Flower for the Day Butterfly Bush 8-17-26

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

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Don's Blog Time to Recuperate 9-2-26

> > I have not sent out my flower images and poems as I had a recent fall requiring stitches and am mending well. > Time marches on and I will start sending some occasional notes. During my recuperation I have loved watching the blue swallowtails on the zinnias.  > > I am not one to give advice but if you can I recommend what this poet suggests as a way of life, a way of being. > > I Lost My Way > > Once, lived on the tarred, lonely highways truth — > slugging towards the looming horizons — > the promised dwelling places for those who do not waver. > > The whole world was about being either right or wrong. > I was either lost or found. > This was many years ago though. > > Today when I meet people, > I recognize how utterly beyond right and wrong they are — > how their lives are symphonies beyond orchestration, > how their mistakes and failings are actually cosmic explorations > on a scale grander and of a texture softer > than our most dedicated rule-books could possibly account for. > > You see something on my way — and i lost my coordinates, > my map, my directives. > Now the whole journey is the destination — > and each point, each barren point, > just as noble as the final dot. > > Every splotch of ink is become to me a fresco of wisdom, > a beehive of honey, a lovely place — > and every aching voice a heavenly choir. > The world is no longer desolate and empty and exclusive, > she is now a wispy spirit, whose fingers flirt through the wind — > a million roads where only one once lay. > And I need be certain about the road traveled — > Since I arrived the selfsame moment I arrived. > > Bayo Akomolafe

Don's Blog Time to Recuperate 9-2-26

I have not sent out my flower images and poems as I had a recent fall requiring stitches and am mending well. Time marches on and I will start sending some occasional notes. During my recuperation I have loved watching the blue swallowtails on the zinnias.  I am not one to give advice but if you can I recommend what this poet suggests as a way of life, a way of being. I Lost My Way Once, lived on the tarred, lonely highways truth — slugging towards the looming horizons — the promised dwelling places for those who do not waver. The whole world was about being either right or wrong. I was either lost or found. This was many years ago though. Today when I meet people, I recognize how utterly beyond right and wrong they are — how their lives are symphonies beyond orchestration, how their mistakes and failings are actually cosmic explorations on a scale grander and of a texture softer than our most dedicated rule-books could possibly account for. You see something on my way — and i lost my coordinates, my map, my directives. Now the whole journey is the destination — and each point, each barren point, just as noble as the final dot. Every splotch of ink is become to me a fresco of wisdom, a beehive of honey, a lovely place — and every aching voice a heavenly choir. The world is no longer desolate and empty and exclusive, she is now a wispy spirit, whose fingers flirt through the wind — a million roads where only one once lay. And I need be certain about the road traveled — Since I arrived the selfsame moment I arrived. Bayo Akomolafe

Don's Blog SIXTY-FIVE 8-18-26

> > >> >> 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. >>

>> >> >> >

Don's Blog SIXTY-FIVE 8-18-26

> > 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. >

> >

Flower for the Day Butterfly Bush 8-17-26

> > 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 >

Flower for the Day Butterfly Bush 8-17-26

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