Monday, February 28, 2011

magpie tales: no remorse

photo courtesy of tess kincaid


She was starving. It had taken more time than she thought. And more energy. She looked down at her hands, still covered in crimson, but there was no remorse. Only that relentless hunger. She’d kill for a bloody steak slathered in onions right about now. And there was absolutely nothing in the apartment except a shriveled lemon and a moldy chunk of cheddar. She guessed she’d have to clean up the mess and go out. Wouldn’t want anyone to find things this way. Fingerpainting was a messy business.


linking to magpie tales

Sunday, February 27, 2011

wide awake


To us also, through every star, through every blade of grass, is not God made visible if we will open our minds and our eyes.  —Thomas Carlyle 




linking to recuerda mi corazon

Friday, February 25, 2011


Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.  —Lord Byron

















Wednesday, February 23, 2011

contentment


"...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances."
— Phillipians 4:11

this little bird,  
perching on a rock at low tide 
on a chilly morning, 
gazing at his reflection
and possibly hoping for breakfast —
is he content?

i think i am learning,
but still there are days
when my perch feels precarious
and the water is too cold
and i don't want to get my feet wet
and i am 
hungry...

and then there are days 
when the solid rock supports me,
and despite the frigid waters —
 my reflection is hopeful
for provision,
in good
time.


linking to imperfect prose

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

winter visitor


"Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off and they are nearly always doing it."    





Sunday, February 20, 2011

giving thanks...

Colors are the smiles of nature.
Leigh Hunt


...for candy-striped geraniums


...for a petunia's purple majesty


...for raspberry-petticoated azaleas


... and trumpets of apricot and gold.



Thursday, February 17, 2011

love song




















the cardinal is singing to his love,
and to spring,
and to the red maple budding in the garden,
and the fuzzy caterpillar blooms
of the slash pine,
and the promise of warm days,
and nest building,
and brown-speckled eggs,
and
new life.

linking to imperfect prose

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

sun flare


burst of flaming sun
warming the cool, blue 
sphere
of my heart

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

magpie tales: salt shaker

photo courtesy of tess kincaid












My dad and his brother called her "Margie Jo." She was statuesque and always laughing.
I remember her Thanksgiving dinners, the table set with tiny crystal salt and pepper bowls, doll-sized spoons resting on the edges. We gathered in that big old dining room in the house by the lake. All the chairs mismatched, and flow blue china on a faded yellow tablecloth, and brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles, talking loud, telling stories - SUCH good stories - and laughing and nobody getting a word in edgewise and the turkey wasn’t quite done so she sliced a bit off the top and put it back in the oven to finish and I couldn’t catch my brother’s eye to warn him about the salmonella but we never got sick and she was so young, so young even though she was sixty-five, but her eyes had that spark of mischief and pure JOY.

They're all there now, at the table - Larry, Kayo, Margie Jo. Laughing, shouting, telling tall tales. I know Aunt Marge has set a place for us.

linking to magpie tales

quiet harbor at early morning


He leads me beside still waters,
He restores my soul...



Sunday, February 13, 2011

Saturday, February 12, 2011

birds outside my window

my daughter is photographing eagles,
and i sit with feet against
the space heater, tea in hand
watching birds 
outside my window.


yellow-green warblers, tails wagging,
flitting through the underbrush
of oak and pine while
the raven-winged vulture soars beyond
a swaying barricade of 
long-needled branches.


the robins were here earlier —
kicking up the loose dirt,
hiding in the orange tree,
strutting about in their bold red waistcoats 
and generally making 
a glorious mess.


i sat down to write about
life's bittersweet,
but now i can only see
the sweet.

world through glass



For now we see through a glass, darkly; 
but then face to face: 
now I know in part; 
but then shall I know 
even as also I am known.
— I Corinthians 13:12


linking to Michelle at Graceful

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

light on the water


the pond is mysterious,
shallow depths
swirling
with silver-scaled sunlight,
swimming
towards shore

the pond is black velvet,
sleeked with
diamond-studded water weeds,
draped in filmy
virescence

the pond is
a night sky,
starry constellations
stretching to infinity amid
the swirling nebulae



Tuesday, February 8, 2011

plucky bug


i don't know what he is...


but he held on while i ran in to grab the camera

and didn't seem to mind his photo shoot one bit.
even when i held those blossoms in my hand
to keep them from blowing away
in the gusty wind.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Saturday, February 5, 2011



— Oliver Wendell Holmes

Thursday, February 3, 2011

just desserts




Seize the moment. 
Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart.  
~Erma Bombeck