Discovery Drafts

This snapper was moseying along at Three Rivers park in Woodbury on Saturday morning. He put up with me for a few minutes, and I was rude enough to get a nice little butt shot at the end of our encounter. Why on earth he was in the passing lane on a no-traffic morning, he wouldn't say. I was just pleased and grateful he smiled for his portrait. My World Tuesday

Out for a walk yesterday morning while my mechanic was changing the oil in my car, I came across this bit of beauty in the tall grass near the Manville Glacial Kettle in Woodbury. A beautiful, soft morning. Today's Flowers

The geese were out in numbers today. As I turned a corner onto the road home the family with five goslings began to make its way across the road. Mama, one, two, three, and four waddled their way from one patch of grass, across the tarmac, and onto the next patch of grass, safe and sound. Papa stood tall and vigilant in the middle of my lane as they crossed, and then he made his way to the exact center in that dark space between the yellow stripes. He kept his attention on the fifth goose, who worked like the dickens to get onto the road. He is lame in one leg, and he struggled to make his way off the curb. He hobbled his way across the road and used his wings to lift himself onto the grass with the rest of the family. All the while, papa did not move. He was as erect and impassive as a hanging judge. Lines of cars formed in both lanes. This waiting took a few minutes, but nobody showed any signs of impatience. A beautiful moment. The father did not move, even after five was in the g

Drive as fast as you want At this early hour I will not move. Can you see me? Can you care? I will not move. My children Will have their breakfast Here at the side of the road; I will not move. They will take what they need; I will protect them from you. I will not move. I stand in the middle of your lane Impassive, immovable, impermanent. Yes, that. There is only so much I can do, But I, Their mother, Will do it. Like you, I am hard-wired for love. Survival Depends on love. It is an essential Accident of nature. It is not a choice. I must love. Love is who I am. This is a fine thing. I will not move. One Single Impression

This boat moored at the public docks at Surf City seemed ready to go even at the end of the day. The glint of sunlight in the windshield made me feel the heat of midday even at dusk. These optical illusions ask more questions than they answer, but they remind me every moment is, well, every moment. Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday

Walking along the edge of the swamp on Saturday, I found myself noticing just how alive and beautiful are those places along the edge. Among these flowers and fowl are frogs and muskrats and myriad red-winged blackbirds who do not stop talking. So, I watch my step. So much life, and it's all beautiful. My World Tuesday

Today's Flowers

The beaver is dead And so is the partner of this Canada goose Who has two goslings and is a Complete wreck About crossing this street. I stand and watch this mama and her babes In the pouring rain. Passing cars douse us with upturned puddles As the wind blows too cold for May And too hard. Cross, birds, I think. I will be here in my red slicker And I will see you safely across. But she is waiting for me to go away. Waiting. Not pressing. The difference is everything. I am floating on the grey light of dusk Weightless and peaceful despite the fear And married to these birds who tell me In their waiting To be here But do it over there And not too much. One Single Impression

Skywatch Friday

My beaver is dead. Driving through the mist on my way to work this morning, I came upon a big brown lump in the road, and, as I held my breath, my eyes traced the line of its back to the fat, flat tail of a beaver. My beaver. I died then, too. My beaver took up half the road; she was a legend, a myth, a giant, and a dream in the mist lying dead in the soft light of early morning. My distant friend who would notice me night after night but would not disappear despite my heavy footfall was a marvel. This was the best part of my day, the very best part of my walk: to come across this wonderful creature being her marvelous self in the slick water of our little pond and through the pipes that lead to the sprawling swamp across the road. She was fun, fat, wonderful, and sure. She was capable and brilliant. I admired all she did to enrich our ecosystem, which was plenty. That beautiful beaver would watch me as I watched her. So many years of being in the same place at the same time made t

Wordless Wednesday

Hartford is a little bit of everything--old new, wealthy, poor, established, homeless, beautiful, strange.... I'm an outsider, though, and I have my escape route when I've had enough. Not everybody can say that. It's likely the fellow who slept on the edge of the bandstand is staying there whether he likes it or not. (How he slept like that and why he faced the morning sun I can't even imagine.) At Center Church is a statue of the Rev. Samuel Stone, who fled religious persecution in England and became a founder of Hartford. He negotiate the purchase of Hartford from the Suckiag Indians (whatever "negotiated the purchase of" means), and now he's standing guard over the graveyard and pointing.... Back at Bushnell Park, where our sleepy friend wasn't so sore from a night on a concrete slab that he couldn't lie in on a Saturday morning, is the swan sculpture. A friend says it's obviously and definitely a swan, and I'll buy that because

Today's Flowers

Little Leaves me trembling Anymore But there is this: Electrical storms and wind: The this and that of nature Slamming into the night Tumbling like a heavy load On Every Single Thing. The good and the beautiful Are not spared The weight of the assault. Nor are the small Or the sleeping Or the innocent and warm Or you and me. This chain of events Wraps itself around Sleep, Chokes it, And moves on Without mercy Or even a sense Of what mercy is. Left with what is, I tremble. One Single Impression

Just another slow good-bye to the sun from the pier at Surf City. I don't mind solitude, and I don't mind peace, so it was wonderful to enjoy this view on my own last month. Skywatch Friday

Wordless Wednesday

Allow me to introduce you to the White Dude. He is the elusive and beautiful white heron who lives quietly and gracefully flitting along the intracoastal waterway near my parents' North Carolina home. He moves like a tai chi master, completely unpeturbed by the noisy, bossy mama osprey who is always calling for room service. The White Dude seems always to be just beyond the reach of my too-short lens--though sometimes he's pretty close when I notice him. I was happy to see him back around the homestead and living his not-of-this-world life so well, so I took his picture a bunch of times anyway. The photos are terrible but they speak to my mood at the moment. Luke is gone, Luis is gone, the Gulf is an oily mess, every other story in the local paper is about some pervert's molesting a minor (and most of those perverts are government employees)--and I'm ready for some good news. This beautiful bird in this not-so-hot photo reminds me to hang in there, to keep on--even

Today's Flowers

He was a Middle School student and an avid Red Sox fan. Was. The child died when his aorta ruptured Wednesday while he was in the emergency room after becoming ill during an after-school program. He was my student in a class that met once a week. A sweet kid who smiled without trying, he was all goodness. He did his best in his laid-back way, and everybody liked him. Friday, as students were digesting the news, one of his classmates said to me, "I wonder if he knew how many friends he had. Everyone liked him." That everyone liked him was pretty clear on Friday. Kids were solmen, overcome by tears, and feeling very lost by turns. We were told to run our classes as usual, and I set up shop to do just that, but there was no way we'd be so savage as to carry on as if our friend had not died. Friday, my students taught me a lesson in caring. As the kids trickled in, they took their seats as usual, but as it became clear some kids were already sitting with the grief cou

Years ago when I'd come by She'd smack the water With her tail and dive Before I even saw her. Now she is grown Huge and unafraid. When I come by now She stops and turns and watches For as long as I can stand it. She does not move. I do not move. Then she swims out and back Profiling. Out the othe way and back again Profiling. She plays with me. She can. It's her pond. I merely walk through Her landscape. Talk about timing: Here's a bit of news about the 2,800-foot dam Canadian beavers built in Alberta. One Single Impression

....is the sunrise, except this dude's big ol' house is in the way. Oh well! Not a thing about Topsail I can't find a way to love. Skywatch Friday

"The table is the Lord's, not the Church's; all are welcome to receive." With these words Fr. Jim would invite all present to the Communion table at St. John's in Waterbury. If you were there, you were in. We are all God's children. It was simple--as it should be. With those words every Sunday Luke would make his way with his trusted friend Jo to the Communion rail, and he would receive the host right alongside her. Then, the two faithful friends would make their way back to their place in the front pew--and anyone and everyone who walked by them on that path to the table would greet them with warmth, affection, and the beautiful confidence of men, women, and children who knew the feelings were mutual. Luke was Jo's service dog for many years after he had been her son Mike's service dog. Somewhere in the Service Dog Rule Book it says these companions are not pets, but Luke never read up to that page, and Jo is not one to dwell on foolish, unnecessar

Wordless Wednesday

Hartford, Connecticut, and its blend of old and new, bright and sedate makes for an interesting visual experience on a sunny day. Sunlight bouncing off of bronzed glass onto this theatre conjured a dreamy other world. The reflected light lands on different planes or seemed to float. All good. My World Tuesday

Here are more southern beauties from my trip to North Carolina a few weeks ago. The top one (What is the name? Alas, I do not know.) is just down the road from my parents' home. It was very fragrant even though it had not blossomed. The bottom one made me think of the plant that Morticia Adams used to feed meat, though it smelled really, really good. In fact, the fragrance was strong enough to mitigate the we-have-no-secrets aroma of low tide. The shades and depths of the greens were delightful. Today's Flowers

It's like this Every single year But word comes in the news And we forget what we know: The alerts, the warnings, the advisories: "A danger of freezing temperatures tonight In every part of your county." In other words: Spring could die tonight And there's nothing you can do. Next morning, A fox runs down the sidewalk The gale force winds carry The scent of cherry and lilac Everywhere And unfolding green leaves Dance Because you dance in the wind. You survive the cold. Year after year, And it's new every time-- So is the fear That we won't. Call it an enigma. Call it May. O ne Single Impression