"Still Reflections"

"Still Reflections" is the latest composition from HTSteels collection. Acrylic on canvas board, this piece denotes remarkable description of still life impressionism. A wonderful painting.

hrallen

"Garden Delight"

A tiny reminder of why life is celebrated.

hrallen

"Radiantly Iris"

Few things in nature display such pure beauty as an Iris. Given thought to all the troubles of everyday life, it is such a delight to stop and give wonder to the elegance of just one flower. This magnificient specimen emerged yesterday, Saturday, to claim it's place amongst the other beauties of my gardens. I am pleased to display this for your enjoyment.

hrallen

"Winslow Royalty aka Poppy"

This morn, Mama sent me's up ta Poppy's cabin with 'a plate 'o eggs, some fried ham, biscuits 'n molasses. I thinks he smell'd me comin cause he had his rickty ole table pulled up to his'n knees and a hot cup of coffee all's ready.
"You'se hurry on ups here boy. Fer'n hit gits cold."
Poppy's in a good mood this morn. Sometimes all's he'll do is just grunt at's me.
"Sit yerself down thar boy. Yer mama's a might kind 'o fixin up this har plate fer old Poppy. I sure does like yer mama's cookin".
Fer a while, all the noise thar on that ole mountain wer tem bids wakin up the lazy folk and the sound 'o Poppy's fork scrapin cross Mama's best 'n china. Mama'd box my ear if'in I scraped my fok cross her best china like that; she'd a be fraid I'd scratchin it.
Poppy smacked him lips and shoved off ta table, "Come 'n on ups here boy."
I crawled up on Poppy's lap and snuggle in. Lap time 'a meanin stories or sometime hit would'n be an idear 'o Poppy's. Poppy hat tons 'o great idear's and memberences. Folk all said hows Poppy taws alway'n dreamer, 'specially Mama. I rans my fanger down one 'o cracks 'n Poppy's face, "Poppy, do tem huts?"
Poppy cackled 'n shuk him haid, "Naw son, tem don't hut none. Tem just the map tells 'bout my's life."
I's tank Poppy was 'n pullin my's lag. Any's darn 'o fool 'nown no-un's 'a map onin hit face.
"Ye ever catch ye a bard in yer hand, son?"
"No's sur."
"Well, I'd be dogged. Yu's "bout ta turn six now ain't ya? "Bout ta start skoul?"
"Yas em, sur."
"Ten it's a time to catch ye a bard. No boy's lowed to be six less'n him catchen him a bard. Till ya git one, you's a have ta stay five."
I did'n xactly what ole Poppy 'n told me. I tawas't lowed ta be six 'n I couldn't ride ta skoul bus like's my big brother till I 'a catch'n me's a lark. Poppy pours sum salt in ta middle 'o my hand. I walks up ta mountain, out past'n what was left of ta fance, and sit down's in ta dewy grass. Ta seat 'o my pant got wet reals quick, but I's real careful not to let ta salt get wet. Ta dew'd dry out soon 'nough and a wet pant never hut no'un yet.
I was facin down tawds ta cabin and I's sees 'a Poppy rockin, smokin him pipe. Poppy's real name ta Windlow Royalty. Once, Poppy told me tat him older than ta mountain. Since 'n him so old, Poppy don't do much but sit in him rocker on ta porch. He 'a said him's a hopin ta catch sum sun. I dun' know how's since'n all him do is jus sit thar 'stead of chacin hit. Guess him know'n bein as him's so old and wise and all's.
I's 'a sat still as 'n old tree stump wit my's hand 'a lyin way's out in front's of me 'n a tops a squished daisy. Ta tall grass wut blowin gainst ta back 'o my nek 'n ticklin sumin fierce. I's 'could hear's Mama 'a callin fer me ta git on home but's I ignore's hur. If'n Papa started hollerin, I'd have ta go 'er git 'a switchin. Afer 'n bit, 'n ole jack rabbit started ta hoppin in ta field. He'd not noticed 'n me cause I was sittin so still. Evey once in ta while, a lark would land nar 'n I'd holt my breth waitin fer 'n it ta hop 'n my's hant fer that salt. Ten, 'bout time ta sun gettin real's hot, 'a lark landed right's next ta me. I's 'could see Poppy sittin up's in him char and spittin him 'a stream of 'bacco juice over ta porch rail. Ta bard was a gettin closer an closer 'n suddenly Mama hollard 'n clanged har bell callin me's 'a home fer lunch. Dawged it she'd 'skared ta lark tway and ruined my's chance 'o turnin six.
I's a jumped up 'n hollowered lout as I coult, "Doggone hit anyway's," 'n runt downt ta hill 'a Poppy. "I's 'bout 'ad 'em Poppy. I's just 'bout 'ad 'em."
"You's best git 'n home son. Ye can try gainst morrow. Take's yer mama's china 'n scoot."
I run's downt ta mountain at a horse gallop 'n behindst me I heard Poppy cacking like 'a crazy man, "You's a sight boy. You's a sight."

A short story by HTSteele, from her poem "Tennessee". Both the story and the Poem are based on a true story that happened during the early sixties. Wonderfully told....

hrallen

"A Rose is a Rose"

The first rose in my garden.... This is no ordinary rose, however. Given to me in love from my wife, this climber is truly a show-stopper specimen. Filling my garden, and my senses, with it's sweet aroma this beauty opened today to unveil it's brilliant magnificence. Filling my day with joy and my memories with overwhelming pleasure, this rose is one of natures masterpieces' that has finally emerged.

I wait in total anticipation for the emergence of this next beauty.

hrallen