FLOWERS

"Peonies", William Merritt Chase, 1897

Exotic flaming accent

Afloat the serene neutral sea,

Whisper in the ear of ages and seasons

The essence of femininity

DEPTH OF WATER

Raining down on Death's heated earth

 Mists of souls swirl up to rebirth.

Steamy scents on senses unbound

Releasing an altruism new found.

No hate survives,

No difference abides

In the final all inundating tide.

Husband's chum since forever lies terminally ill in a local nursing home.  They shared escapades that are folk lore in our family get togethers, Husband always capping the event with a funny story of their antics.  Sidney, a.k.a. "Prunes," telephoned husband every day to chew the fat.  Husband saw to it that Prunes got property for his home across the road on Waverly Lane.

After many years at their respective jobs, each retired and took small jobs driving for a seafood business in a neighboring county.  They mutually fussed over the trucks, keeping them in good working shape and made a little money to boot.

All his life, Husband was friends with black people, playing for a while in an all black band (minus one).  He and Prunes agreed to disagree on that and never discussed the matter. Being basically good, Prunes could never shake the animosity he felt for his fellow black human being.  These things get handed down, I believe, and we did not hold that weakness against him while at the same time being a little sorry for his attitude.

Now at his most helpless state, he still makes the occasional bad joke, but also over the years has befriended some of his natural enemies by bringing them gifts to buy their favor when being unloaded in his job as a driver.  He boasted about how well they treated him. I see progress and a desire for good will.  Amen.

Sidney "Prunes" in high school,

One of three remaining amigos:

Mahon (deceased)

Sidney

Victor

and Sam (Husband)

THE WAY BACK

I came so long

To that place

Before knowing I had to return.

I go to redeem memories

To face the dragons, the black annihilating holes

To be myself again,

Whatever that is

To forgive everyone

To be the pure child

And be done with it.



A response to Magpietales.com

FORTY DAYS AND FORTY NIGHTS

When Noah built the ark, he was given some warning and time to complete the task.  Here in my garden, we rejoiced with every rainfall and planted and planted.  We had no idea the blessing would be overdone with unpleasant outcomes.  What's the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for, you might get it!"

My make-shift water gauge, the garden wheelbarrow

shows how much water has fallen lately!

The garden has done it's best with beautiful promise, but sad production.  The beautiful green tomatoes (23 plants) exploded and rotted on the vine...a few made it and they were good.  I continue to hope there are better days for them ahead.  

Meanwhile the natural weeds and grasses are proliferating and expressing their abundant good health, I almost hate to pull them.

Just weeds on steroids.

Flowers are doing well and we learn which ones should come back next year.

Zinnias are proven in my garden and lure goldfinches and butterflies.

Because of the continuous rain, mosquitoes prevent me from harvesting the green beans.

Green beans wait for no man.

There is our average mosquito on my shoulder!

A sturdy pair of wooden clogs made in the Netherlands is the best
footwear for when the dikes of Heaven give way!

LIFE BEGINS AT EIGHTY

My ever young cousin celebrated his eightieth birthday on Sunday.  I'm going against his wishes by spreading the news.  It isn't a small accomplishment to round the bend of fragile mortality into the warm calm waters of your senior years.

 Carl Douglas Thomas talks to Mr. and Mrs. Charles Ingram, fellow

producers of local daffodils at one time.

Mr. Gene Goin and Mr. Lowery Hudgins helped him celebrate and enjoyed the day.

Daughter Cindy Wright manned the food stands.

Daughter Carla helped make the day special.

.

It was also flag day and flags were waving!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY C.D.

You're a very special guy!

THE LOST

Husband is an accomplished enigma of rational behavior.  Usually appearing an average 74-year-old shuffle along, he contains anecdotes that can only be described as absurd enough to stop a clock.

A very predictable Husband looks handsome and un-mysterious on  a Spring day

This morning while I sipped my first coffee, he challenged me:  "You'll never guess what I found in the basement this morning."  My mind went immediately to dead mice, errant snakes, and a category of huge, venomous spider.  "Three balls the cats batted through the old plumbing holes."

"Oh," I voiced unimpressed.

"Guess what else I found," he teased.

"What?" I answer mystified.

And here it comes, the tense still  moment before the perfectly unexpected answer, "My lower dentures!" without blinking an eye.  Bingo, I didn't see, hear, or smell that coming, I thought.

But with Husband, looks are deceiving!

It seems the dentures went missing several years ago and to Husband's chagrin, he had to purchase new ones.

In the past, I have located his glasses hanging from a tree limb, his perpetual runaway cell phone on the ground by a neighbor's lawn chair, and the cat litter he placed in the refrigerator because it looked like a milk carton.  But this was new heights even for him. Now he has a backup set of lowers if he chooses to use them.  Another deep mystery has been solved, except how the dentures got there in the first place.  That we may never know, but speculation is endless.

SUNUP

   NATURE

O Nature!  I do not aspire

To be the highest in thy choir, -

To be a meteor in thy sky,

Or comet that may range on high,

Only a zephyr that may blow

Among the reeds by the river low,

Give me thy most privy place

Where to run my airy race.

In some withdrawn, unpublic mead

Let me sigh upon a reed,

Or in the woods, with leafy din,

Whisper the still evening in.

Some still work give me to do, -

only - be it near to you!

For I'd rather be the child

And pupil, in the forest wild,

Than be the king of men elsewhere,

And most sovereign slave of care,

To have one moment of thy dawn,

Than share the city's year forlorn.

Henry David Thoreau
And this morning on Queen's Creek