Saturday, May 14, 2011
Although the posts from May 12 were restored by Blogger, all of the comments from May 11 and May 12 were not. I see, too, that the May 12 tags were corrupted and combined as one. Rather than re-post those entries, I will, for the record, fix those tags and provide the missing comments in this post. Unattributed, unlinked comments are mine.
Summer of Dreams
Thanks, Jim, I appreciate it. Indeed, coloring outside the lines is perceived as a threat by those who, in their quiet desperation, would control everything in their lives.
i smile. let's undo them!
a few days ago i said to my children, let's get two chickens. my daughter, can we in town? me, why the heck not? she, then goats! i want goats! my son, why not a cow?
we rode the back roads the dirt kicking up, reminding us of more real things. yes, two chickens. why the heck not?
(and so the other side of this is such a sadness for if they can not see the joy - where are their eyes?)
plow on, dear friend. keep on plowing.
Priceless, Erin, and maybe not so sad, joy and joy again. I could scratch through a pile of fresh lawn clippings right now, by gum. I feel it myself.
The Legend Continues
years away and yet the delicate threads of the radish cultivate the soil of us, draw us all together. gardening. such an innocence, william, don't you think?
One of the best reminders there is, I think. An ancient calling. I chanced on a wonderful quote yesterday by Masanobu Fukuoka:
“The ultimate goal of farming is not the growing of crops, but the cultivation and perfection of human beings.”
Now, imagine parting the air with your fingers in the same way you ply the soil or a loved one’s hair.
Back to the Garden
what a beautiful way for robert and i to go into this day. thank you, william.
it is just on the verge of rain here. you know how the air gets like that - as though it rising upon itself? air. soil. hair. feelings. lightness.
much love, william
And to you both, Erin.
Yesterday when we were busy planting, another rain was approaching, and it was just as you describe. And then it arrived, and now the plants are healed in. Magic is what it is.
it is raining here now. i just got in from a buddies place. he a load of last years wood cutttings and winter build up of stuff to take to the woods and dump.
the rain, that spring rain that makes you want to be in it was grand. i stopped for a minute in the woods and took in the rain, the air and i remembered the photographs of your garden and the rain came down there yesterday and here today and how we are healed as well.
thank you for this beautiful poem
You’re welcome, Robert, and I thank you. It’s amazing how easy everything is when our guard is down. The spirit flies past the useless, creaking gate.