A Weekend in the Smokey Mountains

Four glorious days

in the mountains

with Linda, Mocha and Kenzie

...and a few surprises.

Other People's Words

Sometimes, I'm dumbfounded by the utterances of others. I'm certainly not immune, but how does one respond to the following statement graciously?

"You know, rose petals come from roses."

The Shadow of Her Smile

Avian Delights

As winter continued to hold us captive to gray skies and barren branches, the profusion of bulbs and wildflowers ushered in the promise of Spring. As their blossoms faded, lush shades of green leaves began to emerge; the woods softened. Then, a late freeze seized us and tender shoots of a new season shriveled. The tendrils of an aborted Spring still hang in rusts and browns, confusing our eye and our senses.

Just as the dove carried a message of renewal, birds have emerged in their brilliant coats of yellow and red and indigo, rose and black and white and subtle freckles of rust on creamy breasts, restoring the order of nature. Witnessing their springtime antics, as nests are built, mates are courted, territories are staked out, feathers brighten and birdsong heightens; all are a feast for the eye and the soul.

Wildflowers are more collaborative subjects for photography, but the happenstance capture of an elusive indigo bunting or the migrating rose-breasted grosbeak is cause for celebration.

I share these little bits of soul food with you. Enjoy each savory bite.

(l) female rose-breasted grosbeak, (r) male rose-breasted grosbeak

the breaking of the day

the breaking of the day,
with all its textures and colors and rays
dims when you step
into the new morning

every breath feeds your radiance
every heartbeat a challenge to the sun
to rise

it bows its head and blushes,
knowing tomorrow
it must try again

What Say Ye?

I pass this mailbox several times a week. It always catches my eye, along with the abandoned house on the same plot of land.

I'm curious...what feelings, questions or words does this image evoke in you?

I'm going to write a poem, inspired by this photo. Who knows, maybe your words will find themselves in a stanza.

Thanks for sharing.

May 3, 1912 - July 16, 1995

Now Voyager by May Sarton

Now voyager, lay here your dazzled head.

Come back to earth from air, be nourished,

Not with that light on light, but with this bread.

Here close to earth be cherished, mortal heart,

Hold your way deep as roots push rocks apart

To bring the spurt of green up from the dark.

Where music thundered let the mind be still,

Where the will triumphed let there be no will,

What light revealed, now let the dark fulfill.

Here close to earth the deeper pulse is stirred,

Here where no wings rush and no sudden bird,

But only heart-beat upon beat is heard.

Here let the fiery burden be all spilled,

The passionate voice at last be calmed and stilled

And the long yearning of the blood fulfilled.

Now voyager, come home, come home to rest,

Here on the long-lost country of earth's breast

Lay down the fiery vision, and be blest, be blest.

When It's Iris Time in Tennessee

Here Kitty Kitty

My neighbor was puzzled. Here's why:

Found: a neat row of kibble stacked between the sheets in her linen closet.

Found: a pile of kibble sitting on the top of a dresser.

My neighbor doesn't own a dog, but is dog-sitter extraordinaire for Miss Mocha.

I was puzzled. Here's why:

Found: Thistle seed in the basement...neatly deposited in 2-inch drifts on two storage shelves packed with supplies.

Found: A few bits of kibble underneath a drip pan on my stove.

Found: This on the floor in my storage closet:

Found: This under the cushion of my comfy chair:

Found: This under the cushion of Mocha's comfy chair:

When one links these puzzling events together, one could surmise that Mocha is a gifted pack rat who has learned to open doors and lift cushions OR the field mice, who often frequent the neighbor's house and mine, feared their normal food supply was about to cease and began frantically stashing away a ready resource of tasty, crunchy food.

Since I've begun putting Mocha's food bowl away at night, the appearance of kibble in unexpected places has ceased. All this time, I thought she was enjoying a midnight snack while I slumbered blissfully in the next room. Little did I know the Cheatham County Kibble Caper was being carried out under my very nose. I should save a bundle on dog food now that the gravy train has jumped the track!