A friend dies or leaves us: we feel as if a limb was cut off. ~Thomas Jefferson, third President of the United States
My “tiny” break lasted longer than I’d anticipated … longer, in fact, than any other break I’ve taken since starting this blog a dozen or so years ago.
Thank you for your patience.
Good things, when short, are twice as good. ~Baltasar Gracián, Spanish Jesuit and Baroque prose writer and philosopher
My Tiny Tree now measures 7 1/2 feet!! It looks healthy and seems to want for nothing. How it manages to look so cool and collected in this blazing heat and humidity baffles me.
It’s time for a wee blogging break. I’ve turned off comments for this post and will be back soon. Have a safe, joyous Fourth of July!
A sow prefers bran to roses. ~French proverb
Beautiful to see
Multi-hued, sun-loving blooms
Toxic to dogs though
Hasn’t modern civilized life come to be little else than a fight for life against bugs? ~Dorothy Scarborough, American writer from the Southwest
My late dad loved insects and often pondered why he hadn’t chosen entomology as his profession.
How, then, did he end up with two daughters who aren’t fans of bugs, especially flies, mosquitoes, wasps, roaches, and most beetles?
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves: we must die to one life before we can enter into another! ~Anatole France, French poet, journalist, and novelist
From the time I was a child, my dad used to remind me, The only things certain are death and taxes.
To that list, I’d add change.
Each prejudice we harbor occupies space where God would anchor more of His love. ~William Arthur Ward, American motivational writer
Symbol of times past
Evokes hurt feelings today
Unacceptable
Note: What do you think about these statues? Are they blatantly offensive, or are they merely a lawn decoration like gnomes? For further information, here’s an NBC News report.
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 