On winter days I spend a great deal of time thinking about my flower beds. Outside the wind is blowing wisps of snow around the corner of the house and only the hardiest birds come to the feeders. I stay hunkered down with my dreams and schemes and plans for next summers perfect garden.
When spring sashays her way across the yard I’m faced with more weeds than buds. So begins the relentless battle with ground ivy and winter cress, which have been patiently waiting for those first warm rays of sunshine. My ideal garden vanishes in a puff of reality and I am happy to scatter some seeds in the empty patches of dirt. I’m pretty sure the bees and butterflies don’t visit for the aesthetics.
Outdoor gallery Blooms of multi-colored zinnias Abstract garden art
d’Verse Poets – The Sounds of Koorogi, Cricket-dVerse Haibun Monday
It’s great to have Victoria tending bar again.
I was weeding my flower beds today. A chore that had been neglected much too long. If you need some alone time, I recommend weeding. No one ever wants to help, so you have time to just think, sort things out, make some plans.
Not far from where I was working, a cricket chirped. I smiled – it sounded like a cheery hello. Another chirp and I moved on. Maybe it was a warning to keep my distance.
woman pulling weeds
short signal to keep moving
a chirping cricket
I have ben painting animals on rocks – this years Christmas gift project for my best friends. The ones who will not snicker when they open the package. One calico cat is finished and it looks at me with a bewildered expression as I cover another small rock with white paint. This stone is destined to become an owl for a friend who throws shoes at the squirrels in her garden. I have no illusions that this owl will do anything other than make her smile.
Carpe Diem Special #220 Orion, a haibun by Dolores Fegan
When you live in cloudy Western Pennsylvania you think you’ve seen a sky full of stars, but you haven’t. It was on a trip to the high desert of Arizona that I saw the true wonder of a clear night with no pollution from shopping malls and street lights. A magnificent show that covered the sky from edge to edge.
blanket of clouds
removed from the night sky
thousand points of light
The old man had fished trout steams all over the country. He had the best tackle money could buy, everything his many guides had recommended. He’d fished in clear mountain streams and beside raging rivers. He’s caught salmon, walleye, perch, and pike.
Now in retirement he has met his match. Every morning he sits along the stream in the little town near his home, patiently casting his line over and over, trying to catch the elusive trout that live in its deep pools.
under an old stone bridge
She loved her garden in spring the best. It’s true that in each season there is beauty but nothing compares to the hopefulness of tiny green shoots emerging from months spent biding their time underground. Everyday she could see how much they grew as they were nurtured by the gentle spring sun. Soft rain quenched their thirst. Each shoot knew it was destined for greatness under the watchful eye of the gardener.
tiny green shoots
push through the bare earthen crust
determined to bloom
Carpe Diem Special #187 – Georgia’s 3rd “idyllic spring”
Everyone else at the tree lot is searching for the “perfect” Christmas tree. A man holds a seven foot tree upright so his wife can pass judgement on its shape. A family debates whether or not the tree they like best will actually fit in their living room.
But I’m on a search for the tree no one else wants. A task that has become more difficult since Christmas trees are now raised on “farms” and only the trees with that classic cone shape make it to market.
At the end of a long row sits a smallish tree, trunk a little crooked, and branches that don’t conform to popular tastes – just the one I was looking for.
At home I put my little tree into the holder and make it as straight as possible. Then I find the worn cardboard box hidden behind the well organized plastic bins of ornaments. Inside are the tattered homemade decorations from my childhood. I string lights and paper chains on the tree and lovingly place each reindeer, snowman, and Santa. With only the tree lights glowing, I close my eyes and take a step back in time
transformed by lights and snowmen
I choose one paper angel from the giving tree. On the back is a sticker with the name of a child who needed presents for Christmas – Logan, 4 years old. I glanced at the list of items Logan needed or wanted, sweatshirt, sweatpants, shoes, bathtub toys, and a boat.
I set out to shop thinking it would be easy to find everything on that short wish list. I was right, except for one thing, the boat. I went from store to store hoping to find a boat for a four year-old boy. No luck! But I will continue the search. A child deserves to have his Christmas wish granted.
sailing a toy boat
I sit at the edge of this field in the shadow of a church steeple. The voices of the faithful flow from open windows and I can imagine each head bowed in humble supplication. Their knees bent adoringly as dim candle light flickers from brass sconces.
I raise my face to the sun and with a choir of sparrows worship in the light of creation.
under the bright sun
all of creation sings praise
voices joined in glee
On a rare night when there is no cloud cover, I stand in my yard and marvel at the stars shining above me. I identify constellations and image the mythological beings in the skyscape. On a trip to the high plains of Arizona I stepped out into the night, looked up and saw uncountable stars and constellations playing out the ancient stories in the sky
shine down on grazing cattle