I imagine I'm a southern belle,
strolling jasmine scented pathways,
besotted beau beside me
as I smile charmingly after saying something coy.
Practice a hair toss, lashes lowered,
glance over shoulder...
find elderly gentleman watching me
as I blush (yes, 50 year olds can blush),
mutter to myself, attempt dignified exit
across arched bridge, past live oaks;
impromptu theatrical audition witnessed
by one other, a chipmunk, who scampers away
almost as quickly as I,
my sketchbook not as forthcoming
as this poem (years later).
by Margaret Bednar, October 23, 2018
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday Mini Challenge - Notebook Poetry". We had an option to handwrite our poems ... but I hate my handwriting so I thought I would show you a glimpse into my sketchbook. The top two are colored pencil, the chipmunk is watercolor and pen. I talk to myself a lot (especially when in a creative mode) and historical places always get me dreaming and imagining things...