Drowning

Lying, robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right-

The leaves upon her falling light-

Through the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot;

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among;

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shallot.

-Tennyson 

So Human

“I'm not in search of sanctity, sacredness, purity; these things are found after this life, not in this life; but in this life I search to be completely human: to feel, to give, to take, to laugh, to get lost, to be found, to dance, to love and to lust, to be so human.”-C. JoyBell C.

Mossy Mountains...and a bug

Grounded

Every year in April for as long as I have lived here, these butterflies return to the exact same spot by the creek and gather, sucking something, I'm guessing algae, out of the sand.  Being an especially delicate creature in human hands, it is surprising to see them crawling over one another and crowded so close together. When I think of butterflies I think of flowers and little girls and whimsey, I was shocked the first time I discovered them down at this particularly smelly and dank place that only gets water when it rains heavily, fluttering and pulsating in the mud.

The Body Au Naturale (A Juxtaposition)

Signs of Spring

Spring is here, at least the flowers and the trees seem to think so. We have our greenhouse up and seeds planted, anticipating an early crop of spinach and nasturtiums for a lovely salad.

Spring is a  time for renewal, growth and change; how are you marking the season?

     A Prayer in Spring by Robert Frost

OH, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
To which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends he will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.