THREE....

"Pick a flower on earth and you move the farthest star..." 

- Paul Dirac

 ONE....

Sighhhhh...Sweet Peas. Not summer without them.  This year, the season has been so slowwwww. Everything dragging out. Roses six weeks late. Sweet peas a no show, till two days ago....

"The flower is a tethered butterfly..." -Ecouchard LeBrun

"What you discover about life's shell game is that it's hardest to follow the pea, when you're the pea!"-Robert Breault

TWO....

Meanwhile, the "Bee Hotels" are about six to seven feet tall. Just starting to bloom. Their flowers look like yellow daisies. Rent is cheap. The bees flock to them...

If you're really early in the morning, you will find bees sleeping inside the flowers. You can even stroke their fuzzy bodies. They are so drunk with pollen, they won't even stir.

"When the flower blossoms, the bee will come..."  -Srikumar Rao

"Here's an idea....let's get over ourselves. Go buy a cherry pie and enjoy life!" -Tom Robbins

"A lily or a rose never pretends...and its beauty is that it IS..." 

-Jiddu Krishnamurti

"Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold....

Time is a kind friend, he will make us old....

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten, long and long ago....

As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall...in a long forgotten snow.." -Sara Teasdale

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose, that makes it so important..."

                                                                                                     -Antoine de Saint-Exupery

One sweet pea, again.....

"Here are sweet peas , on tiptoe for a flight;  with wings of gentle flush, over delicate white....

And taper fingers catching at all things.....to bind them all about with tiny rings...."- John Keats

THREE...

Sighhhhhh.....and then there were the Sweet Peas of 2021. So many ,my grandmother's vase was overflowing........so I stare at the photo and count my sweet peas to date. One. Two. Three.......am hoping for  four.......

Photography 2025 

 

"THIS SONG of MINE....."

MY SONG by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) from  "Crescent Moon" collection 1913

Poet, writer, composer, philosopher, Nobel peace prize  for literature in 1913."because of his profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse he has made his poetic thought, in his own English words, a part of the literature of the West." (Poetry Foundation)  

This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child

like the fond arms of love.

This song of mine will touch our forehead

like a kiss of blessing.

When you are alone it will sit by your side

and whisper in your ear.

When you are in the crowd it will fence you about with aloofness.

My song will be like a pair of wings to your dream.

It will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.

It will be the faithful star overhead

when the dark night is over your road.

My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,

and will carry your sight into the heart of things.

And when my voice is silent in death,

my song will speak 

in your living heart......

"I slept and dreamt that Life was joy. I awoke and saw that Life was service. I acted, and behold, service was joy..." -Rabindranath Tagore

      Photographs 2025                                                      (Sweet Simon)

                                  

 

SHE is WINTER

A WINTER's TALE by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)

Yesterday, the fields were only grey with scattered snow

And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge:

Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go

On towards the pines at the hills' white verge.....

I cannot see her, since the mist's white scarf

Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky;

But she's waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half

Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.....

Why does she come so promptly, when she must know

                                        
That she's only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;

The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow.....

Why does she come......

                  When she knows.......

                                                                 What I have to tell?

Photographs 2025   D.H. Lawrence was an English novelist, wrote on travel,  plays, painter  amongst other creative endeavors. He died of tuberculosis, on March 30 1930...there were over 60,000 deaths in  France, and over 50,000 in the UK, that same year.