July 2024

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The most common form of despair is not being who you are.

Soren Kierkegaard

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Sunflowers

In your hands

The dog, the donkey, surely they know
They are alive.
Who would argue otherwise?

But now, after years of consideration,
I am getting beyond that.
What about the sunflowers? What about
The tulips, and the pines?

Listen, all you have to do is start and
There’ll be no stopping.
What about mountains? What about water
Slipping over rocks?

And speaking of stones, what about
The little ones you can
Hold in your hands, their heartbeats
So secret, so hidden it may take years

Before, finally, you hear them?

Mary Oliver

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We grew the sunflowers!

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Histories

Every moment happens twice: inside and outside, and they are two different histories.

Zadie Smith

currants

rabbit brush

yarrow

ratibida

mallow

orange horned poppy

prickly poppy

A slice of the backyard garden scene. This year may be one of the most lush and green – plants enormous, birds plentiful, smiles abound!

We are settling into our summer routine. Greg works on the back porch, mostly with Juniper, very often with me, sipping coffee, fountain babbling and brook-like, birds chirping, until the heat becomes too much. We head in, work some more, and enjoy a meal. The afternoon is a battle against heat, of closed blinds and fans, reading and cleaning and programming and dog jaunts.

On special days, we host a visitor – Jeff! We play games and eat exceptionally well. This time was a feast of Korean style summer favorites, bulgogi burgers, homemade pickles of the cucumber, onion, and bell pepper variety, topped with a gochujang sauce that also served as salad dressing, poutine with gochujang gravy (fries courtesy of Wendy’s!). Traditional cherry pie, made with a bounty of home grown cherries. That we had enough for pie and two jars of jam was pure joy! Then there were rum and cherry cokes, with syrup made from the cherry pits (Seriously!). Exquisite and fun and the height of summer flavors.

Happy, happy…hope you are, too.

Well

Love is a well from which we can drink only as much as we have put in, and the stars that shine from it are only our eyes looking in.

Stendahl

Happy Birthday, America!

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