“Milo tried very hard to understand all the things he’d been told, and all the things he’d seen, and, as he spoke, one curious thing still bothered him. “Why is it…that quite often even the things which are correct just don’t seem to be right?”
from The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, 1961
to me, the seagulls are always connected with the river in winter–
resting on the frigid wind currents–
crying out in the deep allegheny valley
that carries their haunting echoes upriver
inky, bold succulents
pasted pen-drawn hydrangea petals
a sketched tulip
little white pumpkin outlines
penciled and delicately inked birds
images of wildflower bundles
hand drawn letters
a pressed maple leaf
nature—
my favorite artist
the afternoon sun in long, slim sheets
wet earth and buds on trees
a book on the art of Andrew Wyeth
two hawks flying in the field together
Sixty Years On by Elton John
memories of Ohio farmlands
turtles in the mud
A friend with a garden, is a very good friend to have.
Baked cauldrons wait to be filled.
The echo of their emptiness
rings with hopeful meloncholy.
