A monarch in the meadow

Landing

The bud
stands for all things
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on the brow
of the flower,
and retell it in words and in touch,
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing.

~ Galway Kinnell

I’ve posted this poem sometime in the past (it seems like long ago), and it came to mind this morning as I was pondering “what next?”

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Thursday Travels: Goodbye Laverty Falls

One last look

Seated on a rock, having a snack, and listening to the falls, M and I stayed a while.  When I finished my snack, I moved around, taking a lot of different photos of rocks, the water, and the falls.  Someday (perhaps in the winter) I’ll have time to play with them.  In the meantime, I’ll show a few, looking downstream from the waterfall.

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Ripples of light

Early this morning

Whenever someone awakens fully,
it effects human consciousness
at a collective level.
It is like dropping a stone
into a dark murky pond.
Ripples of light!
Not one word need be spoken.

~ Leonard Jacobsen

I’ll tell you how the sun rose
A ribbon at a time. . .

~ Emily Dickinson

The music.  🙂


Canning

Iced tea on the deck

It’s that time of year again.  The tomatoes need to be canned.  The peppers need to be frozen.  Apples need to be turned into applesauce.

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Cloud

No, not that kind of cloud!

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Dear Mom

A sunflower for remembrance.

Well, it’s been three years now since you died.  This is probably going to be the last year I’ll write to you on the date of your death.  From now on, I’d rather celebrate the anniversary of your birth, and your life.  I think of you often, and I’d rather not dwell on the cancer, the hospice room, and the sadness.  I don’t believe you would have wanted that from any of us.  I will, however, always remember those beautiful sunflowers.

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Bridge

The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length, the middle-aged man concludes to build a woodshed with them.

~ Henry David Thoreau

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