Poppy Muse

174 :: Poppies

My poppy muse has appeared,
June evenings
her dwelling place.

Late to bloom,
long to stay
with petals open
and falling
into tomorrow together.

June Light

169 :: Bird Head

151 :: Chick Nursery

168 :: O Dandelion

164 :: Rhubarb

Even in the fullness of these days,
especially in the fullness of these days,
I seek out my desk.

167 :: June Desk

I seek out my desk and
I slip away to catch the light.

166 :: Conversation

I turn around and find it, everywhere.
Even when the day is overcast,
the clouds are heavy,

161 :: Spirea

my pants soaked from the long grasses,
my boots like puddles inside –

light like an abundant secret
in June.

162 :: Beginnings

Homeschooling Heart

132 :: Greenhouse Painting

This is where I found Amie on Mother’s Day: painting in the greenhouse. My girls have had a truly wonderful year in public school with excellent teachers and friends. But I think we all still have a homeschooling heart.

Wild Rosebush

99 :: Wild Rose Bush

I fell in love with this wild rose bush over the winter. Finding her was like walking into the promise of one of my favorite poems.

With the help of my loyal photo assistant, Ellen, I’m planning to take photos in this spot over the next few months and watch this rose unfold its “givingness.”

Sometimes it’s these unexplainable little projects that wake me up at night. And I have to follow them. I have to follow the calling of the wild rose.

Wild Rosebush

How it stands out against the darkenings
of the rainy evening, young and pure,
its tendrils arched everywhere in givingness
yet absorbed in its own rose-being;

the shallow flowers, already open here and there,
each unasked for and untended:
thus, immeasurably exceeded by itself
and indescribably self-aroused,

it calls to the wander, who in his evening
meditating comes past along the road:
Oh look at me, see, over here, how safe I am
and unprotected and having all I need.

— Rainer Maria Rilke

January Morning

20 :: Into the Day

Oh, this morning. Breathtaking over the lake. The light. The way the clouds move. Misty blowing snow.

And look at her, taking him out early to let out the chickens, while I am still upstairs, just getting out of bed.

22 :: Feeding the Birds