Stolen Roses

195 :: Stolen Roses

Not all, but a few
were stolen.

As I pulled the car over
onto the side of the road
and jumped out
my clippers in hand,

having watched this stretch of hillside for weeks,
waiting
for the pink wild roses
to bloom in their close-to-the-ground,
almost secret sprawl.

Roses stolen,
thorns and all
embedded in my finger tips,
a blood red effort I will remember
each time we drive past
next winter
in white.

Nature Journals

175 :: Nature Journals

Three years ago, the girls and I started nature journaling. What this looks like, for us, is gathering natural objects from our garden and walks; laying them all out over the table; and sketching and watercolor painting in our journals. We also write the names of plants and creatures and other items in French when we are inspired. Nature journaling is definitely about the process for us. We did it regularly for about two years and then got out of practice. Today we gathered around the table again, and I was so happy . . . even when Wallace started painting blue stripes all over his arms. I hope we will make space to nature journal all summer and into the fall. There’s nothing quite like the meditative space it inspires.

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