Autumn Morning

Autumn morning,

golden, delicious,

crisp as a ripe apple.

Rising sun

lifting a blanket of fog,

waking the world,

whispering secrets into the wind.


Be still, and listen.

© Amy Porterfield 2021

What color is life?

I moved into my house twenty years ago, and it is still mostly decorated just the way the former owners left it. Only now it is much grimier thanks to the animals and kids I have acquired during my stay here. I have a terrible time making choices and decisions about home decor. I have no fashion sense, and my anxiety makes it difficult for me settle on anything. There is always a nagging, “But what if…?” and “But what about…?” When I had my first baby I couldn’t bring myself to decorate the nursery because I didn’t know this little person and I didn’t know what he liked and what if he hated all the things I picked out? What if I picked a sports theme and he preferred zoo animals or something? OMG the pressure!! My dad finally just showed up and painted the room blue. The child is 13 now and the room is still the same blue and he doesn’t seem to mind. I tell this story to give you some background about this poem, as well to introduce my next Imposter Adventure. The poem is in response to this prompt at Putting My Feet in the Dirt (love her prompts), and the writing of the poem helped to nudge me along the path to updating my home.

Photo by Pixabay on

What Color is Life?

The walls of my room

are boring and bland.

Ordinary Eggshell,

yellowing like curdled milk.

A sour atmosphere

that doesn’t reflect

the life within these walls.

But what color is life?

A sleepy, slumbering blue?

A giddy, laughing yellow?

A romantic rose?

A pinky peach newborn?

An angry red that finally fades

into a quiet indigo twilight?

What color is your love for me,

and mine for you,

and ours for this life?

I’m not sure,

but it isn’t eggshell.

© Amy Porterfield 2021

Burying Yesterdays

In response to February Writing Prompts at Putting My Feet in the Dirt. (I love these prompts! Thank you so much for the inspiration!)

Burying Yesterdays

I buried my yesterdays,

buried them deep

in the rich earth.

I nourished them with tears,

warmed them with joy,

and watched them grow

into a beautiful today,

fortified by wisdom,

wanting nothing more

than to stand in the

light of now

and be happy.

© Amy Porterfield 2021

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on

Winter Wonders

I’ve been interested in photography as a hobby for a while now, but I have found it to be prohibitively expensive. So, several years ago my husband bought me some little lenses that stick on your phone’s camera. He found them on Groupon Goods for $7. You can read more about them here. The set came with a wide-angle lens and a fish-eye lens, but I have had the most fun with the little macro lens. We are having a real winter here for the first time in ages, and I was able to get up close and personal with some flurries.

We are expecting several more inches of snow over the next few days. This will be the biggest snow event we’ve seen since I was little, and I’m so excited for my kids to experience a “real” winter snow! Hopefully I’ll be able to get some good shots of the kids and the snow this week. Fingers crossed that we don’t lose power during all this. I made sure to get our bread and milk yesterday 🙂

Stay safe and warm, and enjoy the snow!

If I Were the Wind

In response to February Writing Prompts at Putting My Feet in the Dirt.

Photo by Nita on

If I were the wind,

I would tousle your hair,

caress your face,

and whisper in your ear.

I would lift ladies’ skirts

and snatch men’s hats

to make you laugh.

I would clear your cloudy skies,

keep your kite aloft,

but steal your balloon.

Love and loss are so intimately related.

I would lay flower petals,

seeds, and feathers at your feet.

I would lift your prayers to heaven.

And I would carry your scent,

and the echoes of your voice with me

forever and ever.

© Amy Porterfield 2021

Soggy Socks

After a drizzly morning,

clearing clouds reveal

the remnants of a rainy day.

Pooling puddles shine

like mirrored glass

on the sidewalks,

just right for jumping.

Little legs running,

frog-hopping feet


sending water flying.

Soaking sneakers, soggy socks,

and a little boy

bending to examine

a wriggling worm.

© Amy Porterfield 2020

Photo by Matthias Zomer on


“Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.” From Sand and Foam, Kahlil Gibran, 1926

Step softly into this sacred space

Of prayers, whisper-soft

Carried on bird’s wings

To heaven, shining through leaves

Of stained glass.

Step softly into this cathedral

And walk into

The welcoming arms

Of God.

© Amy Porterfield 2020