Maybe I'll Get to Fill Those Planters With Flowers

The makeover of the new island in the middle of our driveway is close to complete. There used to be two small islands in our very large driveway, but we removed the large trees, then took out the islands. 

 Later it was decided (pushed very hard by yours truly) that we needed to do an extreme makeover of the driveway again. First we got nice light brown gravel.

Then we found two beautiful trees that will provide shade eventually, change colors in fall, provide berries and not just shed needles and cones.

Next JEJ knew he wanted to build a rock wall. He has built beautiful rock walls around our gardens,so why not another? The hard work began.

After that somehow he moved the barrels from another garden and stacked them with the dirt still in them.

I added a few more items and he brought in a load of bark. The finishing touch will be beautiful flowers cascading down from the barrels. Thanks JEJ. Great job.

Maybe Spring

 The theme for NaBloPoMo this month is "Maybe". Maybe I will be able to do a post a day again in May!?!

I am thinking today as I look out on the lake that maybe spring has finally arrived her in the inland empire. The sun is shining, the potatoes are planted, flowers are blooming, and the ants have arrived in the house. Here are some signs of spring at our house.

 Forsythias are blooming,

 potatoes are planted,

 tulips are in bloom,

and the Lucy Garden is ready for outdoor dining. Yes, maybe spring has arrived.

I Did It! Thirty Posts in Thirty Days

I did thirty posts in thirty days. I hope I sprouted interest in poetry with my April posts.

One Art

One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. --Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.   by Elizabeth Bishop

Filling the Vase

My brother was the visiting writer at our NIWP retreat in McCall and an exerice he did about writing inspired this poem. The flowers are a reminder of summer blooms from the garden a few years ago.

Filling the Vase

Writing is wandering through the

garden path harvesting morning flowers.

Gathering leaves, finding fillers,

snipping blossoms as they begin to open.

Pausing to reflect and even observe

while paying attention to the smells.

Gold, chartreuse, and deep red become the wondrous words,

thorny stems phrases cut too deep.

The combination of textures sort the sentence variety

over powered by the sweet scent of similes.

The violet vase is the vessel of form

Aligning the sentences, arranging the words,

Taming texture with attention to audience.

Place the bouquet on the farmhouse table,

or away for a spell to let the contents settle.

Christy Woolum

June 24, 2008

Who

 Who 

by Jane Kenyon

These lines are written

by an animal, an angel,
a stranger sitting in my chair;
by someone who already knows
how to live without trouble
among books, and pots and pans…
Who is it who asks me to find
language for the sound
a sheep’s hoof makes when it strikes
a stone? And who speaks
the words which are my food?