The end of the summer, when you send your children to the Moon

Dar Williams used to make regular visits to the Concerts Under the Stars; maybe she still does?  Maybe that venue is too small now.  But as the days lumber through the summer haze towards the end of August, when the spines of new books get cracked open, and new backpacks creak with the weight, I think of this particular song, and the flash of stagelight on her guitar.

Of course, this scene is nothing like a dark humid evening in Pennsylvania!  That’s the edge of a completely different section of the country, with the unfamiliar as far as my eyes could see.  The light might be spun to gold; I don’t know.  It might as well be the Moon…

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What I would tell you if I was telling you anything

I would tell you that “two way streets are two way streets”, in a way more meaningful than “Brexit means Brexit” or “OATH-with-a-blue-colon says away more about that merger than anyone should admit in polite company.”

I would tell you that the sunrise has shifted northwards, such that the glare can still wake me, but I don’t get any of the lovely gold-red glow to go with my insomnia and the boisterous dawn chorus of [possibly tasty] wrens, titmice, and robins.

I would tell you that taxes are preferable to death, at least so long as the arts and sciences still get funding.

I would tell you tulips, and daffodils, and finally, blessedly, honeybees and carpenter bees; crinkled green leaves on the raspberry canes and tongue-colored fists of peony leaves punching up at the sky.

I would tell you that I wish people would say plainly what they want other people to know, but I have this fondness for truth, so we might need to edit that wish a bit, depending on who is doing the speaking at any given time.

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Cat barf and art supplies

…..do not mix well.

So instead, may I offer you the 2017 Purple Crocus Kickline:

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Wind in the grasses

There’s huffing and puffing and yet…

I have seen birds darting about, gathering food.  I have heard wrens singing in the morning. I know that seeds wait until the time is right to sprout. I know even if there is rain, there will be scientists marching in April.

 

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The Carol of the Ember

(Dulce, with some apologies to John Rutter)

There has been cleaning and packing and painting
Dust and fur tumbleweeds vacuumed away
Momma has wrestled a piece of the forest
Into the parlor and now decorates.

Gloria! Gloria!
Who is this person?
Gloria! Gloria!
What’s with this tree?
Gloria! Gloria!
This is quite confusing
There’s all this fuss, but it’s not about me.

I like the smell of this piece of the forest
I like the taste of the fruitcake and cheese
I like the people who offer to scritch me
They all seem tame and seem eager to please.

Gloria! Gloria!
Why inflate this mattress?
Gloria! Gloria!
It’s in my way!
Gloria! Gloria!
Out of Momma’s office!
Go sing more songs about babies in hay.

After the fussing, the feasting, and singing
After the guests have fin’lly gone away
Momma and Other Mom sit sipping eggnog
Smiling at sparklies and watching me play.

Gloria! Gloria!
Eggnog and day old!
Maybe that isn’t quite
What all they say?
Gloria! Gloria!
Someone was born!
Gloria! Gloria!
I can sleep near Momma
The house is quiet
And Momma is warm.

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Catch and release

We were walking in the woods yesterday, along an old rail-line that echos the banks of a local reservoir and park.  There were some art installations on display, but the real show was the back-lit splendor of the beechwoods.

As we walked along, bittersweet breezes sent leaves skirlling downward.  I caught an oak leaf and stuck it in my hat.  I caught an ash seed and made my own little tableau…

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Double, Double, Buckeye, Buckeye

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Memory, enhanced

Click for full image.  My photo, with some help from the folks at Macphun.

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Spikey bits

We joke, sometimes, about cats lying on their backs “with all the pointy bits [pointing] up.  These cacti hardly have any section that is not being pointy in multiple directions!

And for good measure, here’s a spikey thing by Chihully:

 

 

 

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Higher ground

Ah, the beauty of the Denver Botanic Gardens….

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