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Showing posts from April, 2009

Spring speaks in poems~~

There's a flower blooming.

An unassuming plume of pink

As generous as a baby's grin

And just as captivating,

This is newborn spring!
RD~



The bees are bumbling.

Tumbling over blossoms,

They, too, are thirsty

For the first sweet sip of spring.
RD~

~~~~~
Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems. ~Rainer Maria Rilke

Pajama party on the Cape~

I love getting away overnight. As my husband explained to David when I told him I was going to spend a night at a friend's cottage on the Cape, women never give up the pajama parties of their youth.

Why would we? There is something to be said for staying up late talking and eating, eating and talking.

The get-together started mid afternoon, talking, snacking, and sipping wine on the couch in the cottage. Later, out to dinner we talked through Martinis, soup, and salad. Upon returning to the cottage, we talked and ate strawberries in cream and chocolate chip cookies. Then lights out and more talk before sleep.

Talk is key. The only thing different from the school day pajama parties of days gone by and the adult sleepover is that adults talk about husbands instead of boys. And eventually we do stop talking and go to sleep.

There is, of course, the inevitable shopping portion of the day. I know I'm not the only woman who gets little to no pleasure from shopping, but I am a deci…

Sharing hope~

The other day I took a walk along the power lines without my camera. I do that when I'm weary of my photographic eye being on high alert. I take mental pictures anyway--can't help it--but when I have my camera I stop-focus-snap-stop-focus-snap throughout the walk.

This particular day I just needed to walk and think after sitting too long at my laptop. I wanted to move, and breathe, and find that quiet place in my mind. I walked faster than I do with the camera, which felt good. I did stop, but only twice: to feel the satiny, grey pussy willows the size of new peas, and to listen to the faint song of spring peepers--chirping tree frogs whose melodious chorus means spring is really here to stay.

Rounding a turn I caught a familiar shape from the corner of my eye. Among plants that fringe the trail was a brown strand of grass whose tip curled into a shape like the breast cancer support ribbon.

I thought instantly of a friend I met through the blogosphere who is entering the d…