Category Archives: hope

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caged rose

WHY is this poor rose caged, you ask? I removed the top bit of cage to take the photograph. This is the only bloom this summer, because the rose keeps growing out of the cage. It’s in my backyard and the deer chomp down to the wires. I think they need vitamin C.

I tested this the other day. I trimmed a rose in the fenced front yard. I took the trimmings and spread them under the apple tree. This is not a great picture but I was happy to see this young visitor eating roses and fallen apples.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day.

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begonia

The friend that I visited the last two weeks has a green thumb and a beautiful garden. This was on her porch.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day.

I am watching the service for Queen Elizabeth II. I wish every family who has lost someone recently or years ago, finds their way through stages of grief to a stage of peace. I fall out of it every so often and miss my mother, my father, my sister. Blessings all.

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A lovely irony

it’s a lovely irony
in losing you I’m finding me
in grief I am at last set free

you may call or not any day
ask me to the beach to play
it doesn’t matter anyway

you’ve lost me, you know it must be good
things happen as we know they should
lost the beaches lost the woods

I’ve found the lover I’ve sought so long
you don’t believe me and you are wrong
the Beloved’s love is deep and strong

I say a loving goodbye my friend
I am sad to lose you, sad hearts mend
but you have chosen to make an end

it’s a lovely irony
in losing you I’m finding me
in grief I am at last set free

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hope molting and growing new feathers

A friend away a friend some day
a friend can’t stay all the day
a friend won’t pray a friend can’t play
not today is what they say
a friend they say a friend always
a friend who may return some day

in a way you might say
hope molts and regrows feathers today

I think my inner four year old wrote today’s poem. I am thinking about the song my mother taught me, very young, for when I was frustrated.

My sister and I loved this song and others, Samuel Hall and “I don’t want to play in your back yard, I don’t like you any more. You’ll be sorry when you see me, sliding down my cellar door.”

I gave a young friend a book of rhymes. He looked at me with some horror. “These are nursery rhymes.” I grin at him. “Look again. It’s a book of insulting playground rhymes, suitable for all occasions.” He looked at the book again and held on to it.

The photograph is from the National Museum of Women in the Arts again. Another fabulous painting that seems to fit my theme.