“Springing” into Action




© Jeanne E. Webster. All rights reserved

I cried out to you last night, Lord,
When I awoke with a fright
You sang to me a dulcet chord
And my fears anon took flight.
My spirit aroused with adoration
Your greatness sustains me, Lord
To fight battles of every occasion
Your might is my spirit’s sword.
You’re the joy of lithesome birds
Playfully pecking at bugs and seed;
Gracefully into the air they herd
Oh, to follow them in secrecy.
The field is rife with weeds and clover
Plump honey bees fill their pockets
Sprinkling golden succor all over,
Showing off their shiny lockets.
Storms overnight ravaged the view:
Marinated soil flaunts bubbly pools
Broken tree limbs, bird’s nests askew
Aborted feathered life slumped like ghouls.
Tall corn spikes, tomatoes green lumps
Bashful strawberries hid from me
Brussel sprouts showing nary a bump
Fans of elephant-eared broccoli.
Morning glory vines garnished with hearts
Stretched their ropes into the skies
Clinging, twisting in fits and starts
Formed a glorious, colorful sunrise.
Orange daylilies stretch out like fingers
The hibiscus displays her dinner plate
Hummingbirds dine well as they linger
Bleeding hearts thrust tiny orbed bait.
Rabbits have produced such a nice crop
Tiny fur balls hopping here and there
Moles and voles dine heartily; please stop!
My lovely green lawn is suddenly bare.
The arborvitae finally gave up the ghost
All dried up, painting a brown frown
The black pines appear as if in a roast
Beetle parasite time brought them down.
Home-made suet I hung on the pine tree
“Mrrupp,” says the red-bellied woodpecker,
Gorging on peanuts, he’s a real cutie
Also the hairy and downy woodpeckers.
Yellow finches sporting vivid coats
Feasting on thistle seed in the feeder
Those darn blackbirds are hoggish blokes
I’ll send them off with my old repeater.
My two spaniels and I walk and admire
So many sights to explore around here
Crayfish chimneys dot the ditches of mire
What do they live on deep down in there?

Thank you for your provisions, Lord,
The natural ambiance offers such beauty
My rake and hoe await time to afford
I love the fruit of my labors and duty.
Dear One, You’ve truly blessed my path,
With one very pleasant enchanted day
“Top of the morning to you and your staff.”
Help me comfort others that come my way.

Nature’s Pileups


© 2016 Jeanne E Webster – All Rights Reserved


Earthy barren landscapes smothering awakening lemony daffodils

Too soon . . . too soon.


Water-logged fields of winter wheat checking its soft green blanket

Too soon . . . too soon.


Blackbirds swarming from the skies and asphalting the backyards

Too soon   . . . too soon!


Tulip tips peeking through piles of frosted Fall-fallen leaves

Too sooon   . . . too sooon!


It’s only the month of March!





Purty Writing


© Jeanne E Webster. All rights reserved and observed

“Write sum’fing purty,” da good Lawd said,
Nuff glum and gloom out dere a’ready.”
So I plopped on my tinkin’ hat…reflectin’
So hard I got tired and went to beddy.

Let’s see now, springtime is here,
Dere’s lots a’ purty colorful shrubs
Forsythia, lilacs ‘n redbuds so pink
Colorin’ the yards like pinwheel hubs.

Yards are full of sparkly dashin’ birds
All decked out in nature’s brite hues.
Courtin’ one ‘nother, startin’ families
Dey got no time fer chasin’ da blues.

Red-breasted robins, how stout they be
A’building nests and gobblin’ up worms;
Thru wedder so cold or floodin’ as seas
Dey fights back like fightin’ some germs.

Look ‘it da lil’ squirrels a’flippin’ der tails
Hurryin’ here an’ dere like hopscotchin’ toys
Dey start–dey stop–den skitter up a tree
Wid a sassy attitude sorta like lil’ boys.

Bluejays do lots of screechin’ ‘n hollerin’
I tink dey jes’ like to boss everything aroun’
Maybe dey’s the neighbo’hood policin’ men
Flittin’ here and dere from trees to da groun’.

I can’t fergit dem purply house finches
Wearin’ dere finest feathers of rosy red
Dey brighten up the feeders so color’fly
As dey peck at the seeds til dey’s well-fed.

Well, Lawd, I did my best to write purty today.
No dismal tings, no gloom or grumpy glums;
Da trees and shrubs declare Yer glory
From da sassafras leafs to dem purply plums.

(Where’d You get all those purty colors, Lawd?
Musta plucked ‘em strait from dat glor’ous rainbow!)

Photo: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net


Winter is for the Birds!

Flying birds


© 2011 Jeanne E Webster.  All rights reserved

Wintertime is an excellent season to get to know your neighbors, the birds.  Buy a couple of feeders, a big bag of seed and prepare to be “up close and personal” with some flighty feathered friends.  I’ve been feeding birds for many years and it’s thoroughly enjoyable.  Takes the drab wintry blues out of the picture and gives you bragging rights at the Tuesday night bingo game.

To give you a little heads up, here are the names of some birds that visit feeders:

sophisticated cardinals, brazen blue jays, bubbly chickadees, sprightly goldfinches, unassuming Carolina wrens, drabby house sparrows, lively titmouse, hot-pink purple house finches, guarded nuthatches, red-chested grosbeaks, vigilant red-bellied woodpeckers, fickle downy woodpeckers, nervous hairy woodpeckers, and the dowdy strutting mourning doves.  Fill your feeders and sit back to enjoy nature’s finest.

…err, what’s that out there?  Those darn starlings and blackbirds are back!  Aargg!

It is most frustrating to purchase feeders and seed only to peer out your kitchen window and see a flock of these nuisance birds!  They hog the seed, scare away the good birds, don’t get the hint that they’re not welcome, and they don’t take no for an answer!  I’ve tried different feeders, thinking that would at least prevent the “hogs” from gobbling up the seed.  No, they didn’t work.  I’ve yanked open the kitchen door and shooed them away…they’re back before I’m resettled in my chair.  My husband says he’ll shoot them for me…I don’t think so!  (That must be a guy thing)

Today I tried a different strategy.  I bought some scratch feed containing flecks of corn and all the trash seeds and poured a huge pile of it way, way out back, figuring they would be so busy eating that stuff, they’d leave the more expensive seed alone.  My little “guys” would get to eat in peace.  Nope.  The black birds put out the word that there was more seed than usual and invited more of their kin.   They are presently making short work of ALL the seed.  I’d tie my two spaniels out there if that would scare the birds off, but the dogs are so spoiled their feet would freeze and I’d look out and see them rolled over on their backs like dead cockroaches.

You know, I think those black birds are smart.  They have it all figured out.  They fly from yard to yard, checking out the neighborhood.  Then they leave a lone sentinel posted in a tree to check for any new additions to the bird feeders.  I refused to refill my feeders this morning and watched in horror and guilt  as my favorites sat in the bushes in subzero temps waiting for me to feed them.  I peeked out several times to check for blackbirds and finally after no sightings for a few hours, I relented and refilled the seed.  I hadn’t completely thawed myself out from that exertion before I noted the brats were back.  I was steamed!  Not on my watch!  Not in my neighborhood!  Yeah, right.

Right here and now the good Lord blessed me with an attitude adjustment.  “Remember my parable of the wheat and the tares?”  (Matt. 13:24-30)

Sure, Lord, what does that have to do with blackbirds?

“Pray on it a little and you’ll see.”

After a short review, my memory revealed the facts.  This parable is about a man who worked hard all day sowing wheat in his field, and while he slept that night, his enemy came and sowed weeds among his wheat.  His servants discovered them while cultivating the wheat and told their master their discovery.  They were determined to yank out the weeds but the master told them not to do that.  He explained that if they were to pull up the weeds, the wheat would be uprooted also.  “Let them both grow together and when it is harvest time, then we’ll gather the weeds first and burn them.  The wheat will then be gathered into the barn.” 

I followed instructions and prayed about the situation a little.  The revelation came quickly:  leave the blackbirds alone and in due time, they will be taken care of by the Lord.  In the meantime, enjoy the good birds.

Got it, Lord!

Friday Morning-Coming Down










©Jeanne E. Webster


Enjoying a swing on the patio

Sitting in our little “Rose Garden”

Looking at that pale blue sky

Rain’s gone now, I’ll pardon


Blurred with white chalky scrapes

Overhead is a see-through image

Last night’s leftover half-moon

Must ’a lost the rest in scrimmage


Hummingbirds all a’ squeak

A winged rush hour traffic jam

Zooming like mad robotic bees

Deftly loving the ambrosial jamb.


Gum trees shake off their sleep

Casting shade all over the hills

Cicada males not yet awake

Dreaming of their mating shrills


Melodious call of an oriole male

Not yet sipping of my nectar

Crepe myrtle in fuchsia regalia

Rose petals, the sun rays detector


A blue jay is squaring off afar

Probably out protecting his mate

Neighborhood roosters a’ crowing

Pleased that the showers did vacate


A dull thumping of railroad cars

Mulishly moving down the tracks

Loaded with sooty coal, I guess

Heading up north, a’ clickity-clack


A hummer just flew past my nose

Stopped on a dime then returned

Saw my bright red shirt, I reckon

Inching closer, drooled and yearned


Ready to propel even closer now

Till I uttered, “I don’t think so!”

Off it flew with a squeak and snip,

In a blaze of its slinky chapeau


Bathed my two Cavalier Spaniels

Got my front end as wet as they

But I can’t run around the yard

And shake off and loudly bray


Certainly I knew I had better not

What would the neighbors think?

An old lady romping with dogs

Surely needs to visit a shrink


But when those baths are done

Oh, to become a little girl again

I’d chase my tail and play dog

Bark and run after the mailmen


I’d dance the day away… maybe

But I’m afraid this tired ole body

Would give out fast and furious

Put me to bed with a hot toddy.


My knees would grate and grit

My hips would start to grumble

The hard ground would beckon

And I’d surely take a tumble


But jes’ for the tiniest moment

I would be all tickled and pink

For I’d soon be soaring home

In just about forty odd winks!