radishes

there's something about radishes that makes me think I am a gardener...

Cotton and Silk

There is cotton and silk floating in the sky,
Cottonwood and spiders fly!
Summer is truly here now...
Miracles are happening daily.

A Little Cousin

Someone else loves dandelions... even more than I do.

monuments to hope

Of course everything in the garden is a testament to hope...

The Product of Success

consider this... each of us is the product of an unbroken chain of successful reproductions...

columbine

Jumping Waves

I remember standing chest deep
in the Pacific Ocean
waiting for waves to come
and I would jump up with each one.

Standing there as a big one
rose up well over my head,
too high to jump,
my only choice was to dive.

I am tiny in the ocean,
I am weak before the waves.
That is the thrill of being there,
chest deep in the untamed ocean.

I'll Wait

A house finch
sings a glorious proclamation
from the dead branch
of our plum tree.

I am ready
to cut it off,
but I will wait.

CSI: Blueberries

delicious...

together

in isolation together...

thank you Jean...

My Pulse and Breath

My pulse and breath, red blood circulating through my body, my brain awake, planning and imagining.  I begin this singular day, already passing...  Nothing stands still.  I am aging, my wife is aging, our children are aging, our grandchildren are growing... already passing, already passing... 

I would hold on to this one day, this hour, or this moment complete and yet unfinished, filled with apple blossom perfume and sparrow chatter... already passing, already passing... already gone.

I cannot hold on to anything real.  Each moment as perceived, is gone.  By the time I notice a bird in flight it is gone.  Everything is in motion, everywhere... in the universe, in this planet, in this mountain side, in our home, in our calendar and our clock... inside my own body, my pulse and my breath... already passing, already passing... already gone.

Only photographs and my words crystallize moments and thought around me, but they are not real... only snapshots of something that happened.  Reality never stands still, not even thousand year-old bristlecones.  They dance with the wind... already passing, already passing, already gone.

And yet... I still take pictures and write down words...