https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFAPS1jQClY
Sunday, April 30, 2017
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Friday, April 28, 2017
it seems a shame
it seems a shame to rake away this beauty but then, when i do, more beauty will follow in its place ...
Thursday, April 27, 2017
rising . . . .
among the not so small joys . . . in the back garden side-by-side, wondering at the new growth making its way out of the soil . . . plants ready to flower that had been planted last autumn . . . i'd forgotten i'd planted them, let alone their names . . .
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Monday, April 24, 2017
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Saturday, April 22, 2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
little flowers are arriving
little flowers are arriving on the western wall of our home . . .
i kneeled down to see this little sweetheart up close and i remembered these words . . . .
"I know someone who kisses the way a flower opens" . . .
mary oliver
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
Monday, April 17, 2017
Sunday, April 16, 2017
the return of the turkey vultures
every year around this time, the turkey vultures return to this street for two or three weeks.
they camp out in a spruce grove just west of my home. they are massive birds with wingspans of five to six feet!!
they camp out in a spruce grove just west of my home. they are massive birds with wingspans of five to six feet!!
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Friday, April 14, 2017
Thursday, April 13, 2017
swan
windy winds and rainy rains
brought this coil of birch bark
and this little puddle
together on our driveway . . . .
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
Monday, April 10, 2017
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Saturday, April 8, 2017
Friday, April 7, 2017
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
entanglement
watching the reflections of clouds passing across the skin of a small woodland pool . . . .
Entanglement
A librarian in Calcutta and an entomologist in Prague
sign their moon-faced illicit emails,
“ton entanglée.”
No one can explain it.
The strange charm between border collie and sheep,
leaf and wind, the two distant electrons.
There is, too, the matter of a horse race.
Each person shouts for his own horse louder,
confident in the rising din
past whip, past mud,
the horse will hear his own name in his own quickened ear.
Desire is different:
desire is the moment before the race is run.
Has an electron never refused
the invitation to change direction,
sent in no knowable envelope, with no knowable ring?
A story told often: after the lecture, the widow
insisting the universe rests on the back of a turtle.
And what, the physicist
asks, does the turtle rest on?
Very clever, young man, she replies, very clever,
but it’s turtles all the way down.
And so a woman in Beijing buys for her love,
who practices turtle geometry in Boston, a metal trinket
from a night-market street stall.
On the back of a turtle, at rest on its shell,
a turtle.
Inside that green-painted shell, another, still smaller.
This continues for many turtles,
until finally, too small to see
or to lift up by its curious, preacherly head
a single un-green electron
waits the width of a world for some weightless message
sent into the din of existence for it alone.
Murmur of all that is claspable, clabberable, clamberable,
against all that is not:
You are there. I am here. I remember.
Jane Hirshfield, 1953
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
bark
When I Am Among the Trees
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
Mary Oliver
Monday, April 3, 2017
scrambling through the undergrowth
among the small joys: a beautiful early spring afternoon spent scrambling through the undergrowth on the east side of the otonabee river . . . .
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Saturday, April 1, 2017
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