Wednesday, March 30, 2016
A bright red tulip and more
Grew in the backyard... and a maple.
The maple tree is still there growing
Where we slept out some magical, childhood summer nights with friends.
The small wooden garden house that was ours
And clothesline even somehow how survived forty years or so.
A part of us never left that house.
About eighty kids played in the old neighborhood
Of woods and books.
The red tulip is a flame
Held to my memory!
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Yesterday we were at the dock at the lake and heard this model plane noise and then a massive insect appeared above the lake.We finally figured out it was a drone which was videoing the house next door which has been slow to sell. The realtor and the videographer were having a fine time showing the house from various angles.Very interesting for us and our Colorado family which was here on spring break.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Thursday, March 17, 2016
And of thy simple store two loaves of bread alone are left
Sell one, and with the dole,
Buy hyacinths to feed the soul.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Monday, March 14, 2016
Thursday, March 10, 2016
our words are born, not spoken. Dimensional, soft voweled words, palpable to the eye or to the fingertip ... exquisitely curved, as the young that wildflowers conceive. Often I have watched your lips shape words and your tongue nudge them out like small birds not certain of their wings. Your sweetest words are those shaped ovally like plums or wild birds' eggs. The long bright ribbons you laugh the multitudes of hyacinth and bluebells. When I see words like soft gray catkins I know they are of romance whatever else my ears register. Your mouth is like the flesh of a ripe fig, I often want to take your words unsaid. The brown honey-bear slips his red tongue into the nest of sleeping bees. Slurping out the honey as they sleep. The sweet natural taste. The pussy-willow feel of your words is lovelier than their shape or music. COPYRIGHT 2012 ACB
Copyright © Athena Beauchamp | Year Posted 2014
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
These daffodils have been blooming all week.
She doesn't mind the great length
or the girth of it.
Bushes without leaves
are not green as he kisses it.
are not deep without tree's
that are seen.
While the path that she walks
he chose in her dream.
Stopping she dropped what it was
that he picked.
A daffodil that bleeds white sap
if too hard it is picked.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
It is the first week of March and the crocuses have been blooming for a week. The yellows came first by several days. They disappoint only by disappearing so quickly.