Wednesday, March 28, 2012

on life and legends

we lined up like soldiers at the edge of the sea wall,
old, young and in-between, 
backs straight, eyes peeled, waiting.

we watched them come up for breath,
a trinity, then triple dive and disappear
only to resurface below our feet,
white dolphin bellies hurtling past 
like demigods, tracking the school of silver mullet,
mad with flight.

it was ballet, it was myth, it was war.
or was it rodeo? 
dolphin cowboys, corralling schools of flashing prey,
lassoing them with waves of ultrasonic sound —
swallowing the spoils.

i thought about mermaids, too,
and all the ancient lore spun
by mariners wandering those lonely seas —
and why not? 
the depths are mesmerizing, even for those of us
on dry land,
with kids and dogs in tow
and dinner to make
and life to face,
back home.

leslie young
© 2012

Thursday, March 22, 2012

water ballet, duckling style.

"All right, duckies, lets get those tails in the air!"

 "Harriet, you're falling behind a bit. You have to paddle like mad to get the right form!"

"Now you're just being silly. Alfred, stop spitting at the girls!"

"Bravo, you've done it! Won't your mummies and daddies be proud!"

"Well, it's a yes for me, how about you, Fred? Should we let 'em pass to the next round?"

(You really ought to click on the photos to see the close-up of Alfred spitting at the girls.)

Monday, March 19, 2012

these are a few of my favorite things...

sunspots on spider's silk

sunlight on gossamer wings

and a bloom where once there was only a promise...

Friday, March 16, 2012

andy warhol has nothing on me...

I call this, "Holy Planks," or maybe, "Hanging By a Thread."

What do you think?

This work of art was inspired by the pit bull puppy next door.  

Yesterday she and my little basenji decided to engineer a DIY project involving the wood fence that separates them. I walked outdoors late in the afternoon to see the pit's massive head sticking through an equally massive hole in the fence. The dogs were exceedingly happy with their accomplishment - me, not so much ... hence the temporary "planks" tied up with kitchen twine until my husband can repair it this weekend. The planks are old walkboards from my husband's days as a house painter, and once I got them up I was fascinated with the play of light and shadow on holes in the painted wood, and the bits of twine as accents. So there you have it. A chewed up fence as an opportunity for artistic expression. That's got to be at least as creative as a can of Campbell's soup, right?

Addendum: My husband just asked me if I knew where these walkboards came from. Apparently they were originally support boards for a pipe organ at an old church in our area. When the church was being renovated the pipe organ was removed (why?) and the boards were being thrown out. The holes made to accomodate the various pipes made the boards light, yet sturdy, so my husband re-purposed them for his work. And at the moment they are serving as fencing material. I'm about ready to make them a permanent garden sculpture at this point :) 

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

on magical flying things...

"When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

—J.M. Barrie

Sunday, March 11, 2012

sunday observations...

"In almost everything that touches our everyday life on earth, God is pleased when we're pleased. He wills that we be as free as birds to soar and sing our maker's praise without anxiety." —A.W. Tozer

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

glass menagerie

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."

Friday, March 2, 2012

a spring song

the wind is sighing gently
through the pines, and everywhere
trees are greening,
smudges of new against the sky.
i hear careful rustlings above me
and lift my head in time
to see a tip of squirrel’s tail
as she slips into her nest of oak leaves.
the pine affords her twining branches
for anchor - the oak a myriad
of stuffs for nesting, and the 
spring brings forth new life.
a dove coos, far off, and now
the ever-present cardinal song,
his spring song — only in spring.
what other season so aptly
sings the hope of life 
from death?

leslie young