With The Noise Of It

When the green woods laugh
With the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream
Runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh
With our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs
With the noise of it.
William Blake

Being near cold flowing water, with an overhang of trees  is where I feel most whole and in grace. These strips of riparian paradise exist Worldwide, each unique and mesmerizing. No matter where we wander, there is a familiarity, recognition, and welcome in the rivers, streams, and creeks.   Especially when shared, the truly best kind of days. Perhaps a past or future as fish. This stretch of Beaver Creek has been a favorite for twenty five and some years, and I am happy to provide you a look about with these photos as my submission for  WordPress Photo Challenge theme of Place In The World.

 Inspiration for this weeks Challenge – Erica V 

For this week’s photo challenge, explore what it means to find your place in the world. Where’s your safe space? Where do you go when you need to feel inspired or cheered up? Let loose and give us a glimpse of who you are in the grand scheme of things.

All my best to Each and Everyone.

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Music: Pete Seegar Sail Up & Down The River

Who Chose Passion Over Security

Grandmothers

She had Grandmothers
Who tried to forget.

She had Grandmothers
Who longed to remember.

She had Grandmothers
Who shipped their infant
in a shoebox
To a childless sister in Sanpete County
With a note:
“Sorry to trouble you, but he don’t want kids right now.”

She had Grandmothers
Who were desperate from betrayal and
Killed themselves by diving

Head-first into a rain barrel
After carefully placing their glasses
On a clean hankie.

She had Grandmothers
Who left the pots and pans
To ‘soak’ under the lilac bush.

She had Grandmothers
Who took early retirement,
Who chose passion over security,
To make time for an affair
With a childhood sweetheart.

She had Grandmothers
Who joyfully greeted the dawn.

She had Grandmothers
Who braced themselves for the day
With valium, coffee and TV news.

She had Grandmothers
Who were uprooted by their grown children
And moved to an old

Barrack on the edge
Of a windswept nowhere
Where she spent twenty years
Sipping Black Jack Daniels and
Reading condensed editions of books.

She had Grandmothers
Who loved other women openly
And with devotion and she had

Grandmothers who did not speak,
Even to their daughters,
Of their love of women.

She had Grandmothers
With ample pensions who moved
To a retirement village
Where a dark haired young woman reminded her
To take her pills
And where someone came twice a month
To clean the wall of mirrors
That made her room look bigger

She had Grandmothers
Who loved the smell of babies and bacon,
And of coffee, oranges at Christmas,
Wet horses in the rain, and men.

She had Grandmothers
Who trailed the scent
Of rosewater, whiskey, and coal oil.

She had Grandmothers
Who reeked of smoke and patchouli.

She had Grandmothers
Who were beaten, berated, and betrayed
By their daughters.
She had Grandmothers
Who were raped by their sons-in-law.
She had Grandmothers
Who seduced their sons and their nephews.

She had Grandmothers who read out loud
And who sat on the stoop and taught the children,
Even the boys,
How to thread strings of lilac.
She had Grandmothers
Whose grief and pain was bottomless.

She had Grandmothers
Whose laugh was contagious.

She had Grandmothers
Who left Sweden, who left Scotland, who left Wales.

She had Grandmothers who were born, lived
And died in one time zone.

She had Grandmothers
Whose brains and blood were splattered
In the snow and on car windshields
In the supermarket parking lot
On the day her husband
Was served the restraining order
And came and shot her in the head.

She had Grandmothers who packed imaginary bags
To take imaginary trips to visit people
Who had died 40 years ago.

She had Grandmothers who were vegetarian.
She had Grandmothers who were Unitarian.
She had Grandmothers
Who slowly drank warm water for their constitution
And she had Grandmothers
Who snorted cocaine.

She had Grandmothers who played cards
With the same group of women
Once a month for thirty years
Who called themselves the “humbugs”
Who didn’t know that they were a “moon lodge”
And never once called into the four directions.

She had Grandmothers
Who tried to forget.

She had Grandmothers
Who tried to remember.

She had Grandmothers who said
We would be better off not knowing.

She had Grandmothers
Who whispered lies.

Julien Puzey
Spring Eqinox 1998

On this day we honor our Mothers, I share this favorite poem by Julien Puzey.  I chose the Argentine Giant Cacti during flowering for the accompanying  photos as this delicate bloomed but tough, resilient, often prickly cacti reminds me of the Mothers , Daughters, Sisters, Grandmothers, Nieces, Cousins, and Aunts within my own family. For generations, a fair bunch of rascally women if ever there has been one. Proud of, Grateful to Each and Every One. Happy Mothers Day!

 

 News/Music: Lady Madonna- Beatles

One Against Another

There are no lines in nature,
Only areas of color,
One against another.

Definitely an Oriole, perhaps a Scott’s or a Bullock’s, or the elusive Sweet Toothed Blonde Big Mouth.  A loud brash vocal arrival and flash of brilliant yellow.  A hint of gold. Scolding me from his perch in the trees, to the roof, then the hedge, wanting both the hummingbirds and me to go. He wants the garden and the sugared water to himself. Behavior of a youthful starling, all brass and daring. I admire his energy, determination, and persistence. At stalemate, he decides to scatter the hummingbirds and ignore me.  Very soon Peregrine will arrive to hunt the afternoon shadows in the garden. Oriole does not know that, and once establishing himself at the bar, his sugar high binge drinking begins in earnest.

In response to the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Lines-  In the Oriole’s coming for your face photo above, the camera caught the flared movement of the wings blurring the detail of the feather’s colors, creating accentuating lines along the wings. In the slideshow below I included the same photo with a black and white filter which made the lines of flight even more dominate. This was a Happy Dance capture with the camera moment for me. The second time the Nikon Coolpix L830 pushed beyond  her limits and caught bird flight succinctly.

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Wishing Each and Every One of You a safe, joyful, prosperous, and peace filled Month of May.

Music/News:  Mason Williams – Classical Gas w/ Deborah Henson-Conant This is a lovely piece of music. Ms Henson-Conant’s harp is seductive and vibrant, and Mason Williams always a favorite.

I Would Venture To Guess

“I would venture to guess
That Anon,
Who wrote so many poems
Without signing them,
Was often a woman.”
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

Wood Duck  may well be the most beautiful bird whose acquaintance I’ve made. Close to the edge of magic. From the riverbank I witnessed the rising sun engage each feather of Wood Duck individually, collectively, colors high and vibrant. Wondering if that rustle in the still brittle reeds is a mate nesting.

Equally amazing and always surprised is that every once in awhile photograph, that pleases me immensely…..this captured Wood Duck’s image is just such a photo. I am pleased to share all of my photos today, but especially Wood Duck with you.

Enjoying the Jail Trail located in Old Town Cottonwood Arizona. Visiting frequently to observe and photograph the unfolding of Spring and ending the morning back at the Trail head where the sidewalk leads quickly  to latte and pastery, or lunch if we have lingered.  Sidewalk cafes and restaurants abound , where locals and visitors mingle over second and third cups of coffee.

 

The Jail Trail: A riparian oasis of sorts, running with the Verde River, Dog walkers, birders, families, lovers, photographers, joggers, fisherman, a science class, an artists doing watercolors, or those pausing while just passing through. It’s a well loved and used area , and yes,  worn in places. Welcoming to the eye and spirit is this greening up towards lush ribbon of riparian respite.  Going green anyway,  in this Spring of dry weather, no rain, no wildflowers, High Sonoran desert. A morning haven with birdsong, river music, and the sound of a million bees enjoying the flowering of the ancient cottonwoods.  The old trees give  the sense of permanence and peace to this very special place.

Earth Day- April 22- The global theme is to reduce plastic pollution.

The Verde Valley Birding and Nature Festival is April 26-29 2018.

Peace and Blessings to Each and Everyone of You.

In Response to this week’s WordPress Photo Challenge – Awakening 

Music/News: Chicago- Does Anybody Know What Time It Is?

A One Time Event

“Revolution is not a one time event.”
Audre Lorde

 

Audre Lorde, deep to the bone voice poet and feminist who championed the rights of the marginalized, comes to mind as I listen to the young people  speaking out and making their voices heard their visions and goals clear, and their commitment an honest one.  I am just thrilled at the groundswell of positive activism taking place globally. And the diversity of the voices is reassuring.

Peace and Blessings to Each and Everyone.

Music/News:  Tracy Chapman- Revolution

Your Sunrise and The Wind

What is the good
Of your stars and trees
Your sunrise and the wind,
If they do not enter
Into our daily lives?
E. M. Forster

Belhaven North Carolina Sunrise

Belhaven North Carolina Sunset

In response to this Week’s WordPress Photo Challenge- Rise /Set

May joy fill Your hearts, may You travel Your days in Safety and Confidence, and may Peace rise with You in the Morning, and rest within You at dusk.

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News/Music- Handel’s Messiah – Sir Colin Davis- London Symphony