Day 319 – Talking With My Son

Talking With My Son

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Day 302 – Old Barn

Old Barn

Day 302

A Farm-Picture by Walt Whitman

Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn,
A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding;
And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.

Day 297 – Another One of “those” Shots

Another One of "those" Shots

Day 297

Oh fair enough are sky and plain by A. E. Housman

Oh fair enough are sky and plain,
But I know fairer far:
Those are as beautiful again
That in the water are;

The pools and rivers wash so clean
The trees and clouds and air,
The like on earth was never seen,
And oh that I were there.

These are the thoughts I often think
As I stand gazing down
In act upon the cressy brink
To strip and dive and drown;

But in the golden-sanded brooks
And azure meres I spy
A silly lad that longs and looks
And wishes he were I.

•••

I have photographed this stretch of river in every season and almost every month.  And each time I take a photo, it is new again.  I never tire of it.  The river is very high now, the water over the flat banks we normally sit on while dangling our toes in the water for the tiny fish to nibble on.  I had to tip toe around the water, holding on to the high banks so that I wouldn’t trip into the cold wet.  Before long, the water will recede, the trees will be in full leaf and my children will be sitting on the flat part of the river bank with fishing poles while I dangle my toes once more.  And I will think about my father.

Day 187 – It Isn’t the End

It Isn't the End

Day 187

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Day 173 – Too Much Cold and Spitting Snow.

Too Much Cold and Spitting Snow

Day 173

Psalm 23 from The Bay Psalm Book

The Lord to me a shepherd is,
want therefore shall not I:
He in the folds of tender grass,
doth cause me down to lie.
To water calm me gently leads
restore my soul doth he:
He doth in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake lead me.
Yea, though in valley of death’s shade
I walk, none ill I’ll fear:
Because thou are with me, thy rod,
and staff my comfort are.
For me a table thou hast spread,
in presence of my foes:
Thou dost anoint my head with oil;
my cup it overflows.
Goodness and mercy surely shall
all my days follow me:
And in the Lord’s house I shall dwell
so long as days shall be.

Day 168 – Thank you for Second Chances and for Those Who Take Them

Thank you for Second Chances and for Those Who Take Them

Day 168 –

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

Day 156 – It’s a Pure Kind of Thing

It's a Pure Kind of Thing

Day 156

Evening Waterfall by Carl Sandburg

WHAT was the name you called me?—
And why did you go so soon?

The crows lift their caw on the wind,
And the wind changed and was lonely.

The warblers cry their sleepy-songs
Across the valley gloaming,
Across the cattle-horns of early stars.

Feathers and people in the crotch of a treetop
Throw an evening waterfall of sleepy-songs.

What was the name you called me?