only you have written. There is the language of blame and the language of love, the language of youth and the language of age. Between them lies the Grand Canyon of the human heart. You pull up the drawbridge. Above the crocodiles in the moat, I sadly wave. I cannot reach your tower. I have to let it go. But you can look out, on any day, and see me standing on the bank, patiently waiting.
Corey, over in the Garden, asked us to write about camping, and we could include a story that would creep him out. I always have no end of such delightful stories. This is a true one. Sigh. Tedious, I know. If I ever get time to write the book, the publisher will likely be Ripley's Believe It or Not! Hee hee.
This is incredibly powerful and beautiful. By one of my heroes, young activist Ta'Kaiya Blaney, who has been a strong advocate for Mother Earth since the age of ten. Take in this message and join us tomorrow at 3:00 p.m. local time, to appreciate water. It needs our reverence - our appreciation - and our protection.
Owls. I doubted I could write an owl poem better than this one, and Mary gave me dispensation to post it, just this once!! Thanks, Mary. Do check out the other links at Poetry Jam, kids....there will be some owl-fully good reading, I am sure.
I heard the river is high and wild at Stamp Falls, so this afternoon Jasmine and I pointed the car out that way. Jas takes after me - do everything the hard way. She doesnt look for a stick, she picks up whatever log she can get her jowls around and struggles to carry it. Hmmm....sounds very familiar!
But! it feels so good when it stops!
Oh I have missed green, this long gray winter!
And here it is - Stamp Falls, where the river enters the Narrows, via the rocks the salmon leap up every fall during the migration.
Even the water in The Narrows is wild this time of year.
posted for Hannah's Transforming Fridays prompt at Real Toads: the crystal caves of Mexico. I suppose it is a miracle they havent mined this treasure trove to extinction. Instead, there are scientists there, studying the caves. Maybe we are waking up.
Go OUT??!! I just looked outside and there is No Way!
Seriously. I'll just hold it till spring.
Brrrrrr..........no way, no how.
My mom just shunts me out the door.
It sucks to be me.
Good thing I have warm winter gear!
Hee hee. The expressive pug is my granddog, Chloe, Stephanie's youngest. Sporting the aviator hat is my Jasmine, newly shorn of her winter's nest of mats and clumps and looking a teeny bit smaller as a result. If I thought cutting my hair would do the same for me, I'd get right on it!
Susan has set us a prompt at Mid-Week Motif: honoring women's achievements. I considered many of the obvious heroic women, but then I thought about women for whom there is often a lot of judgment and blame, who quietly do the undoable without a lot of help or support, acknowledgment or thanks: the single moms of the world.
The last thing you wanted for your children
was a broken family and lives of grueling poverty.
till suddenly eyes began to look past or through me
as if I were empty air.
As I gained weight of wisdom
and girth of body,
eyes fell away from me
as if afraid to light, for fear age is contagious. (psssst: it is!)
I was a book of Ponderous Truth
disguised, absurdly, as an Eggo waffle.
I poured on the syrup,
and made my peace. ********* II. With our cloak of invisibility, comes an increase of our other faculties: life wisdom, extra-sensory perception, a heightened radar system.
From behind our convenient disguise as aging-persons, we can interpret your body language. We see the lifted brow, the wry smile. We can read your energy. You reveal so much more than you think you do. We nod. We smile. We keep our silence. But we can see right through you.