I enjoy the Arboretum immensely, with all of the beautiful specimens carefully staged to their full advantage. But I love going to the National Gallery where the loveliness of it all is permanently framed, making it possible to see it, year in and year out. The kids used to go through the paintings - leaving me behind as I lingered on each one, taking in the strokes, taking in the movements, taking in the beauty. I loved the use of shadows and light. I can only admire and move on to the next exhibit. One day I realized that in so many ways, art truly is an imitator of real life, isn't it?
Cover me with a blanket of your memory
Where your name is engraved on my soul
Whisper softly into the day
Caressed by morning light
In a thousand valleys, far and wide
Where the sun comes out and greets the sky
Her branches reach out to meet the day
Flowers are scented without even a try
Words cannot even begin to describe
The love that I have, for her
My Mother Earth.
Today I planted a few pots that are going on the front porch letting the colors call out to those that walk by. I held out buying some of the more delicate ones, but, hopefully, by next week, I will be able to do that. If I have done it right, it will develop into a nurturing relationship with my new plants.
He brushed his lips upon her cheek
Slight of touch
Overcome, she blushed
Blossoming for him
Like a flower
How can I trust my heart to be true?
The term soul mate may not be what you think, especially if you believe you are a perfect fit for that person. Isn't that everyone's dream? But a true-blue friend reflects back to you like a mirror, showing you everything that holds you back in life. Someone who shows you how to make your life a better place for you.
Last day to post my shamrocks, they will be back next season. The luck of the Irish, take it with you. Electi and true, from me to you... And just like that, this post is over. Come back tomorrow and we'll do it again. Easter Style.
All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.
The Naming of Cats
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn鈥檛 just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I鈥檓 as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
TS Elliot
