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 decided minority, and the only one among my friends.

While they shop, I'm happy to spend an hour or two in a bookstore, or in this case, walking off our huge breakfast.

I hadn't walked far when I ducked out of the wind into Nantucket Natural Oils. I love essential oils, and prefer them to perfume. This was my kind of shopping: sitting at a bar in front of a variety of bottles . . .

Photo from Nantucket Natural Oils webstite.

I ordered up sniffs of this and smells of that. Now and then the shop owner gave me a cup of coffee beans to breath deeply over to clear my olfactory nerves, freeing them to smell again. I was planning to buy, and was at the point of exchanging wrist sniffs with a friend who had wandered in. How does this smell on me? Wrinkled nose, sniff of coffee beans, the question is taken as seriously as, how do these sun glasses look, or this dress?Eventually I settled on a quarter ounce bottle of Nantucket Rain, a mix of three oils.

We drove back to the cottage and spent the rest of the day talking and finishing up the guacomole and chicken wings, me basking in the pleasant fragrance rising from my wrists. Good stuff , Nantucket Rain. I'm wearing it now, a scented reminder of a great pajama party.
~~~~~
Last year's trip to the Cape: Like an Early Spring.~
~~~~~
Happiness is perfume, you can't pour it on somebody else without getting a few drops on yourself.

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 dreaded territory of breast cancer. I thought of her faith, her bravery, her determination to learn something from this adventure she had not asked for. And it seemed this hopeful symbol, crowded by a tangle of vines and prickles, was a confirmation that hope and blessing exist, there is reason for faith, even when we are trapped in a thorny thicket.

I returned the next day to get a picture. Hope should be shared.
~~~~~
Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.~George Iles

***I'm reading this post six years after writing it. I've removed the links to my friends blog as they are inactive. I hope she's ... just too busy to blog.