Remembering

White coral bells
upon a slender stalk,
Lilies of the valley
deck my garden walk.
Oh, don’t you wish
that you could
hear them ring.
That will happen only
when the fairies sing.

I remember singing this as a young girl, at my mother's side as she played the piano. A patch of lilies sat just beyond our front step.
When I married and moved across the state, I took a shovel-full to remember my home. Twice since, I've moved--each time a bit further.
And each time, the lilies have come, too.
Today, there are miles between us.
And the memories she had are gone.

But, there, in a corner of my garden, it is easy to remember.

Happy Mother's Day

Sunrise

The field has been planted.
A chilly night's passing has left a veil of fog where yesterday's sun warmed the earth, dark and rich.
An apricot sky--warmly tinted, yet softly stilled behind soft fuzz.

On our front bank, the poppies, heads heavy with hidden color, greet this morning.

Thanks to Wigger's World for hosting Skywatch Friday each week at his site!

Crossing paths

Out from the cover of the woods, where her brown and gold-flecked shell would have hidden her well in the filtered sunlight, the warmth has awakened her.
The knee-high green of the pasture barely parts as she moves through. Only here, at the trail’s edge, would I ever find her—brilliant yellow markings of sun and shadow on her head, an orange scaled foot not yet withdrawn.

A perfect little camouflaged box—protection from intruders.
Her wary eye wonders why I stare.
And wait.










I see them so seldom now, these memories from my childhood—when turtles were common and roads fewer.
Our world has changed.
She cannot.


I came across a male not far from here last fall, larger and more yellow.
He disappeared into the golden leaves of last fall’s drought.
I hope he finds her too.

Turtleneck

The color purple

I notice spring evolving in waves of color this year, like never before.

The first yellows of forsythia, daffodil and dandelion--bright spots against winter's drab.
Sunshine's wake-up call to a sleeping earth.
A new season's entry announced with cheer.

Our yard has passed into the purple phase now.

The fragrance of lilacs fills the air, dripping heavy and sweet. Fresh blooms borne upon grizzled branches.
And a reunion with familiar faces--the old iris.
Evidence of the resiliency of life.
Irrepressible growth.

And the perfect complement to green.

Budding Lilac
April 2, 2008


Lilac buds against lichens



Quilted purples:
lilac, violet, lilac
wild geranium, ajuga, iris
lilac, iris, lilac

Thanks to Mrs. Nesbit for hosting ABC Wednesday!

Daydreams

I had hardly given it much thought lately.
Aside from catching his eyeshine in the beam of my flashlight last week as I rounded the pond late one evening, the fox that I’d hoped to, one day, encounter face to face, has been keeping a low profile.
The tracks that led me, winding and creeping through freshly fallen snow in late February, now, as May’s return of life surges forward, are nearly forgotten. The snowy depressions--drag marks where he’d caught his prey and carried it yards from our wooded creek bank and off through the field—I’d translated in my mind to imagine a male might be hunting for his mate and young, resting somewhere, within a den.
Without ever seeing more than footprints, it remained but a romantic notion in my head.
Fueled by a dream that, hidden from harm, a sweet family of foxes was growing.



In the stillness of a new day’s dawning--dreams really do come true.

Apologies for the fuzzy images.
It was barely daylight, and I wanted be sure to keep my distance and not spook them with a flash.

In the wind

Puffy white clouds tumble past as a wave of steel blue, layer upon layer floats in the eastern sky. A badly needed rain teased us with passing droplets yesterday afternoon--falling in torrents in the night. By noon, the wind had dried all but a few puddles in the grass.

In the lush green pasture, the dandelions have turned their yellow heads to seed.


Ballerinas, toes pointed, reach out to catch a breeze.











I understand why there must be this rhythm of spring-
Wind and rain and wind, again.