Friday, April 12, 2019
Monday, August 12, 2013
What is Life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night . . .
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime . . .
It is in the little shadows that run across the grass and loses itself in the sunset. . .
Crowfoot, Blackfoot Warrior 1830-1890
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime . . .
It is in the little shadows that run across the grass and loses itself in the sunset. . .
Crowfoot, Blackfoot Warrior 1830-1890
As I began this day . . .
As I began this day, with the morning just breaking, the dark and muggy night was lifting, the call came and I began again . . .
I began recalling our last day together in her garden, the asparagus beans, blackberries and the grapes on the umbrella forms. The giggles over her lemon grass and the promise I would send her some back . . . We talked about the arbor and the plans for the plantings, we laughed about the people who think we are crazy for salvaging bath tubs for the yard, bromeliads, and all those peppers.
I sat peacefully in my own garden this morning quietly engulfed in my happy place. Debbie's lemon grass highlighted in the morning sun, now just barely over the palms, Colonel Beaureguard still crowing under the Oaks, the simple things in life, made her smile.
St. Francis smiles over this corner of the garden, Debbie would have enjoyed this moment too, for it's the common thread that bound our friendship. We both loved the simple life our gardens implied, just the thought of a quiet moment of awe that comes when you pop that first blackberry in your mouth, or spot the first bloom on the peppers, the love of worms in the compost, and the prayer for absence in the tomato's.
She loved the simple life that my chickens invoked, I can no longer remember how many times over the years I encouraged her to get her own, of course without the Colonel, she would just laugh, neither one of us ever thought Parsnip would approve . . .
I am at peace knowing you now walk the gardens of heaven, rest peacefully my friend and know you are loved. . . .
I began recalling our last day together in her garden, the asparagus beans, blackberries and the grapes on the umbrella forms. The giggles over her lemon grass and the promise I would send her some back . . . We talked about the arbor and the plans for the plantings, we laughed about the people who think we are crazy for salvaging bath tubs for the yard, bromeliads, and all those peppers.
I sat peacefully in my own garden this morning quietly engulfed in my happy place. Debbie's lemon grass highlighted in the morning sun, now just barely over the palms, Colonel Beaureguard still crowing under the Oaks, the simple things in life, made her smile.
St. Francis smiles over this corner of the garden, Debbie would have enjoyed this moment too, for it's the common thread that bound our friendship. We both loved the simple life our gardens implied, just the thought of a quiet moment of awe that comes when you pop that first blackberry in your mouth, or spot the first bloom on the peppers, the love of worms in the compost, and the prayer for absence in the tomato's.
She loved the simple life that my chickens invoked, I can no longer remember how many times over the years I encouraged her to get her own, of course without the Colonel, she would just laugh, neither one of us ever thought Parsnip would approve . . .
I am at peace knowing you now walk the gardens of heaven, rest peacefully my friend and know you are loved. . . .
Sunday, November 11, 2012
A Fire Burns . . .
The neighbors have started to return as the North turns cooler, the leaves change, and the season approaches. The Cleveland Avenue Bungalow has started to transform in preparation for the upcoming 2012 Idea House, projects dwindle, plans consolidate and the menu unfolds. The fall colors are already giving way to the shimmering gold and silvers of the Christmas season, and the new lighting and greenery plans are taking shape.
Our gardens past what most would consider prime, with the heavy rains of the summer behind them, quietly blossom into a new brilliance, the Cypress hang heavy with ornament like balls and trails of cascading seed pods. The strong structure of the oaks silhouetted with the setting of a crimson sky and the bromeliad's torch fade with each dropping Oak leaf. The ever changing landscape of old Florida never ceases to amaze me, who ever said Florida has no season must have had a very short visit.
The cool of the nights, now dipping below 60 warrant a right of passage, a right so vivid in my memory, whether the stone fireplace on Lake Washington Road with a mantle stretching wall to wall, or the formality of The Old Starkey House surrounded by a grand staircase, this right of passage now belongs to a little bungalow in Punta Gorda, and on this night in a quiet little corner a fire burns . . .
Our gardens past what most would consider prime, with the heavy rains of the summer behind them, quietly blossom into a new brilliance, the Cypress hang heavy with ornament like balls and trails of cascading seed pods. The strong structure of the oaks silhouetted with the setting of a crimson sky and the bromeliad's torch fade with each dropping Oak leaf. The ever changing landscape of old Florida never ceases to amaze me, who ever said Florida has no season must have had a very short visit.
The cool of the nights, now dipping below 60 warrant a right of passage, a right so vivid in my memory, whether the stone fireplace on Lake Washington Road with a mantle stretching wall to wall, or the formality of The Old Starkey House surrounded by a grand staircase, this right of passage now belongs to a little bungalow in Punta Gorda, and on this night in a quiet little corner a fire burns . . .
Monday, July 23, 2012
A rainy August afternoon . . .
Spon.ta.ne.ous: Done. Produced. Occurring naturally or without planning.
A very rainy August afternoon in Punta Gorda, as I was trying to catch up on reading the never ending list of magazines, books, blogs, and bits and pieces of Shirley's finds, I came across rather spontaneously the definition of spontaneous. If you are familiar with my blog, you already know it does not occur naturally without planning, so I am shooting for the done or produced on this rainy afternoon.
In Brevard, North Carolina on Main Street lies the secret to a beautiful rainy August afternoon in Punta Gorda, it is The Brown Bean Coffee Roasters, http://www.thebrownbean.com/ and this afternoon a cup of "yellow dog" occurred naturally without planning. . .
A very rainy August afternoon in Punta Gorda, as I was trying to catch up on reading the never ending list of magazines, books, blogs, and bits and pieces of Shirley's finds, I came across rather spontaneously the definition of spontaneous. If you are familiar with my blog, you already know it does not occur naturally without planning, so I am shooting for the done or produced on this rainy afternoon.
In Brevard, North Carolina on Main Street lies the secret to a beautiful rainy August afternoon in Punta Gorda, it is The Brown Bean Coffee Roasters, http://www.thebrownbean.com/ and this afternoon a cup of "yellow dog" occurred naturally without planning. . .
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
"Rooted in Florida Soil" by Mama Kuku
and excerpt from page -6-.
The sign on the door of Pop's "Emporium",
The sign on the door of Pop's "Emporium",
AM IN THE REAR CLEANING FISH. COME AROUND
AM IN THE RIVER FISHING. BLOW YOUR HORN.
AM PICKING FRUIT IN THE GROVE. DRIVE OVER
AM ON THE OCEAN, BEACH COMBING. COME SEE
GONE ACROSS THE RIVER. BE BACK SOON.
AM AT HOME. COME IN. WELCOME.
If we all could be so lucky these days. . .
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