The light droplets of rain
Falling onto the open plane
The air cool and crisp
The wind but a wisp
The nature lush and green
Everything new and clean
Category Archives: Seasonal
Pretty them flowers be
Pretty Flower I see
Pretty flower, bending in the wind
Never breaking, just a little shaking
When the blow is really hard
She acts really smart
Bundling up her petals
In a position very protective
Surviving the forces of nature
Without any kind of hatred
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Rainy season
Pouring Rain
The rain came pouring in
Hitting hard, on my exposed skin
A summers child caught in weather of cold
Just because someone tricked me and was sold
A sales pitch promising adventure
A bargain with more than the turn of the century
Travel to an exotic land way up in the north
Yeah man, I thought I had it scored!
So now, here I stand in the pouring rain
This ever changing weather driving me insane
Hoping a glimpse of sun to catch
But guess with this climate, i have met my match!
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Darkness and Light
Darkness and Light
‘Twas the darkest of seasons
No way to put a smile on
But a small light was lit
And that was only the beginning of it
Many a more
Turned their lights on
And then the world
Was not so dark anymore
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Sisu, Sauna and Something else?
” When in Helsinki, do as the Finns do”
Finns, what a nationality
We have quite the ability
To enjoy ourselves
With life’s simple little things
Sauna, heated to at least eighty degrees
Surely hot enough to melt any cheese
Beating each other with branches of birch
Almost as purifying as absolution in a church
Sisu, the spunk, guts and percistence
We have plenty of through out our existance
Rally drivers, Nokia, Linux and the rest
We only deliver the best
Koskenkorva, pure spirit made out of barley
After drinking, don’t ride your Harley
The Swedes may prefer their Vodka
But for the Finns, it’s pure dogma
We have lakes and forrests in abundance
So please come and join us
For a visit in the green of nature
It won’t leave you denatured
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Yellow Things
“It’s yellow so it must be pretty” Gun Roswell
Great things
Always come in threes
Even if you sneeze
You will love these
Little yellow things
Brought by spring
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The holiday season’s coming to an end?
“A very short time for a celebration and holidays, but hey, I’ll take it!” Gun Roswell
When the two days of pleasure, puts on a lot of pressure
Because hey, it’s just a few days, and packing in all to slay
The checklist done earlier this year, just in utter fear
Of loosing out on some of the important things to be done
During over three hundred days, packed with all and maybe fun
But then, the fatigue hits and all you can do it just sit
And watch as the candles softly flicker, forgetting all the bigger
Worries and what nots and simply, sipping some eggnog
Because that, is what this season, is really all about!
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May I have some Figgy Puddin’, please?
“Sometimes, the classics are the best of tales, even in reposts. Happy holidays to One and All!” Gun Roswell
The year was 1845. I was about ten years of age and working as a stable girl. Our family lived and worked in Lord Hamilton’s manor house. It was Christmas time and as a gift for the servants, the Lord arranged a feast for the staff and their families.
Mommy had the children dressed in their Sunday best. My two brothers were complaining about the stiffness of the shirts. Starch was itchy and could cause rash, especially if one scratched the itch.
I had my favourite dress on and my younger sister was a bit jealous of the red and green colouring. She was wearing a plain blue coloured hand me down.
After all the fuzz and hassle with the wardrobe, the whole family was finally set to go to the main house and start with the Christmas dinner. Us servants would be dining in the large kitchen. Several long tables were brought in with extra seats as well. This wasn’t a large household. With around fifteen servants and their families, well not all had children and spouses, all in all around sixty people in total crammed around the tables. The two cooks had had their hands full with the preparations and naturally every one that could had chipped in.
But now it was time for celebration. Everyone was finally sitting down and getting quiet. After grace the noise level rose again. Food containers were passed around and everyone was filling their respective plates. After all, it wasn’t often we got to eat in this manner and variety.
After a while, everyone had cleared their plates and it was time for dessert. My favourite was the Figgy Pudding. If possible I opted for seconds. As I got my plate of the delicious substance before me, I licked my lips and dug into it with gusto. It did not take too long for the food to disappear from my plate.
My mom looked at me with a smirk. I looked back at her and passing my bowl I asked: “Is there any Figgy Puddin’ left?”
I was smiling widely, feeling exhilarated, when the bowl was passed back to me with an other helping.
When the final bits were eaten, it was time for the traditional sing along. The farmhand brought out his accordion and after the first few tunes, we all joined in. The evening was spent singing, chatting and finally picking up the tables. We all went back to our dwellings, thanking the Lord for the special meal.
Merry Pudding and God bless us everyone!
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Saint Nick is in Da House!
“Oh Xmas time, oh Xmas time… yeah, so, tis the season after all, so let’s try to have some kind of a ball? Even if some of us might not just subscribe to the general idea of the celebratory time. But yeah, totes put up a tree and some lights, as they do look, kinda nice!” Gun Roswell
The jolly Saint Nick
For some, Father Christmas
To others, Santa Claus
Call him what you will
You will always get your fill
Of happy thoughts and enjoyment
And possibly a nice payment
On Christmas Eve or Day wherever in the world you play
If you only believe
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Heartfelt on Xmas Eve
“Sometimes, one simply needs to forget about the hassle around, take a breather and concentrate on the very essence of what this special season really means, if anything.” Gun Roswell
In a comfortable winter’s sled
A holiday heart, glowing in red
Cheer and joy, for a while it will spread
No one knows, what here it lead
Or where it will next head
So each night, before you go to bed
Whisper a wish to keep it fed
Rantings Of A Third Kind 