Forget not the beauty of nature!
forget not the beauty of fog swirling mysteries among the dew drenched fields forget not the joy of spring lest it pass you by without lingering forget not the open sky as you walk through today tethered to the earth look up look up look up!
the ground is soft and warm time keeps marching on nature awaits a burst of life but all I see is mud a seed lies underground buried in darkness deep its heart cracks open releasing new life but all I see is mud
I see circling of the birds, gliding and swooping chasing and racing noisily, joyfully, trilling and thrilling, echoing, talking smack with each hard flap. Musical fellows are these winged creatures, and masterful linguists. They put on a show that delights and confounds. Then they line up on a wire to catch their breath, take a humble bow, and in a blink they are gone, with a flutter and a flap as we wave and we clap, calling for more. Bravo! Encore! But they all fly away. Show's over for today.
A poem of hibernation and the offering of winter’s grace.
the moon waits for me at sunrise slowly melting into the sky each morning I don't walk by the oak holds steady around the corner thick arms open wide patiently she waits for the next embrace the fields hold their breath listening for my footfall the birds whistle and chirp my name is in their call but my door remains closed to the world the sun climbs high without seeing my face and like a flower that doesn't bloom until springtime I am offered winter's grace
A morning haiku to brighten your day!
Morning sings a sweet hello, her melody sweeps the velvety sky She captures my heart with her rising light as she spreads her song of love
May the garden of your heart be in perpetual bloom!
the azaleas bloomed then blew away, the lovely pear blooms did not stay so brief is our bloom gone tomorrow before we are fully aware of the beauty we carry, the spring in our hearts the bloom in our cheeks rose petals softly fall at our feet, covered with soil, buried again to be nourished in the deep, rising in glory, the cycle of blooms
Do you look for signs of spring? In south Louisiana, the pecan tree is always the last tree to sprout buds. We like to take that as a sure sign that winter has ended, no more freezing temps, it is now safe to plant spring vegetables. Legend has it, when the pecan leaves come out, winter is finally over. But sometimes winter doesn’t give up without a fight – so we hold our breath and root for the pecan tree, rejoicing at the first sign of green, celebrating the strength of spring.
The pecan leaves have sprouted, always the last to emerge. Legend foretells this is the sign of spring, the promise that winter is over. That was before climate change: all bets are off now. This morning a powerful north wind blew, chilling the air threatening to tear off the tender tufts of green shaking the limbs of the steadfast pecan tree yet the baby leaves held, clutching momma's fingers and momma wouldn't let go; the green remained evidence of the strength of spring in the face of power proof that winter must finally blow away
There’s more than one way to celebrate Easter – wishing all of you peace and blessings today!
the sun finally came out the wind kicked up her heels trees danced to the rhythm of a bird chorus, insects hummed a steady underline as barking dogs joyfully joined the symphony a piece of tin from an old storage shed rattled and banged a perfect percussion green blades of grass shimmied in the warm air like hula dancers a rustle of new leaves rose and fell like applause, it was quite a show this spontaneous spring performance in the mysterious world of nature leaving gifts of peace and contentment the music of heaven filled the hearts of every creature with ears to hear may we hear the music and be blessed, may our souls be at rest, may we receive all the goodness life has to offer filled to overflowing expanding and growing living and giving life loving and beloved on this Easter Sunday afternoon
This is for the hopeless romantic with a morning star in your eyes!
I saw Venus the brightest morning star shining in the sky a dazzling beacon rising to new heights her radiance calling poets in this month of love Valentine is smitten by the lady from above
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