Day 350 – Poppies Will Put Them to Sleep

Poppies Will Put Them to Sleep

Day 350

Somewhere Over the Rainbow by E.Y. Harburg

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high,
There’s a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

Someday I’ll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That’s where you’ll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow.
Why then, oh why can’t I?

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can’t I?

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Day 228 – After Mom Called

After Mom Called

Day 228

After Sunset by William Allingham

The vast and solemn company of clouds
Around the Sun’s death, lit, incarnadined,
Cool into ashy wan; as Night enshrouds
The level pasture, creeping up behind
Through voiceless vales, o’er lawn and purpled hill
And hazéd mead, her mystery to fulfil.
Cows low from far-off farms; the loitering wind
Sighs in the hedge, you hear it if you will,–
Tho’ all the wood, alive atop with wings
Lifting and sinking through the leafy nooks,
Seethes with the clamour of a thousand rooks.
Now every sound at length is hush’d away.
These few are sacred moments. One more Day
Drops in the shadowy gulf of bygone things.
••••••••••••••••••••
I drove today.  I drove and drove and drove.  For hours.  My camera rode in the seat beside me.  In in all of those miles I drove,  I saw many things.
I saw… horses, cows,
barns, buggies,
trees, streams,
a Coke bottle on the side of the road,
silos, fences,
traffic lights, intersections,
overpasses, restaurants,
banks, car dealerships,
dirty piles of snow, factories,
trash cans,
the sun sparkling on lakes and ponds,
the Bristol Playhouse, flags waving in the breeze,
a Christmas tree farm, old abandoned homes…..
But I did not find one single thing that wanted me to photograph it.  Not even one.   After that long drive I needed to meditate and consider what the backs of my eyelids look like for a few minutes.  Then my mom called, “Cyndi, I want you to go outside with your camera and look at the sky.  It looks like one of your Mt. St. Helen ash ornaments.”
And so it did.

Day 208 – It is Just a Hint of Color….

It is Just a Hint of Color...

Day 208

Colors Passing Through Us by Marge Piercy

Purple as tulips in May, mauve
into lush velvet, purple
as the stain blackberries leave
on the lips, on the hands,
the purple of ripe grapes
sunlit and warm as flesh.
Every day I will give you a color,
like a new flower in a bud vase
on your desk. Every day
I will paint you, as women
color each other with henna
on hands and on feet.

Red as henna, as cinnamon,
as coals after the fire is banked,
the cardinal in the feeder,
the roses tumbling on the arbor
their weight bending the wood
the red of the syrup I make from petals.

Orange as the perfumed fruit
hanging their globes on the glossy tree,
orange as pumpkins in the field,
orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs
who come to eat it, orange as my
cat running lithe through the high grass.

Yellow as a goat’s wise and wicked eyes,
yellow as a hill of daffodils,
yellow as dandelions by the highway,
yellow as butter and egg yolks,
yellow as a school bus stopping you,
yellow as a slicker in a downpour.

Here is my bouquet, here is a sing
song of all the things you make
me think of, here is oblique
praise for the height and depth
of you and the width too.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.

Green as mint jelly, green
as a frog on a lily pad twanging,
the green of cos lettuce upright
about to bolt into opulent towers,
green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear
glass, green as wine bottles.

Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,
bachelors’ buttons. Blue as Roquefort,
blue as Saga. Blue as still water.
Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.
Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring
azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.

Cobalt as the midnight sky
when day has gone without a trace
and we lie in each other’s arms
eyes shut and fingers open
and all the colors of the world
pass through our bodies like strings of fire.

This is a tired girl tonight.  Nothing really turned out well on the photographic end, so I just photographed 6 different colors in the house, made them into a color wheel and did some Ps play with them.  I didn’t stop while I was ahead though and ended up liking 4 different manipulations the best; instead of narrowing them down further, I decided to treat myself to all four!  Delightful!
I had a good day at work today, full of projects and surprisingly few patron problems, I spent the evening at my mother’s house for our first little Christmas celebration, I had a great dinner and dessert, I spent time with the family I love so much and even got a smooch or two out of the spousal unit and I read a great piece written by the incomparable KathrynIngrid tonight.  All in all, a pretty good day!

Day 140 – There Are No Lines in Nature

There Are No Lines in Nature

Day 140

Bones by Carl Sandburg

Sling me under the sea.
Pack me down in the salt and wet.
No farmer’s plow shall touch my bones.
No Hamlet hold my jaws and speak
How jokes are gone and empty is my mouth.
Long, green-eyed scavengers shall pick my eyes,
Purple fish play hide-and-seek,
And I shall be song of thunder, crash of sea,
Down on the floors of salt and wet.
Sling me . . . under the sea.