate.
I’ve heard that Brevard survived, for the most part, in spite of being walloped with 30 inches of rain. But I’ve seen nothing to support that. There’s a webcam in downtown Brevard that is currently offline. I check it daily, sometimes hourly. I know it will likely be days or weeks before it comes back online, if it even survived, but still. It would be reassuring to see.
So little communication is possible, even with my brother and his family who still live there. I’ve gotten a few texts. He managed one phone call to my father.
I feel like the entirety of the North Carolina mountains is shrouded in fog now, but unlike the fog of my childhood, this is not protective, it’s a reminder. Nothing is permanent. Everything can be damaged or taken away.
Yesterday I posted a semi-free verse poem based on a Tarot reading. It got some good feedback. For some reason, recently, I’ve been fascinated with poetic form and transforming poetry to different forms. Today I was reading sonnets (classic stuff, not mine), and it occurred to me that yesterday’s free verse would read really well as a sonnet.
Or does it?
You can judge. Here’s yesterday’s post. Let me know in the comments!
On Receiving a Tarot Warning of You By Michelle Garren-Flye
Just for today, promise me the world, even if it’s just a pack of cards. I’ll dance about, my wings unfurled, cavort until the fall of the stars. Judge me harshly, naked and cold, standing alone in my own grave. Wash me away in the coming flood! New beginnings are only for the brave. The dark man glowers, my love he denies, promises made in Cupid’s embrace. I will bare my heart, my soul to your cries, but our abstract romance never takes place. Through sunset’s blood, Death sweeps and star’s life out of the pitcher leaks.
Photo and Poem copyright 2024 Michelle Garren-Flye
On Receiving a Tarot Warning of You By Michelle Garren-Flye
Which numbers more, the chirp of crickets or the sparkle of the stars?
Today you promise me the world but it’s a pack of cards. Dance! Let your wings unfurl before we all fall down.
Oh, will the judgment be enough or leave us standing naked and cold in our own graves surrounded by the flood? Rejoice in new beginnings and your past will reward you.
I fear the dark, glowering man on the throne, his staff held casually, bruisingly on a booted leg. When will he leave me, let me be alone? Can I knock the crown from his head?
I search for the promised love, bare my soul and body before Cupid’s embrace, but romance still seems far away and likely to avoid me—or lay me low.
Death’s scythe continues its sweep, cutting back excessive joy of life, Distant sunset blood does creep and brings along fear of living only in strife.
Only promise me the song of the stars, and pour out your life to the babbling river.
Photo and Poem Copyright 2024 Michelle Garren-Flye
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 