milkweed pods

at the end of my garden just behind the garage is a space preserved for the fairies. my grandma emphasized to me the importance of leaving part of a garden untamed so that the fairies had a place for themselves. today i visited their little place and was immediately drawn to a beautiful glowing object . . . here it is . . . i remember cutting the pods from their stems in late autumn and putting them back here in the hope . . . .

shore lines

spring. riverside. ice. mouth.

breath taking

i searched for words to bring this little moment closer to the surface here.

and so, with your understanding . . . 

a rebuilding of a poem boris pasternak wrote long ago entitled, 

"winter sky".

"ice plucked whole from 

the past week’s stars all frozen in flight.

each turn’s a constellation.

that moon, a numb hound’s tongue

is there, frozen tight,

filled with lava of breathtaking ice."

morning reflections . . .

morning reflections. 

the north island of the silver bean archipelago . . .

late afternoon reflections

late afternoon reflections. 

the cliffs on the north island of the silver bean archipelago . . .

the passing of the ice

i find a place on my journey home where i can slide down the banks to the river each and every day. they are sometimes leaf-covered. sometimes muddy. sometimes steep enough that the journey down to the river's edge and the journey back are little adventures in their own right. these days i am searching for ice. ice that has coated a boulder, a snagged piece of driftwood, anything. i don't know why. it just seems right to hold the moment of the passing of the ice.