Tuesday, February 28, 2012

back to the fuschia.

spring azaleas outside my bedroom window. 
they fill the room with a glorious pinkness this time of year...

Saturday, February 25, 2012

a button, a scrap of spider's web, and picasso, on art.

"The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web."

— Pablo Picasso

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

good morning...

good morning,
fresh, cool, breeze;

good morning,
windchimes singing;

good morning,
raucous jays and lovesick cardinals;

good morning,
blue expanse, reaching to forever;

good morning,

(linking to dVerse poets pub)

Sunday, February 19, 2012

seeing things.

Is it just me, or does this gate latch have a distinctly avian appearance?

(linking to macro monday)

Friday, February 17, 2012

rain and mist...

...with just a hint of sun. 
i couldn't see the sun, actually, but it showed up in this photo, anyway. 
i like to think that it was waiting there for me, the whole time...

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

pink tulips

"You believe
In God, for your part?—ay? that He who makes,
Can make good things from ill things, best from worst,
As men plant tulips upon dunghills when
They wish them finest."
 E. B. Browning—Aurora Leigh. Bk. II.

(sharing this with deb, "at our table")

Monday, February 13, 2012

for hannah.

sometimes life is held by the finest thread of waiting, 
held by the hope of love and mercy
and all things good.
sometimes we wait breathlessly for impossible news,
for a miracle from the One who brings forth the sky,
new every morning, 
who opens the bud of the trumpet vine 
and holds us all together in this dance 
of light and darkness 
which is life in this world.
sometimes faith
is all we have.

leslie young

(Would you join me in prayer for a beautiful young woman in our community, fighting for her life after a tragic accident Sunday? Her name is Hannah.)

2/18/12 Hannah Grace Kelley went to heaven today. Our prayers continue to be with her family and all who loved her.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

looking from the outside, in.

i spend a lot of time looking out through windows...

but on this day i viewed things from a different perspective.

it was grainy and flaking and faded.
but it still held a lovely reflection of beauty,
and do you see those pinpoints of light?
i think they were fireflies...

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

sometimes a tail comes in handy...

...especially when you're taking an afternoon nap.

in other news... i had a small skin cancer removed from my lip last week, which somehow necessitated about six stitches and a bandage that looked like an adolf hitler mustache. my family has been alternately saluting me and snickering at me. yes, that's the kind of respect i get around here... 

also, i am wearing summer clothes. that's right, SUMMER CLOTHES. is it too much to ask to get a few months of boot weather around here? (of course i realize that cold weather in florida means fiercely cold temps for you fellow bloggers who reside in more northern climes, but you'd be willing to sacrifice for me, right?) I mean, you guys suffer through evil winters so you can enjoy glorious summers, and we suffer through evil summers so we can enjoy glorious winters. isn't that the way this is supposed to work?

(p.s. i'm wearing my boots anyway, as i write this. just as a matter of principle.)

Monday, February 6, 2012

scenes from the garden on a winter afternoon

I realize this doesn't look much like winter.

It doesn't feel much like winter either, even for Florida.

But to quote a famous ancient Roman:

"If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need."
— Cicero 

(Does it count as a library if you have books scattered throughout your home in a variety of ragtag bookshelves? Does it count as a garden if you have a few potted plants and whatever springs up naturally in your back yard?)

Sunday, February 5, 2012

real or not real?

Real. Although I think it looks like a tissue paper rose.
I also think it's a bit creepy, like Miss Havisham's table in Great Expectations:

I crossed the staircase landing, and entered the room she indicated. From that room, too, the daylight was completely excluded, and it had an airless smell that was oppressive. A fire had been lately kindled in the damp old-fashioned grate, and it was more disposed to go out than to burn up, and the reluctant smoke which hung in the room seemed colder than the clearer air - like our own marsh mist. Certain wintry branches of candles on the high chimneypiece faintly lighted the chamber: or, it would be more expressive to say, faintly troubled its darkness. It was spacious, and I dare say had once been handsome, but every discernible thing in it was covered with dust and mould, and dropping to pieces. The most prominent object was a long table with a tablecloth spread on it, as if a feast had been in preparation when the house and the clocks all stopped together. An epergne or centrepiece of some kind was in the middle of this cloth; it was so heavily overhung with cobwebs that its form was quite undistinguishable; and, as I looked along the yellow expanse out of which I remember its seeming to grow, like a black fungus, I saw speckled-legged spiders with blotchy bodies running home to it, and running out from it, as if some circumstances of the greatest public importance had just transpired in the spider community.

I heard the mice too, rattling behind the panels, as if the same occurrence were important to their interests. But, the blackbeetles took no notice of the agitation, and groped about the hearth in a ponderous elderly way, as if they were short-sighted and hard of hearing, and not on terms with one another.

These crawling things had fascinated my attention and I was watching them from a distance, when Miss Havisham laid a hand upon my shoulder. In her other hand she had a crutch-headed stick on which she leaned, and she looked like the Witch of the place.

"This," said she, pointing to the long table with her stick, "is where I will be laid when I am dead. They shall come and look at me here."

With some vague misgiving that she might get upon the table then and there and die at once, the complete realization of the ghastly waxwork at the Fair, I shrank under her touch.

"What do you think that is?" she asked me, again pointing with her stick; "that, where those cobwebs are?"

"I can't guess what it is, ma'am."

"It's a great cake. A bride-cake. Mine!"

— Charles Dickens, from Chapter 11, Great Expectations

Okay, maybe it's not quite that creepy. Dickens did have a way with words, didn't he?

(linking to macro monday)

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


trumpet vines in the mist and fog. a rusty fence. weathered wood. nothing much, in the grand scheme of things, but still i like to look at it. it makes me feel comforted, like looking at an illustration in a children's book, about mice who run a bake shop. (their specialty is carrot cake.) i think they live in a cottage surrounded by a worn fence, draped in trumpet vines...