My poetry eBook is finally complete!

Poetry eBook poster of rabbits, a bumble bee, a fox, and Bridget Webber’s writing quill, announcing her nature poem book.
Poetry eBook poster of rabbits, a bumble bee, a fox, and Bridget Webber’s writing quill, announcing her nature poem book.
Author’s Design Courtesy Canva

After a long time sifting through my poems, both old and new, I’ve put 100 together in an eBook. I would be delighted if you take advantage of my giveaway day. It ends at 11.59 pm (Pacific time).

Nature Poems to Warm the Heart and Nurture the Soul


Meditating among gentle nature

A man and dog enjoy the beauty of nature in the evening woodland sunset.
A man and dog enjoy the beauty of nature in the evening woodland sunset.
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I meditate this afternoon, late, under a line of beeches and oaks. Their canopies sway in the breeze. My velvet cushion, a gold and auburn leaf-carpet underfoot, is soft and warm. Even Copernicus, my canine companion, slows to a steady trot rather than engage in his usual scurry and bounce. He admires nature and breathes in the day.

I breathe out troubles — those tiny worries that seem huge, yet mean little when the sun shines through the branches. They swim, bone-surface, out into the chirp and forage, the busyness of wildlife behind the calm exterior.

Forest-bathed, I glide, light now after the immersion, and note the sounds of the natural world gather speed as I am still. The wind rustles copper autumn leaves. The horses in a nearby field gallop and whinny, and squirrels’ scamper. …


Short story

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In a room, there is a man, and in that man, there is despair.

He gazes at the computer screen, longing to look something up. Unearth some reasonable data he didn’t know before now to cast away the gloom.

He taps ‘weather’ into the search engine. There’s a 99% chance it will rain in approximately 15 minutes at his postcode.

A 1% chance it won’t, of course.

He wants the almost impossible to occur and glances out of the window in defiance.

I dare you, he thinks. Show me. Just show me it’s possible for that 1% to win.

Five minutes pass, and he considers lunch. Macaroni? A sandwich? But part of him waits. He waits for the 1% because it signals hope. Hope for everything he wants. …


You think she’s had it. But just when you consider it’s time to quit, she roars along the tracks and shoots up to knock the dead foliage from her carcass

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Nature plucks each woman in her prime and plants her deep. Soil pours into her eye-sockets so she can’t see and fills her mouth so she cannot speak. Her misspent youth and misconceptions leach into the earth and are replaced by light. Each cell glows, sending tendrils to poke into a new day.

She arises as a wise woman. Although, yesterday’s pain exists along a thread tied to her waist. She pulls it close when the sky is heavy, then releases it to the wind when the sun rises in her bones.

That drab-shadow afternoon sees me stuck. To walk through it is like stirring thick rice pudding in the big pot with a thin wooden spoon.


A short story

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The fox prowls outside my window. Keen brown eyes stare into the thicket. I tap the keyboard and glance to the meadow to catch signs of movement from the corner of my right eye.

She is on her hind legs. Upright. Poised to pounce. Her ears are radars, detecting the crunch and squirm of her soon-to-be snack. Heat from the prey filters through her thick winter coat. It bristles with the acknowledgment it is almost time.

I enjoy the soft sound of each letter typed. And the click of the mouse. Together, they create music.

Her paws thump into the thicket, and her head disappears between brambles and foliage. Her body sways with swift turns and twists. …


Short story about a dog’s antics and a slippery slope

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That crimson and gold leaf-blanket is like a slide. It wants to slurp me down the steep, wet, mud path and eject me onto the road below. I dig my heels into the ooze and lean forward, traveling uphill, as if my weight will provide traction.

Copernicus, my dog, dances at my side. His eyes sparkle with wonder and joy, and his long black and white fur sticks out as though he’s been to a beauty parlor. My hair looks like a ten-ton truck rolled it flat.

“It’s so terrific here!” He grins and prances. “Come on. Let’s run!”

His mood is infectious. A small smile reaches the corners of my mouth, which, a moment prior, sank into the dank mire. My pace quickens. Not into a run, but with the surge experienced when your heart grows light. …


Some days are slow to start

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Daybreak is slow. It rises from beneath the night like a ghost. I watch it float. A pale glow melts to dawn like ice on a cold afternoon. It slides through my curtains as a thief to steal my slumber and wrap it in autumn brown and grey.

And the owl, still up, clutches the last strands of prowl-time in her talons, afraid to let go and see the sun slink into gnarled branches with hesitant sighs.

I, keen to welcome the morning, fling wide the curtains, roll up the blinds, then turn on the light. But no one else stirs. With ear to window, I listen for evidence it really is a day. The pigeon obliges, cooing twice only, and a blackbird lands close in his pitch velvet suit to eye me with gold irises. …


An evening stroll

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Each windswept day — and all race by my window — falls into the next. As if the waking hour leans always closest to midnight: The darkness looms at the edges in minutes. A minute before the sun dips (again) and the village lights gleam, one by one, teaming across the valley at dusk.

That star-blanket twinkles in every house. Warm yellow glows as we, my dog and I, turn our faces to them, out of the gust and chill, and imagine a tranquil eve spent beside a crackling fire.

There are candles with flames that dance, and the scent of oranges and pine floats. Hot beverages and knitted blankets, cushions, and joyful music to fill the nooks and crevices. …


Would you open a shop and apologize for not knowing what to sell?

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When you read plenty of blogs and social media stories, you recognize trends. People write about particular topics. But mostly this is okay. They interpret subjects differently and put a fresh slant on them. There’s one popular topic, though, everyone writes the same way.

If you write about how frustrated you are because you can’t find anything to write about, you are unoriginal. …


No one else’s tips for improvement or popularity will work until you make a pact with yourself to be the best version of you

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It doesn’t matter how many mentors you follow or self-improvement classes you attend. It makes little difference how many self-development books you read. What you tell yourself and your subsequent actions will always shape you from the inside out, and nobody else is half as influential.

Did you ever wonder who the most powerful influencer is in the entire world? You might imagine it’s someone like Abraham Lincoln, Gandhi, or Elon Musk, to name a few high-profile people.

No one can blame you for assuming well-known historical figures or current entrepreneurs have the greatest impact on your life. …

About

Bridget Webber

Writer, poet, storyteller. https://muckrack.com/bridget-webber-1 Author Page Amazon https://tinyurl.com/y2cgqhgv

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