For Thursday doors.
A return to the water. In the Poulsbo Harbor, there were a pair of seals fishing. Sometimes they are deep enough that we cannot see them. Sometimes the water is disturbed. Sometimes I can see them under the water. And sometimes they surface.
I am two blocks from home, walking in my neighborhood (7).
She perches in the top of one of the trees. I zoom in again. Look back at that first picture. She is in one of the tall trees behind the cars, right at the top.
She looks like a very interesting Christmas tree topper.
Blessings, beautiful great blue heron! I think of you along rivers and ponds and swamps, but what a privilege to see you flying to perch in a tree! In three trees! Three blocks from my home!
I feel blessed.
She is one of the many reasons I walk without earbuds and listen and watch for the birds.
Here is a photograph of my book box doors for Norm 2.0’s Thursday Doors. I have a library box and books come in and go out. Everything from textbooks to Dostoevsky to Louisa May Alcott to mysteries and romances.
Sometimes I put coffee out, too, and have my coffee in the yard in the early morning. My daughter wants to know how people will know I am not going to poison them, but if I am out there drinking the coffee, I think they will be reassured.
We have at least 6 Little Free Libraries in town, including one in front of our grade school with lots of kids’ books. Hooray for books and for sharing and exchanging them!
This is for photrablogger’s Mundane Monday 124.
Just my current journal and a pen and a coffee pot. But I am thinking of the people flooded in Houston and how they would like just a clean counter and a dry journal and a coffee pot with electricity.
Our house was flooded when my family first moved to Alexandria, Virginia. We were not in danger, but the water backed up and started pouring into our basement, full of boxes of books. First we rescued my mother’s etching press engine. It was so heavy we could barely get it up the stairs. Then boxes and boxes of books. I was fourteen and the water was cold and dirty and reached to the tops of my thighs.
We pulled everything we could upstairs and then emptied boxes. We had wet books everywhere and threw tons away.
We sat on the porch. The water was six inches deep in the middle of the road. The buses still ran, and a wave would come lap our steps every time one went by.
Prayers for the flooded people in Texas and the people in dire straights everywhere.
I am deeply grateful for the mundane…
Taken in Wisconsin, in a meadow, zoom all the way out. It took me multiple tries to get the plane of focus right…
For Wordless Wednesday.