Enjoy the Season

Spend the month of December searching for

 One Good Thing.

If possible, try to DO

One Good Thing.

It would be very fine indeed to actually BE

One Good Thing!

Wishing you all the best the season has to offer:

understanding and forgiveness

love and friendship

smiles and hugs

I'll take a break from blogging. 

Happy Holidays to all!

Through a Child's Eyes

pause

focus

appreciate

absorb the lessons 

taught by children

Truth

I desaturated the photo and blurred from the focal point

in the vortex of your dream

a kernel of truth appears

remember it, if you can

Looking for One Good Thing

if you look for small things that make you happy

sometimes, you'll be rewarded 

with something really BIG

Squirrel and Moose in my back yard, Breckenridge, CO, 11/10/11

A Secret Garden

imagination is a secret garden

entering the mind's portal

vivid surprises await 

Outside/Inside

outside:

snow and cold

inside:

blooming cacti

red and pink and white

basking in sunshine

pretending it's summer

The sweet, smiling baby in the picture is my Granddaughter, Amanda, at 6 months. She's wearing a feed-sack dress that my Mother wore as an infant.  The material for the dress came from a feed bag, maybe one that originally held grain for the farm animals. My Grandparents were poor tenant farmers who had no money for store-bought clothing. My Grandmother hand-sewed a tiny bit of lace to the collar and sleeves to make the dress prettier.  My mother was born a triplet (she and two brothers) which was very rare in the early 1900's. They were born in the old farmhouse. Only one baby was expected - there were already two toddlers in the family. My mother was the last born and the tiniest, weighing 2.5 pounds at birth. She was swaddled and placed in the oven of the slightly warmed wood stove, which they used as an incubator to keep her warm. 

Amanda and her twin brother will be 9 in February. My Mother and Grandmother died long before any of my Grandchildren were born. So, I tell the old stories, recounting a way of life so different both from my own and from that of my Grandchildren. 

I started this post writing about the delicate blooms on my cacti, but, somehow, I got distracted by that photo and the feed-sack dress.  I have only a few mementoes from my Mother and Grandmother. However, I do have the stories and my memories. Here's what I hope: maybe someday Amanda's own daughter will wear the antique dress, and Amanda will pass along the stories of the capable women, her ancestors, who survived the odds and made a better life for themselves and for their families.

Tenacity

a faded beauty

bent but not broken

with stubborn tenacity

braves the elements

The last Poppy in my garden still gives me pleasure.

Long White Wait

brief fall colors

'til snow and cold take their toll

leaves drop

ice forms

a long white wait begins

Foxy

We had a young visitor recently. First she stood at the top of my rock garden to look in the dining room window. I thought she'd spook when I went onto the deck, but she approached, watching me carefully, keeping her eyes slightly averted. I think she's newly on her own, possibly born just this spring. She showed no fear and seemed to think maybe I had a handout for her. That tells me someone in the neighborhood must be feeding her. Maybe her mother was also fed and taught the kits that people are a good source of food. I hope she also knows how to hunt for her dinner. It's illegal to feed wild animals - yes, they're cute, but they're WILD. That is part of their beauty and charm. People should respect their wildness, not try to tame them. I've known several instances when people feed and then go on a trip or even move away. The foxes who depend on them suddenly need to fend for themselves. It's sad if they haven't learned how. We usually clap to discourage the foxes from coming too close to the house. I don't want a grandchild having a snack outside being approached by a hungry fox accustomed to being hand-fed.

I desaturated this photo before painting some color back onto the fox's body.

She was a beauty, and I was reluctant to frighten her. Tiny and perfect, she waited patiently for me to produce something yummy.  I finally said goodbye and came back inside. She ambled away, still on the lookout for dinner.

Interlude

A lone daisy bends toward the stream, admiring its reflection.

Light transforms ordinary scenes. 

We pause and take notice. 

An Instant in Time

A friend gave me this garden flag with colorful blooms and a pale purple butterfly. But, do you see the hummingbird that also seems to be a part of the flag's image? He's actually fluttering to drink nectar from the purple sage in my garden. That was last week - by now he may be thousands of miles from the mountains of Colorado, winging his way to a warmer climate. The scene continually changes. A photo is just an instant frozen in time. 

Take Heart

no matter your age

allow the song in your heart

to beat its own rhythm 

Visitor

Overnight rain, like castanets beating a rhythm, lulls me to sleep. By morning, when the mist lifts briefly, the high peaks are frosted white. The aspens, still green a few days ago, rapidly turn golden. Cold paints the understory of the forest in shades of russet, sienna and umber. At midday, three young bucks stroll into the garden to munch on the delphiniums. Each fall, when hunting season approaches, deer seem to know to come closer to the house. Do their mothers somehow transmit this knowledge before they head out on their own? I walk onto the back deck with my camera. Two of my visitors amble away, but the third stands his ground. I intend to snap a photo and then clap my hands to shoo him from the remaining blooms. But, his soft gaze and slowly twitching ears mesmerize. For a moment - two - we both stand in wonder. Finally, with a flick of his tail, he moves slowly away. I've enjoyed my gardens through the too-short summer. Now, I'll share the flowers with the forest creatures during the brief fall. The encroaching snow reminds us all of lengthy winter's steady approach. 

Survivors

Aster and Paintbrush surviving the arid climate at CO National Monument, Sept. 12, 2011

dry grasses and dusty sagebrush lend a calming contrast to the dazzling remains of summer

Magic Mushrooms

Amanita Muscaria is the only hallucinogenic mushroom found in CO. During our wet August, they grew in profusion in the forests at high altitude. They're nicknamed "Fly Agaric" because they were once used as fly poison. Colorful and whimsical-looking, they're actually dangerous if ingested and can cause fatality. A friend's dog nearly died after eating them. Their beauty attracts, but, in this case, red sends a warning.

fairy dust gnome abode

hallucinogenic magic mushroom

intoxicating beauty fatal attraction

I can't identify this mushroom, but I hope it's harmless. 

It reminds me of a Yogi twisted into an intricate pose. 

It sat all alone on the forest floor.

I didn't see any others like it.

Can you see its look of surprise - its mouth shaped like an O?

It's my favorite mushroom this season. 

A Pond Near My Home

I like taking water shots without a filter - just the light and my own perspective. It's similar to how I view Life.

light plays with shadow and reflection 

a changing canvas of

intuition and substance 

reality through the

filter of judgement

The Sky's the Limit

I'm transfixed by a pink vision on the rock

long hair billowing she synchronizes 

balancing, stretching, and pulling 

quickly scaling the height

My 8 year old Granddaughter climbing in Breckenridge

finally releasing (the scariest part for me)

she flutters downward 

gracefully rappelling back to Earth

no big deal

just 

skill and trust

and

believing in yourself

Perspective

I remind myself:

Worry is never productive.

It doesn't solve any problems.

Fear grows out of proportion.

Worry makes a problem bigger than it actually is.

Confidence

not knowing the route 

or worrying about dangers

just forging ahead

My 5 Year Old Granddaughter Leading a Hike

Talking to the Flowers

yes, it's true

I talk to flowers

Mother did too

now Grandchildren wonder

what do you tell them

I say they're lovely and graceful

I ask them to stay safe and healthy

I tell them I love them

you tell us that too

yes it's true

I do

Lazy Day - A River of Stones

I sit outside reading, sun in and out of clouds. A fox trots across the bridge, stops in the garden, raises a leg, and moves on without a backward glance. Later, sensing movement, I look up to see a young buck walking slowly through the forest. Suddenly startled, he picks up his pace, white tail waving like a truce as he trots away. A Robin hops and flutters along the stream finding the perfect spot for a drink. Dipping its head, water droplets fly off its beak to become prisms of light. Bees drone around the Salvia as the afternoon slips slowly away.

A River of Stones

Morning Observation - A River of Stones

saw a woman with orange hair this morning

bright neon orange

dancing down the sidewalk 

brown arms reaching for the sky

fingers snapping out a beat

face upturned grinning at the sun

just down the street another woman

frowning into sun's glare
blonde hair all business

arms locked across chest

foot tapping with impatience

waiting to cross

it's all relative

but

I'm still smiling at that orange hair


A River of Stones

Old Age - A River of Stones

Remains of building from 1800's along Mineral Belt Trail, Leadville, CO

I wouldn't want to be young again. My weathered facade is well-earned. I lean a bit, swayback. My ancient bones are thinning. I'm more open, accessible. Strangers and varmints intrude on my space. The barriers and signs that once meant "keep out," are now flimsy and mostly disregarded.  Privacy is a thing of the past. Oh, I've seen some sights in my day, overheard plenty of conversations. If you have the time, I can tell you some tales. I'm of a certain age, but I've endured. I have my self-respect. I'm still standing.

During the month of July, I'm participating with other writers from around the World in

A River of Stone 

Blooming - A River of Stones

 

the curled bud holds only promise

the unfurled blossom achieves immortality

I'm participating in July's
A River of Stones

Promise - A River of Stones

After a night of heavy rain, a new day awakes refreshed.

Clouds hang low over the high peaks still dressed in snow.

A thick mist rises like smoke from the Blue River.

The morning is green with promise.

During the month of July, I'm participating in

A River of Stones

Mariposa Lily - A River of Stones

as gaudy sunflowers swing and sway above her

shouting "Me! Me!"

shy Mariposa raises her face to receive the sun's kiss

A River of Stones

Remembrance - A River of Stones

To be able to say "What a Life he lived!" is such a joy and a comfort. He loved and was well-loved in return. He died surrounded by his family, buoyed by the prayers of friends. Death with dignity was his final accomplishment.

when death came calling

he thought he was riding his bike

we smiled through our tears

A River of Stones

Lupines - A River of Stones

my friend is dying

as the purple lupines bloom

watered by my tears

A River of Stones

Storm - A River of Stones

pink bolts of lightning

drenching rain pelting the ground

fragile poppy stands firm

During the month of July, I'm participating in

A River of Stones

Mining Remains - A River of Stones

crumbing, splintering, rusting

an abandoned mine whispers

a tale of toil and hardship

Stumptown Road Mine Ruins, Leadville, CO

I'm participating in

A River of Stones

Doe - A River of Stones

early visitor, silky ears alert, admiring my garden

the chance meeting startles us both

A River of Stones

Goodbye - A River of Stones

I said goodbye to my best friend in a pink dawn, feeling the usual tight throat as she drove away. Inside, I busied myself in the quiet kitchen. Standing at the sink, I saw movement where the trail opens to my back yard. Thinking maybe a deer or a moose was visiting, I came to attention. A cowboy  - black hat, black boots, black jacket, and dark pack - strode into the clearing. I blinked but, yes, a cowboy! As he turned to walk the perimeter of my property, he looked up and our eyes met. His were the pale blue of a morning sky. I knew he saw me framed in the kitchen window, faded fleece PJ's drooping around my shoulders, white hair sticking up like dandelion fuzz.  He immediately lowered his eyes back to the trail, moving quickly away through the pine duff. I shivered as he disappeared. My friend and the cowboy both left me as daybreak seeped slowly over the mountains.

Writers from around the World are participating in 

A River of Stones.

Nature's Palette - A River of Stones

riot of color

ripe with possiblity

juicy with summer

A River of Stones