> > >> >> On this day 65 years ago the love of my life, Jan Elizabeth Feldwisch and I were married at the >> Pilgrim Congregational Church on Union Boulevard in St Louis. We are still full of joy and kindness. It was the best choice of my life. >
>> >> >> >> >> We are going to stop counting years but each new seasonal cycle will continue the possibility of enduring love. >>
>> >> >> >
> > On this day 65 years ago the love of my life, Jan Elizabeth Feldwisch and I were married at the > Pilgrim Congregational Church on Union Boulevard in St Louis. We are still full of joy and kindness. It was the best choice of my life.
> > > > We are going to stop counting years but each new seasonal cycle will continue the possibility of enduring love. >
> >
> > The butterfly bush (Budddleja davidii) has been a faithful perennial for over half a century. My experience has been that it draws more hummingbirds than butterflies, and an occasional beauty. >  > > We have both purple and white flowers. >  > > Here is a poem that addresses both dreams and reality nicely. > > Antidotes to Fear of Death > Sometimes as an antidote > To fear of death, > I eat the stars. > Those nights, lying on my back, > I suck them from the quenching dark > Til they are all, all inside me, > Pepper hot and sharp. > Sometimes, instead, I stir myself > Into a universe still young, > Still warm as blood: > No outer space, just space, > The light of all the not yet stars > Drifting like a bright mist, > And all of us, and everything > Already there > But unconstrained by form. > And sometime it’s enough > To lie down here on earth > Beside our long ancestral bones: > To walk across the cobble fields > Of our discarded skulls, > Each like a treasure, like a chrysalis, > Thinking: whatever left these husks > Flew off on bright wings. > Ramona Elson >
The butterfly bush (Budddleja davidii) has been a faithful perennial for over half a century. My experience has been that it draws more hummingbirds than butterflies, and an occasional beauty.  We have both purple and white flowers.  Here is a poem that addresses both dreams and reality nicely. Antidotes to Fear of Death Sometimes as an antidote To fear of death, I eat the stars. Those nights, lying on my back, I suck them from the quenching dark Til they are all, all inside me, Pepper hot and sharp. Sometimes, instead, I stir myself Into a universe still young, Still warm as blood: No outer space, just space, The light of all the not yet stars Drifting like a bright mist, And all of us, and everything Already there But unconstrained by form. And sometime it’s enough To lie down here on earth Beside our long ancestral bones: To walk across the cobble fields Of our discarded skulls, Each like a treasure, like a chrysalis, Thinking: whatever left these husks Flew off on bright wings. Ramona Elson
> > This time of year the Susans are doing well. They are flourishing everywhere despite the weather and the drought and the deer. The susans are in the aster family in the genus Rudbeckia. But how are the black and the brown eyes distinguished. Interestingly, if they have long petals they are black-eyed, if short and rounded they are brown-eyed. The difference is in the petals, not the color. > Here are some black-eyed susans. > >  > > Absence Inside an Absence > > We live in the world of the voice, > not in the world of the word, > According to John the Solitary— > Our lives are language, our desires are apophatic, > The bush in flame is the bush in flame, > Imageless heart, imageless absence between the hearts. > > And if we cry out, > if once we utter our natural sounds, > Even the angels will hide their heads > Under their blue wings, > its also said. > So better forget that, better to forget the darkness above the tongue, > Its shorting of words, its mad silence and lack of breath. > > Besides, there’s another spin, > The flame and counter flame by which we come to stillness > Playing over our faces, > over the rose cane and the missing rose, > Over the dreary schooners of snow > Pulling their nets in across the yard, > over their waters brought to joy. > > Still, the idea of absence aside an absence > Completing a presence is dynamite, > the showings foretold > > Unseeable through the earthly eye, > We say to ourselves, > The earth in our cracked hands, > the earth dark syllables in our mouths. > > Charles Wright > >
This time of year the Susans are doing well. They are flourishing everywhere despite the weather and the drought and the deer. The susans are in the aster family in the genus Rudbeckia. But how are the black and the brown eyes distinguished. Interestingly, if they have long petals they are black-eyed, if short and rounded they are brown-eyed. The difference is in the petals, not the color. Here are some black-eyed susans.  Absence Inside an Absence We live in the world of the voice, not in the world of the word, According to John the Solitary— Our lives are language, our desires are apophatic, The bush in flame is the bush in flame, Imageless heart, imageless absence between the hearts. And if we cry out, if once we utter our natural sounds, Even the angels will hide their heads Under their blue wings, its also said. So better forget that, better to forget the darkness above the tongue, Its shorting of words, its mad silence and lack of breath. Besides, there’s another spin, The flame and counter flame by which we come to stillness Playing over our faces, over the rose cane and the missing rose, Over the dreary schooners of snow Pulling their nets in across the yard, over their waters brought to joy. Still, the idea of absence aside an absence Completing a presence is dynamite, the showings foretold Unseeable through the earthly eye, We say to ourselves, The earth in our cracked hands, the earth dark syllables in our mouths. Charles Wright
> > Here are some interesting odds and ends showing up in or near the garden. > > There was a bumper crop of Concord grapes - a little too sour for me. >  > > This is the slowly maturing fruit of the arum plant also known as the Cuckoo Pint. The deer have left them alone. >  > > We arr strating to see new mushrooms. >  > > And this fascinating insect. Can you identify it. >  > > TEACHINGS COME > > from everywhere when > you open yourself up to them. > > That’s the trick of it, > really. > > Open yourself up to everything, > and everything opens itself up to you. > > Richard Wagamese > >
Here are some interesting odds and ends showing up in or near the garden. There was a bumper crop of Concord grapes - a little too sour for me.  This is the slowly maturing fruit of the arum plant also known as the Cuckoo Pint. The deer have left them alone.  We arr strating to see new mushrooms.  And this fascinating insect. Can you identify it.  TEACHINGS COME from everywhere when you open yourself up to them. That’s the trick of it, really. Open yourself up to everything, and everything opens itself up to you. Richard Wagamese
> > The front flower garden is a flurry of activity. There is a number of humming birds and bees. Can you name these butterflies? > >  >  >  >  >  > > It is great fun to stand among them and enjoy the action. > > Swallowtail > The road we walk > ends in a ring, > a quiet path > rays from it, > leads us to where > spring air is singing. > Together, > the dog and I, > we each sniff > in our own way. > Overhead the just-barely > leafing trees, > full of hopeful birds. > Down low, a tapestry > of new greens, > the tracks of small paws > in black earth, > yesterday’s rain water > in the hollows. > We move on this way, > listening, seeing, > inhaling scents, and > approach a large puddle, > see shimmering movement, > an emergence > of thirsty > Eastern Black Swallowtails. > As we near, > they light into air, > wings flash black > and blue and yellow > in the slant beams > of afternoon sun > streaming between trees. > And then they are gone. > Later, > walking home > along the same trail, > one is there, > oscillating toward us > in the air > above the path. > It flies directly > to my chest, > pauses — flutters > and does not land — > I feel its tiny wind > right there, > A whisper to the heart > A few seconds, > and I watch it rise, > spiral up > to the waving canopy > and into a patch > of blue beyond. > Michelle Berry Lane <https://medium.com/u/48e793f52896?source=post_page---user_mention--354bcf61fcae---------------------------------------> >
The front flower garden is a flurry of activity. There is a number of humming birds and bees. Can you name these butterflies?      It is great fun to stand among them and enjoy the action. Swallowtail The road we walk ends in a ring, a quiet path rays from it, leads us to where spring air is singing. Together, the dog and I, we each sniff in our own way. Overhead the just-barely leafing trees, full of hopeful birds. Down low, a tapestry of new greens, the tracks of small paws in black earth, yesterday’s rain water in the hollows. We move on this way, listening, seeing, inhaling scents, and approach a large puddle, see shimmering movement, an emergence of thirsty Eastern Black Swallowtails. As we near, they light into air, wings flash black and blue and yellow in the slant beams of afternoon sun streaming between trees. And then they are gone. Later, walking home along the same trail, one is there, oscillating toward us in the air above the path. It flies directly to my chest, pauses — flutters and does not land — I feel its tiny wind right there, A whisper to the heart A few seconds, and I watch it rise, spiral up to the waving canopy and into a patch of blue beyond. Michelle Berry Lane <https://medium.com/u/48e793f52896?source=post_page---user_mention--354bcf61fcae--------------------------------------->
