Saturday, December 30
Riding the Rails
Thursday, December 28
Wednesday, December 27
Tuesday, December 26
Monday, December 25
Sunday, December 24
Saturday, December 23
Friday, December 22
Tuesday, December 19
Monday, December 18
Christmas Memories
As a kid, I loved sleeping under the tree.
Mom would let me bring a few blankets or a sleeping bag and a pillow and make me a bed on the floor.
I would stare up at the ornaments, dazzled by all the reflections.
Dreaming of multicolored snowflakes.
Sunday, December 17
Saturday, December 16
Friday, December 15
Thursday, December 14
Wednesday, December 13
Tuesday, December 12
Lost Buds
I wondered, had they been discarded as useless, pointless even? Or, was there someone lamenting 2 long stems nestled in amongst 10 other beauties?
But I knew as I stooped to capture this photo, these roses were truly lost.
Monday, December 11
A Riff on Passion
Passion.
That word.
That feeling.
Seeing someone playing music with passion. Eyes closed, lips moving, body in rhythm. To watch someone play the sax or the harmonica - ecstasy! Singing with passion; is there any greater joy than to watch someone singing for the sheer release of it? Actually seeing them let it all hang out in their voice. Even when singing to themselves, the soul is bare in their passionate voices.
Any art made with passion feeds my soul. From Pollack to Van Gogh, Nan Golden to Ansel Adams, Degas to Annie Liebovitz... from my 5 year old niece to the guy on the train who draws profiles of his fellow passengers.
Poetry. Literature. Even an irreverent bit of erotica. The written word that has a voice of it's own. That writing which takes on a life separate from the page, lodged in the imagination of the reader.
Listening to someone speaking with passion... I don't usually care what they talk about. Oh, you say you are really excited about the two new varieties of seaweed you've found that grow off the southern tip of Iceland? Well, tell me why that is... I'll listen for a while just to hear that thing that happens to the voice when it's infused with passion.
I'll listen and I will jones for more.
I'll listen and get excited.
That word.
That feeling.
Seeing someone playing music with passion. Eyes closed, lips moving, body in rhythm. To watch someone play the sax or the harmonica - ecstasy! Singing with passion; is there any greater joy than to watch someone singing for the sheer release of it? Actually seeing them let it all hang out in their voice. Even when singing to themselves, the soul is bare in their passionate voices.
Any art made with passion feeds my soul. From Pollack to Van Gogh, Nan Golden to Ansel Adams, Degas to Annie Liebovitz... from my 5 year old niece to the guy on the train who draws profiles of his fellow passengers.
Poetry. Literature. Even an irreverent bit of erotica. The written word that has a voice of it's own. That writing which takes on a life separate from the page, lodged in the imagination of the reader.
Listening to someone speaking with passion... I don't usually care what they talk about. Oh, you say you are really excited about the two new varieties of seaweed you've found that grow off the southern tip of Iceland? Well, tell me why that is... I'll listen for a while just to hear that thing that happens to the voice when it's infused with passion.
I'll listen and I will jones for more.
I'll listen and get excited.
Sunday, December 10
Saturday, December 9
Last Night's Dream
An enormous tree descended
Rooted, as it was, in the heavens
Dark, slender branches twisted
Bearing frozen blossoms of Moondust
I lay mesmerized on a bed of sand
Toes digging with half-hearted effort
To shake off this enchantment
Rooted, as it was, in the heavens
Dark, slender branches twisted
Bearing frozen blossoms of Moondust
I lay mesmerized on a bed of sand
Toes digging with half-hearted effort
To shake off this enchantment
"Friday night, I'm going nowhere..."
Thursday, December 7
Wednesday, December 6
Tuesday, December 5
Monday, December 4
Don't Ask Me Why
... but this gentleman just pleased me ever so when I saw him as I boarded the train tonight.
Two Wolves
One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.
He said, "My son, the battle is between two 'wolves' inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf wins?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
He said, "My son, the battle is between two 'wolves' inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf wins?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
Sunday, December 3
It's Beginning...
To look a LOT like Xmas!
Every catalog is unique.
This it what comes from shopping at home.
Saturday, December 2
Joy
Have you ever watched a dog rolling on it's back in the grass?
Have you ever watched a cat stretching itself in the sunlight?
Watched the way their bodies arch and quiver?
That's what Joy looks like to me.
Have you ever watched a cat stretching itself in the sunlight?
Watched the way their bodies arch and quiver?
That's what Joy looks like to me.
Friday, December 1
Thursday, November 30
Wooly Flowers
70 degrees on the last day of November... Seriously not right.
Wednesday, November 29
and now a message from Lord Byron:
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
Tuesday, November 28
Monday, November 27
Sunday, November 26
Saturday, November 25
Friday, November 24
You can get Anything you Want
