Monday, November 30, 2020


She rested in the light of the sun

But its warmth was beyond her reach,  

As the iced winds pushed against her

With the fury of an angry mob.


Though she sat quietly observing nature

She felt her intrusion disrupting,

Then a flock of rowdy starlings

Swooped in to the treetops around her.


She thought of her younger years

When dreams were gathered together,

And of her later years, when dreams

gathered dust like unused porcelain.


Then of her last years when dreams

Became the past and released to fly away,

Like a lovely group of mourning doves

Taking flight in a rush of wings.


She thought she’d take a rest from thought

And enjoy this commonest of days,

To let the spirit of winter embrace her

In its cloak of hallow sweet nothings.

She lingered awhile longer

Until she wore a crown of golden twilight,

And drifted in quiet acquiescence

As she sighed the softest of wistful sighs.

Can anyone identify this bird?

It showed up at the birdbath November 24.  
Maybe a type of warbler?
The birdbath is 16" in diameter.
The bird doesn't show up well in the photos,
as I was too far away and the leaf litter camouflages it,
but I included all its different poses.

I wrote.  I rewrote.  I rewrote the rewrote.  I rewrote the rewrote of the rewrote, and on, and on, and on.  Then I called it quits.  I'm a person of few words this week.

November 30, 10:00 am ~ It is sleeting outside my door, with a low in the 20's tonight.  Fall is definitely over.

Sunday, November 15, 2020

Lost in thought on a windy day _

To stand in the midst of rusty tan broomsedge
     near the end of another year

With downy fluffs of seeds floating about me
     as spiders on their threads nudged by the breeze

To hear in the distant street the shuffling
     of dried leaves on the edge of the wind

A large crispy specimen heard cartwheeling
     down that old crumbling asphalt road

To look to the far edge of the garden
     baring its soul of skeletonized limbs

While robins gather feasting
     on plucked berries shriveling with age

To draw in that vision of nature
     slowly and quietly disrobing of its fineries

While the music of its inhabitants
     goes on quietly and unobtrusively

To sit at my table while playful breezes
     caress and a gust tangles with my hair

And breath in that elusive tease
     of autumn's perfume in the air

It's just me

And the earth

And a lovely cup of tea,

And barking dogs

And gas mowers

And screaming kids next door

Soaking up the warmth on a cool day

No idea what it is.
It's blown in each autumn for the past few years.


White-breasted Nuthatch
on the Rusty Blackhaw Viburnum shrub

Fragrant Sumac

Miss Ivy

Tulip Tree leaf


Stones River Greenway

Walked two miles, but halfway back one foot was complaining angrily.
Over sixty cars in the parking area, and we were the only people with masks.
Everyone was acting as if things were normal,
and corona virus was something that only existed on some other planet.

Leaving freeway and parking lot behind us.
Low 60 degrees, but sunny.
Dog park at beginning of trail was a no go. 
Only big dogs there, and it was quickly obvious
most people couldn't control their dogs.

That's it!  Nothing else worth taking photos of  :'(
I guess to expect more in the middle of civilization
was a bit unrealistic.

Pelted by nut meats from high in a tree by a generous squirrel.
We took home some of the acorns on the ground
to identify them...Bur Oak.

While my gardens have passed from glory terrestrial, they seldom in this climate ever experience glory celestial.  They lack the required hardscape or countryside backdrop that makes a property of skeletonized plants stand out.  The ambiance is more of lonely than heavenly.

I’m not married to a gardener, and no funds were ever allocated to improve a yard more than the lawn it was created with.  Years were spent collecting rock from construction sites and countryside, and more than one complaint was expressed when plants unexpectedly appeared to be tucked into the earth around me.

While my other half worked overseas quite late in our lives is when fineries began to appear in the gardens without justification.  It was a lovely period of my life.  It was also a hard existence always dominated by enslavement to controlling invading greenery from nice but inconsiderate neighbors through the chain link barrier.

Reaching my seventies with declining health issues in tow, I declared it was either burn down the gardens or build a wood barrier to emancipate me from the assault of intolerant neighbors with mean dogs.  That demand was met, perhaps as a safeguard for a happily ever after kind of life.

I think of my garden as gardens, although I'm on just a small square of property with a house stuck in the middle.  The south side of the house is the backdrop of the prairie patch.  Photographs are seldom near the house as its concrete stucco base just cries ugly to this photographer.  The slope drains it, and although water collects on the pathway after rain, it seems to thrive.

Backyard is dry in the upper right corner, but a rain garden exists below to collect runoff of rain from the yards behind and aside us.  It seems not a plausible existence, but it works.  The main backyard is the wildflower area and my favorite of all favorites come early spring.

The far end above the prairie patch is too water logged during wet weather, and ground cover or small shrubs seems a viable solution, but I have yet to discover a controllable one that loves sun and shade and drought and moisture.  Quite a tall order.  Fungicide had to be applied once this year to this area to control the white fuzzy bloom cover that grew after a wet spring.

The front yard is complicated, and a perpetual headache most of its existence to make it eye candy worthy to a neighborhood of manicured lawns.  I’ve resorted somewhat to a barrier of shrubs to block out the rest of the gardens that are a bit on the wild side.

I’m abandoning this blog for a bit as the holidays begin, to see if there’s anywhere for it to really go.  I feel like I’m in that groundhog movie of repetition, where I have to come up with a better narrative than the one before each time I post.  Eventually, instead of standing at the edge of this cute little incline of wildflowers in my backyard, I’m standing at the base of Mount Everest.  I’m too old to want to climb Mount Everest :’( 

Thanksgiving is just another day in my private world, but no matter the downside, the upside of experiencing life is precious.  Vic always loves a good meal to celebrate, so I'll be thankful he's no longer the type of guy who appreciate nothing unless it's accompanied by a bottle of catsup ;)

Quiche Lorraine with double swiss cheese and double bacon
Roasted broccoli with caramelized onions and farfalle
Deep dish pumpkin pie with cream

Much happiness to all my blog friends.

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