Let the Sunshine in (narrative poem) by Leanne Dyck

A narrative poem about a journey a child takes to spread light and promise.

'February 2019 on Mayne Island' phtoto by ldyck

Let the Sunshine in

Down a path, hidden by snow

crunch, crunch, crunch

yellow rain boots with smiley faces on the toes

At the edge of the forest,

veiled in mist,

on a snow-capped roof

a chimney breathes smoke

A witch's cottage?

Unafraid, the child ventures ever closer

Her knuckles reach for the door

knock, knock, knock

Sunshine spreads 

from the spot where the knuckles touched

to illuminate the door.

The child enters--

gloom gives way to sunshine.

Listening, the child hears 

click, click, click

"Hi, Grandma."

In the living room,

an elderly woman abandons her knitting needles

and follows the ball of light,

the child

out to the reawakening world
Boots skip over snow,
now mud, 
now grass,
now flowers

'March 2019 on Mayne Island' photo by ldyck

Much thanks to my beta reader for helping me with this poem.

photo by ldyck

April on this blog...

It's raining

it's pouring,
lots and lots of stories 
(Don't worry they're short)

Sunday, April 7

Your Favourite Stories:  a list to start the month. I've been publishing short stories on this blog since 2010. I hunted through all the old blog posts and found the most popular (those that earned the most page views) stories. I'll publish this collection on this blog on Sunday, April 7th.

Sunday, April 14 and 21
Book Reviews:  Short story collections by Margaret Atwood (Bluebeard's Egg) and Lisa Moore (Something for Everyone). 

Sunday, April 28
short story ???

'Abby's agility work' photo by bdyck

Sharing my author journey...

"My latest trick"

I've been literary agent hunting and I figured out something cool.

Gloves in my Pocket (poem) by Leanne Dyck

On chilly days, I stick gloves into my pocket and, with a smile, chant this poem--it all helps to warm me.

photo ldyck

Gloves in my Pocket

I've got gloves in my pocket

Yes, I have two of them

Gloves in my pocket, gloves in my pocket

I've got gloves in my pocket

I know how to use them

Gloves in my pocket, gloves in my pocket

I've got gloves in my pocket

They have holes in them

Gloves in my pocket, gloves in my pocket

I've got gloves in my pocket

I need a new pair of them

Gloves in my pocket, gloves in my pocket

I've got gloves in my pocket

Now several pairs of them

Gloves in my pocket

Gloves in my pocket

Gloves in my pocket

Next post:  Spring Cleaning (short story)

If you have a collection this short story will be especially meaningful for you.

Published on Sunday, April 8th at (approximately) 5 PM PT

Sharing my author journey...

What does a writer do without computer ink?

Like Magic (short story) by Leanne Dyck

I have many happy memories of caring for children in daycare centres. One of these memories inspired me to write this short story...

Like Magic

(revisions made in 2020)

It was a crisp, cool, sunny, day in mid-March. My shift at the Sun-time Day Care was winding down. I'd bundled up the kids and we were outside playing. I knew the parents would be thankful that they wouldn't have to struggle with jacket zippers, mittens, and toques. Soon only one child remained. I held the swing so Alison could climb on and sail into the cloudless blue sky. Instead of asking the question that was on the tip of my tongue--where is your mother, she asked,  "Do you believe in Leprechauns?"

Saint Patrick's Day was that week's theme. "Oh, yes, of course. A friend of mine is a Leprechaun."

Her eyes widened. "What's his name?"

"Michael O'Neal. He's the king of the Leprechauns."

"What does he look like?"

"His clothes are green, his long beard red, his leather boots black and he's as big as a minute." I measured his height with my thumb and index finger.

"Really?"

I nodded. "You know sometimes he plays tricks on me."

"What kind of tricks?"

"He's so silly. He hides things." She giggled and I continued. "I set down my pen, my brush, or my glass and then puff--like magic--it's gone."

"Gone. Forever?"

"No, he usually returns what he's taken. Leaving them in unusual places, my glass in my bedroom, my pen in the fridge."

"What does he like to eat?"

"Anything green--cucumbers, broccoli, peas, green beans."

"Hey, I like peas."

"Maybe you're a Leprechaun."

"No." She laughed. "What else does he like to do?"

"He sits on my shoulder and tells me tall tales about his long journeys to the end of the rainbow and his pot of gold."

"He's rich?"

"Oh, yes, all Leprechauns are."

"I'd like to meet a Leprechaun."

"Someday maybe you will." The iron gate made a clicking sound. I turned to look. "Hey, who's here?" I slowed the swing.

Alison planted her feet on the ground. "Mom!" She sang with irrepressible joy and bounced into her mom's arms. Then, like magic, Alison was gone.

Like Magic 

New work from my favourite poet

The spring in trees is to my mind

So full of colors too much to find

A name for each and every one

As in rainbows after rain in sun

by Byron Dyck (my husband)

Sharing my author journey