Category: Creative

Creative · Holidays · Humor · Non-Fiction · Short Story

Turkey Talk: A Thanksgiving Conundrum

AinaBalagtas7 Comments

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and Tom and Giblet, two plump turkeys, sat under the shade of a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the farm. They had overheard the farmer’s plans earlier that morning and were in the middle of an existential crisis.

“I don’t get it, Gib,” Tom said, pacing in circles. “How does a holiday about giving thanks end up with us in the oven? It’s a yearly genocide, and yet they call it gratitude!”

Giblet, reclining on a pile of leaves, shrugged. “Humans are weird like that. They celebrate by stuffing themselves full of food and then blaming the pumpkin pie for their bloated misery. But you know what’s really confusing? They call us the centerpiece of their joy. How is being roasted to a golden crisp joyful for us?”

Tom flapped his wings in exasperation. “Right?! And they say things like, ‘Let’s give thanks for our blessings’ while they’re basting us in butter! I bet no one thanks the turkey.”

“Not true,” Giblet said, smirking. “I heard a guy on TV last year say, ‘This turkey is the most tender I’ve ever had. Thank you, Tom.’ It’s probably the same Tom who was here before you.”

Tom gulped. “Well, that’s comforting. At least I’ll be remembered for my… moistness.”

The two turkeys sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of distant traffic and the clanging of pots in the farmhouse kitchen.

“You know,” Giblet mused, “what if humans didn’t eat turkey for Thanksgiving? What would they have instead? Tofu? Fish? Pizza?”

“Pizza?” Tom scoffed. “Imagine the chaos! Aunt Linda’s mad because Uncle Joe ordered anchovies. Cousins arguing over pineapple. No one’s giving thanks, Gib. Just civil war on a plate.”

“Exactly,” Giblet said, leaning in. “We turkeys bring people together. Think about it. Every American family strives to keep this tradition alive because we are on the menu. If it weren’t for us, Thanksgiving might just be another Wednesday.”

Tom frowned, then nodded slowly. “So, what you’re saying is… we’re like the glue that holds Thanksgiving together?”

“Precisely,” Giblet said with a smug grin. “Without us, they’d just be eating boring casseroles and arguing over football. We’re essential, Tom. Legends, even.”

Tom sighed and flopped down beside his friend. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess being roasted for the greater good isn’t the worst fate.”

“Exactly!” Giblet said, puffing up his feathers. “If humanity needs us to keep their families united, who are we to stand in the way?”

As the sun set over the farm, the two turkeys shared a moment of quiet reflection.

“You know, Gib,” Tom said, a small smile tugging at his beak, “I hope whoever eats me tomorrow goes for seconds.”

“Atta boy,” Giblet said, patting him on the wing. “Let’s make humanity thankful, one bite at a time.”

And with that, the turkeys resigned themselves to their fate—not with fear, but with a sense of purpose. After all, they weren’t just birds—they were Thanksgiving heroes.

Creative · Non-Fiction · Poems · Writing True

The Gift of Now

AinaBalagtas5 Comments
“Embrace the now, for it’s the only moment that’s truly yours—alive, unfolding,
and full of possibility,” me.

Look back, our heads allow,

only to a certain degree—

a flicker, a shadow, a distant hum

of who we used to be.

And the future? Even further still,

beyond the horizon’s bend—

a place unknown, like rainbow’s end,

where hopes and wishes blend.

But here, here is life, alive and bright,

unfolding before our eyes,

in the warmth of breath, in morning light,

under these fleeting skies.

Life dances here,

beneath this present sky;

in breaths we take, in steps we make,

and moments passing by.

What’s gone has left its mark,

a trail of learned and lost,

yet dwelling there, we’re caught somewhere,

and moving forward costs.

So plant your feet today,

in soil that’s firm and true;

let past and future fade away,

the now is here for you.

In the now, find joy,

the quiet gifts that stay,

for here in this brief, boundless breath,

is where we live today.

This moment holds the weight of all,

the heartbeats that we know,

so touch it, taste it, heed its call—

it’s here, it’s now, it’s home.

Creative · Non-Fiction · Writing True

September

AinaBalagtas6 Comments

What’s your favorite month of the year? Why?

September arrives on soft, golden feet,
A quiet prelude to autumn’s grand symphony.
It carries the scent of change in the breeze,
Cool whispers weaving through the trees.

It is the beginning of my favorite season,
When summer bows out with grace.
The world begins its slow exhale,
Wrapped in amber, rust, and lace.

September is the first brushstroke of fall,
Its skies a canvas of gentler hues—
The sun, mellow and warm as honey,
Its light filtering through morning dew.

The leaves begin their whispered conversations,
Turning to crimson, gold, and flame.
Each tree a poet, reciting the tale
Of nature’s eternal, cyclical game.

It is the time of apple orchards and hayrides,
Of pumpkin patches and firelit nights.
The air hums with the promise of change,
Of sweaters, scarves, and cozy delights.

Schoolyards fill with laughter once more,
Children with backpacks, dreams in their eyes.
It is the season of new beginnings,
Of turning pages, of hopeful tries.

September teaches us to let go gently,
To find beauty in endings and embrace the unknown.
Its charm is quiet, yet deeply profound—
A transition where seeds of reflection are sown.

So, why do I love September so?
It is a poem that nature writes with care.
A month of balance, of dusk and dawn,
Where stillness and transformation share.

And for those who pause to truly see,
September holds the magic key—
To love what was, to welcome what will be,
And to find grace in life’s changing melody.

Creative · Gratitude · Non-Fiction · Writing True

The Beauty of Gratitude

AinaBalagtas6 Comments
Serene sunrise over a peaceful lake, capturing warmth and tranquility—behold!

In the quiet cradle of morning,

as dawn spills golden light across the earth,

gratitude awakens—a silent pulse,

a steady rhythm beneath the breath,

a whispered thanks woven into the air.

It’s the warmth of sun slipping through autumn leaves,

the gentle weight of time held in each fold,

the simple grace of standing still

and feeling, fully, this moment’s gift.

Gratitude unfurls like the petals of dawn,

unseen yet profoundly felt.

It’s the soul’s quiet bow to the small and the grand,

to laughter shared, to hands held close,

to the way a storm clears the air.

It’s found in a stranger’s kind smile,

in the silent strength of a friend,

in the heartbeat hum of life’s ordinary days,

where beauty is buried, waiting to bloom.

Gratitude is the gentle teacher,

softening the edges,

guiding us back to all that is ours

by reminding us we are whole,

rooted in love and a thousand tiny gifts

we didn’t know we’d earned.

And as night falls, folding day into dusk,

it is there, resting gently,

a quiet ember glowing in the chest—

a quiet, fervent thank you,

a promise to hold every moment close,

to be moved by the beauty of life’s passing light,

to live each breath in gratitude’s grace.

For in this soft surrender, we find the truth:

that gratitude, once sparked,

sets the heart alight—

a candle illuminating every darkened path,

a radiance that fills the empty spaces,

making us, somehow, more whole,

made strong by the beauty we have held.

Creative · Nature · Non-Fiction · Ode

Ode to the Autumn Lover

AinaBalagtas3 Comments
Photo courtesy of Pexels

She moves through autumn like a whispered breeze,

Her soul alight with leaves that dance and twirl,

Each step a rustle through the amber trees,

Each glance a tribute to this changing world.

Her heart beats in the rhythm of the fall,

When foliage glimmers in golds and reds,

And trees stand proud, though knowing soon they’ll sprawl,

Their crowns laid gently on the forest beds.

The sky, a canvas brushed with fleeting light,

Draws out her wonder—oh, how wide she sees!

An aerial view of hills in autumn’s might,

Painted with passion by the changing trees.

See loves the season’s grace, the crisp, cool air,

The bittersweetness found in time’s embrace.

For every leaf that falls without despair

Teaches her heart the art of fleeting grace.

Her joy is rooted deep in autumn’s song,

Where endings bloom, and all feels right, not wrong.

Creative · Nature · Non-Fiction · Sonnet

Autumn, a Sonnet

AinaBalagtas2 Comments

The amber leaves drift softly through the air,

Like whispered truths that time can now release,

Each branch, once full, stands dignified and bare,

A gentle yielding, offering quiet peace.

The days grow shorter, yet the twilight sings,

With golden light that settles in the trees;

A fleeting warmth that only autumn brings,

A tender farewell carried on the breeze.

The earth grows still, as wisdom takes its place,

In every falling leaf, a lesson clear:

That letting go can be a form of grace,

And endings are not always cause for fear.

For autumn shows, as all things must depart,

There’s beauty still in every closing heart.

Creative · Ode

An Ode To Fall

AinaBalagtas3 Comments

For the taming of sun in September,

To the grace of harvests on October,

For the pumpkins and stuffed turkeys in November,

To the cascades of red, gold, and amber

Up in the air and down the road—

For hot chocolates and s’mores:

Linger Fall ‘til December,

Just a little bit more.

Related:

To Fall

The Ballad of Fall

Creative · Non-Fiction · Poetry

Water, Oh Water

AinaBalagtasLeave a comment
“Water always seeks the lowest. Yet without it, no life is possible,” me.

Behold the water, ancient and free,
A quiet teacher for all who see.
It moves with grace, no matter the way,
Shaping the earth day after day.

Water knows how to bend, not break,
To flow around every path we take.
In rivers and streams, it learns to glide,
Teaching us strength is found inside.

It crashes in waves, fierce and wild,
Then softens to rain, tender and mild.
Like water, we too can shift and change,
Adapting with courage through life’s range.

It never asks for where to belong—
In lake, in ocean, it sings the same song.
It teaches us this: no need to compare,
We are enough, just as we are, anywhere.

Water is patient, for it understands
That great things yield to gentle hands.
A canyon carved, a stone made smooth,
Time and persistence—its secret truth.

When blocked, it doesn’t resist or fight,
But finds a way through the cracks of light.
It whispers, “Let go, trust what will be—
There’s freedom in learning to flow like me.”

It rises, it falls, in endless rebirth,
A part of the heavens, a part of the earth.
From mist to river, from snow to sea,
Water reminds us how life must be—

To rise when we stumble, to fall with grace,
To nourish others and leave no trace.
For life, like water, is meant to move,
A dance of balance we learn and prove.

So drink in its wisdom, listen and see—
Be soft, be steady, flow wild and free.
For in every ripple, wave, and stream,
Water shows us how to live the dream.