Flowers give their lives to us… Near them, gold and silver seem of no value. ~Auguste Rodin, French sculptor
I Monkey here.
Bet you’ve been missing me, huh?
I told Mama it’s been FAR too long since I’ve taken over her blog, but she just shrugged her shoulders.
What’s up with that? I ask.
There once was a bug with red eyes.
Below ground it grows and lies.
It sheds its shell
On a tree it does dwell.
After mating, the cycle will reprise.
Note: Poetry form is Limerick.
When you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know.
Recently, I read a book that perfectly addressed my current status as an “orphan.”
This is the sensory season. Trees are in leaf… It is a green world… Walk through an orchard and you can smell as well as feel the strength of grass underfoot, new grass reaching tall toward the sun. Boughs naked only a little while ago, then bright and heady with bloom, now rustle with leaf and tingle with the strength of fruition. Listen, and you can almost hear the pulse of sap and the mysterious workings of chlorophyll. The air vibrates with bird song… All the senses tingle, alive with the season as the world itself is alive. Nothing is impossible at such a time. ~Hal Borland, American writer, journalist, and naturalist
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 