Day 292 – Sunset in a Cup

Sunset in a Cup

Day 292

Bring me the sunset in a cup, by Emily Dickinson

Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning’s flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps —
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!

Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin’s ecstasy
Among astonished boughs —
How many trips the Tortoise makes —
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!

Also, who laid the Rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite —
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who’ll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?

 This sunset almost passed me by yesterday, or did I almost pass it by?  How is it that my distracted mind could almost miss the glorious golds that the sky was offering me?  I am thankful that the sun was pushy and shared its evening glory with me.


Day 257 – Beautiful Things

Beautiful Things

Day 257

A Seed by William Allingham

See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down,
And through the Winter neglected lay,
Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown,
With tiny root taking hold on the clay
As, lifting and strengthening day by day,
It pushes red branchless, sprouts new leaves,
And cell after cell the Power in it weaves
Out of the storehouse of soil and clime,
To fashion a Tree in due course of time;
Tree with rough bark and boughs’ expansion,
Where the Crow can build his mansion,
Or a Man, in some new May,
Lie under whispering leaves and say,
“Are the ills of one’s life so very bad
When a Green Tree makes me deliciously glad?”
As I do now. But where shall I be
When this little Seed is a tall green Tree?
How many things do we see during any given day that we give no notice to?  It is hard to miss the faces we love, the clothing we pick out, our visage in the mirror, but do we really notice how huge the sky is, the color of the sunlight on tree bark, the curve of the page as we turn it?
Today I saw so many things: 5 horses near a barn, two white  Shetlands and three brown carriage horses, a wire fence bordering the road with rusty barbed wire in a line along the top of it, tan-colored weeds surrounding a white mailbox on a wooden post, black shutters on a white house, a large tree lying on its side with its platter of roots black and wet standing up and reflecting on the brackish water surrounding it, lavender dresses and denim pants flapping on a clothes line, a pink paper bookmark ripped in half that fell out of two books, a stream of gravel trailing down a curving road, glass beads sparkling under fluorescent light, a rusted barrel balanced on a wooden post.  I marveled at the silhouettes of blackened trees against the night sky and mercury lights reflecting in long lines on a narrow stream.
I see miraculous things every single day – from the hands that type these words to an endless furrowed field awaiting the seeds that will feed thousands of people, God’s creation takes my breath away.

Day 247 – Something to Sink Your Toes Into

Something to Sink Your Toes Into

Day 247

Bogland by Seamus Heaney

We have no prairies
To slice a big sun at evening–
Everywhere the eye concedes to
Encrouching horizon,

Is wooed into the cyclops’ eye
Of a tarn. Our unfenced country
Is bog that keeps crusting
Between the sights of the sun.

They’ve taken the skeleton
Of the Great Irish Elk
Out of the peat, set it up
An astounding crate full of air.

Butter sunk under
More than a hundred years
Was recovered salty and white.
The ground itself is kind, black butter

Melting and opening underfoot,
Missing its last definition
By millions of years.
They’ll never dig coal here,

Only the waterlogged trunks
Of great firs, soft as pulp.
Our pioneers keep striking
Inwards and downwards,

Every layer they strip
Seems camped on before.
The bogholes might be Atlantic seepage.
The wet centre is bottomless.

Not that I would want to sink my toes into this cold mess, but I did sink my shoes into it as I wandered through this marsh looking for something different.  Alas, nothing different about tree trunks reflecting in standing water, but the time of year that I am actually catching this marvel IS different.  We should be buried in at least a foot of snow now, not mired in soft mud with the warm sun shining down on us.  Not that I am complaining – I’ll take the sun shining on my face any time!
And this photo, taken before I read One Order of Ordinary, Hold the Extra by the lovely Year Struck, of an ordinary tree in an ordinary swamp in and ordinary town by an ordinary woman, makes me very thankful indeed for the very virtue of ordinariness. And very thankful for someone who reminded me that being ordinary is a good thing.

Afternoon 121

Afternoon 121 – And it is coming in while the sun is still shining.

The Gene Stratton-Porter site is located in Rome City, IN on the shore of Sylvan Lake.  Sylvan Lake is a “fast” lake teeming with jet skis and motor boats that speed by noisily.  I am not a fan of the fast lakes and the noise pollution they create, but Gene Stratton-Porter is an oasis amid the chaos.  As walk through the tall trees, everything filtering green takes me back to walks through the state forest with my uncle Mike when I was a young girl.  The foliage mutes the sounds coming from the water and I can imagine the serenity Ms. Porter enjoyed as a naturalist while living in this lake.  There is an abundance of plant life, benches to rest on and birds flitting all around.  The log home has a wonderful porch facing the lake that affords a spectacular view.

I set out today to photograph the flora and the fauna and to my dismay, I discovered the lack of an SD card in my camera when I got there.  It was a perfect day to see what the iphone could do and I must say, I am quite pleased.  I had to delete the majority of what I shot, but there were a few gems mixed in.

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Night 114

Night 114 – My summer girl and I headed out to play in the sunlight today.  She is so amazing, so wonderful, so beautiful.

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God’s handwriting – a wayside sacrament.  Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Day 71

Day 71 – The kids and I spent this evening with Mom and Uncle Mike picking up trash at the Three River’s Water Festival tonight.  I am amazed at how lazy people are when they are standing only feet from a trash can, so I am happy that we went out to volunteer our time to help clean it up.  There were some people with children who were very appreciative; it is so easy to show love for other people in such a simple way.  It is a good lesson for the kids about serving others as well.

The photos today are from my Aunt Bonnie’s house – the head lamps are my favorite of the day.  The cornfield is the runner up – typical view on any random road you turn onto around here….