This gorgeous wild orchid was viewed on the terrace of a friend. For Cee’s FOTD ..read more

(A Hint) Our words to “define” for this Friday Are: 1. Sardoodledom  Traditional time of leisure for the highest official during the Russian Empire. 2. Callithumpian  The brutal hazing of freshman students from California by ruffian seniors in Texas. 3. Turdiform  What Shitologists study 4. Persiflage The whipping of an intruder with one’s pocketbook 5. Palpebrous Easily pinched and fondled 6. Chary My favorite kind of pie 7. Malapert Herb’s mom8. Dowsabel  The loud ringing of the bell in the stock exchange that signals a brilliant trade. 9. Maquillage The result of a fig ..read more

I grew up in a tiny prairie town in South Dakota, population 700 when I left it, 500 now.  I’ve talked of this place many times on my blog, published two books on growing up there, but just today, someone on the town’s website published these newspaper stories from 1922 which I found fascinating, as many of the people mentioned were known to me.  Judge Parish lived across the street from me  and many of the other family names are well known. This may not be interesting to anyone other than my sister Patti and friend Jim, who read my blog and who grew up in Murdo as well, but for ..read more

  Click on photos to enlarge. For Thursday Doors   ..read more

Forgotten Dreams All night long I follow scripts written by some hand perhaps belonging to a self that consciousness has banned. Fresh from dreams, I feel released from tasks committed to as I remember other jobs that I’m obliged to do. Who knows if dreams are showing us those things we could have done— those things we have forgotten with the dawning of the sun. If only I remembered that world that fades away, perhaps I’d face a very different sort of day. Instead, I slip into the role my life has led me to, like forcing naked feet into a more confining shoe.  I wonder if these dreams wer ..read more

If I Were Water and You Were Air I used to be restless water— only the froth and currents of a moving life. Now I am still water, sinking down to where I can be found by anyone willing to stand quietly and look. Is it true that moving water never freezes? Is it true that still waters run deep? Is it true that we are wed in steam? “What if, caught by air, it never lets me go?” I ask. “But even water turned to air must fall at last,” you say. “And what if I fall farther from you?” I say. “Or what if I never again find banks that open to contain me?” I used to be swift flowing water. Now I am a ..read more

Click on Photos to Enlarge.   Beholding Beauty You are more beautiful than you think you are, but we don’t tell you because it is such a pleasure to see you unaware of it, doing everyday things in such graceful ways. You are the Burmese cat, stepping high over the small sculptures on the wall where he is fed, his tail curving into a delicate hook. You are vibrating leaves on the hibiscus tree adding the contrast of green to the one exquisite yellow bloom with its fuchsia sunset middle. You are a child whose violet eyes open wider to each wonder––innocent, never knowing yourself to ..read more

Here is an offering non-floral for Cee, suffering from the pollen in all those flower!!! I share your pain. The Jacaranda and Primavera trees are in full-bloom here. Achoo ..read more

This is actually a true story. When I was at the beach a few years ago, I had a house right on the beach and it got so I never knew who I would find on my porch when I woke up in the morning. In the end, they set a number of my poems to music and recorded them. Make Your Own Kind of Music One and  two and three and four. Four little music makers pounding on my door. One beats a rhythm, one toots a horn–– wild and sweet––sort of forlorn. One hums a tune behind his teeth–– a sort of descant underneath the melody on the steel guitar. The gulls reel in from near and far to add their screams ..read more

For Cee’s FOTD ..read more