When Sarah Blooms

Peony season ends with Sarah, Sarah Bernhardt that is.

Her buds appear as large marbles on the ends of long stems.

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The blooms open as delicate pink which makes me think of ballerinas.

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The blooms are heavy and must be supported in case of a shower.

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Sarah’s performance in the garden is last,

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ending peony season with a flourish of pink.

A good actress always ends with a flourish!

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My Morning Visitor

It climbs up on our deck and looks in the windows.

It knows where to find me. I am at my desk every morning.

It comes to visit.

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I have never fed it or put out food.

That is not nature’s way.

It watches me work and poses for my camera.

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Sometimes angels have fur instead of feathers.

Sometimes they climb instead of fly.

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God will always be in nature.

That’s where I find him.

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Who Will We Be?

Tough times are coming for my sweet family.

Inevitable changes are seeping into our lives.

We have fought the good fight. We have done our best.

Every person has his own portion of time.

My daddy’s is ending in his eighty-eighth year here.

I am coming undone at the thought of it.

We have always been we.

My daddy, my mama, my sister and me.

Who will we be?

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Sisters, two peas

He taught me to tie a figure eight knot this week.

I have been tying granny knots my whole life.

“A figure-eight doesn’t come loose like a granny.” daddy says.

Maybe I need to tie a big figure-eight knot around myself.

Maybe I should tie myself to a tomato stake too; so I won’t blow over or break down.

He has been busy building his planes and directing garden maintenance from his chair.

Those planes, that chair, the shop, the garden, the mountains.

He is everywhere. I cannot imagine him not being there.

Who will we be, we three?

I do not want to know, but we shall see.

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Mama and Daddy

Scared Flower

Garden Clowns

I love big, bright, blooming Amaryllis inside during the winter, but they seem comical outside in spring.

These poor Beauty Queens did not ask to be hybridized into showy giants.

‘Monte Carlo’ Amaryllis

They would probably rather be tall, ugly weeds than painted, potted flowers.

But they did not get to make the choice of whether to be wild or tame.

‘Charisma’ Amaryllis

So here they are, comically colorful clowns in the garden.

Too big and too bright to be taken seriously.

‘Minerva’ Amaryllis

Just as man intended, not as nature recommended.

‘Half-and-Half’ Amaryllis

Manipulated for man’s enjoyment.

I am and will continue to be a tall, ugly weed.

(‘Identity’ poem by Julio Naboa Polanco)

 

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Stay safe, Stay Home, Wear a Mask (even if you are a man)

The Pandemic Pall

The Pandemic Pall has covered us all,

yet the birds still fly in the clear blue sky.

The Pandemic Pall has us filled with gloom,

yet the birds still sing sweetly in the trees.

The Pandemic Pall is creating darkness,

yet the Bluebird still shines bright in the golden sun.

The Pandemic Pall makes us think of death,

yet the birds build their nests to raise their young.

The Pandemic Pall has NOT covered the entire Earth.

It has covered only us humans. (I wish I was a bird!)

It will be removed one day.

When we emerge from underneath this overspread,

Will our new normal be more respectful of the Nature we have previously plundered?

Will we help our hungry brothers and sisters in poverty,

so they do not have to hunt and kill their wild food from the forest?

Will we value the workers who were kept on the job while we stayed safe at home?

Will we have learned the lessons this virus is teaching us?

Our poisons spread to Nature and we spread Nature’s poisons.

We are ALL connected.

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Another Slimy Spring

A visitor sneaked into the bunny yard last night.

I spotted it this morning,  all fluffy and puffy.

It’s the ‘Same Old Slime Mold.’

This is the third spring it has visited this spot.

It must reside under the soil here and emerge when the conditions are right.

I think it is beautiful.

It will not last long. It will be brown and stringy by nightfall.

But for now, I will enjoy this lovely fungal flower.

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Mean Beauty

This is a thistle species, not sure which Cirsium it is.

They are usually purple here in North Carolina.

I had to get a closer look at this¬† crimson beauty, but don’t touch!

I doubt anything can eat these leaves.

By looking at the seeds flying off the top, there will be more in this field for years to come.

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Mean, but beautiful.

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