31 May 2007
it started with flowers
30 May 2007
none-so-pretty
29 May 2007
fair warning
28 May 2007
black flies no more
27 May 2007
a child's garden
one more
26 May 2007
butterfly
the trouble with lilacs
24 May 2007
coinage
lost
22 May 2007
newt?
21 May 2007
apple blossom time
such a deal
19 May 2007
extreme serendipity
18 May 2007
orange
in mid may just as the lilac buds begin to swell, i hang orange slices on the tree just outside the window. baltimore orioles feed on this fruit and now is when they return to our area. but the only baltimore orioles ive seen so far have been the ones in uniform during last weeks red sox games. that is until today. as i was leaving hand on the doorknob the orange movement in the lilac caught my eye. and there he was - enjoying a lovely lunch that just matched his striking color.
17 May 2007
whine
14 May 2007
in the knick of time

13 May 2007
for all mothers

and for mothers-to-be. I heard this poem on npr this week. its pretty funny - but the message is lasting.
"The Lanyard"
by Billy Collins
The other day as I was ricocheting slowly
off the pale blue walls of this room,
bouncing from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one more suddenly into the past --
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sickroom,
lifted teaspoons of medicine to my lips,
set cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift--not the archaic truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hands,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
the trio
11 May 2007
more money

10 May 2007
change
daffodils in & out
08 May 2007
rest in peace
07 May 2007
spring shower
06 May 2007
undercover

05 May 2007
this buds for you
03 May 2007
sympathy and more

02 May 2007
forsythia

01 May 2007
may day
'tis (not) the season
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