styofa doing anything
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
★
i don't do bad sauce passes
Claire Keane
DEAR READER
NASA
titsay
Show & Tell
Today's Document
todays bird
Jules of Nature
One Nice Bug Per Day
$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi
cherry valley forever
Sweet Seals For You, Always
KIROKAZE
occasionally subtle
Three Goblin Art
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from France
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from Belgium
seen from Türkiye
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
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seen from United States
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@cathy-tea
Summer House: Surface and Depth
Summer House: Surface and Depth
Surface and Depth
Across the plane where two worlds meet
light shines, as if it claimed the right of the real.
Beneath this, in the depths, over stones and mud and sunken drowned leaves
the trout swims slowly, without hurry.
Your face reflects back as you bend over the pond.
The trout swims through you
and in the wake of a tail and fins
you disappear.
Two worlds meet in a plane.
Through the…
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Summer House: Ch. 15
Summer House: Ch. 15
I know where the birds’ nests are. Bernard and I headed out in the early morning, wearing our boots and rain hats, while the sun shone through fog and clouds. A hermit thrush sang, and we followed it through the stand of aspens.
“How do you find the nests?” Bernard asked in a whisper.
“Listening,” I replied, “and watching. Some return every year to the same spot. I’ve had lots of summers here to…
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Aimless: Birthdays and Butterfly Wings
Aimless: Birthdays and Butterfly Wings
It’s time for my annual birthday rambles, and I feel, this year, to write about change. Of course, we always hear, “Change is good.” And I’ve tried to believe it. But somewhere along the lines, I’ve experienced changes that bring challenge, perhaps more often than not, so while my faith asserts that “Change is good,” my nervous system sometimes responds differently.
But this year of change, my…
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Summer House: Ch. 14
Summer House: Ch. 14
Sonya and I sat at the kitchen table with a pot of tea and the ledgers, going over the figures from the first week’s sales, while the rain from a summer storm rolled down the windows.
“I think we’ve covered the expenses,” I said.
“Seriously?”
We added the columns again.
“All except the cost of sugar,” Sonya said.
“Mom!” cried Elise. “My phone’s dead!”
“Maybe it’s the storm?” I suggested.
Sonya…
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Puppy Love 25
Grief aged Miss Molly. Maybe she wanted to hurry time so she could join her mate sooner. Her sad eyes drew me in.
“You won’t always be apart,” I said, “and when you’re together again, it will be in a place with no time, for all time.”
Lucas knew Crackers’ turn would be soon. He and Caleb were litter-mates, after all.
Since Bartholomew, we’ve always had at least one dog who liked to sing.…
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Puppy Love 24
Bobie wanted to be there for the next crossing. It’s strange. Memory fades in the After perhaps more quickly than it does in the Today.
We forget how we got here, who, precisely, we were before, and only these visits, occasional or frequent, keep us connected, on our side, to those we’ve left behind.
When the Shepherd of Bones texted that it was Caleb’s time, I called Bobie to me, and we…
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Puppy Love 23
My heart was heavy, my aura blue. I had thought my grand scheme to suggest to Lucas that he might adopt a child would take hold. The boy–now grown into a quiet, kind, gentle man–has so much love. Surely, he’d want to take in a child to love, too!
But he seems to feel the dogs offer plenty of chances to share his love.
Emery has grown into a very fine dog. Take a pomeranian, a beagle, a water…
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Summer House: Thicket
Thicket
What entangled treasures wait inside the thicket?
A winter wren’s nest in moss-woven globe, five tiny eggs, cream with red spots?
Tree frog climbing lichen on the bark of a fir with padded feet and golden toes?
From the fallen limb in thick humus a huckleberry bush stretches to light.
What red jewels, sweet, tart, full to burst with dew–
–this grows from rubble, storm ripped, from the…
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Summer House: Ch. 13
Summer House: Ch. 13
I keep a fleet of second-hand bikes for the use of the other half of the duplex. Flat with wide country roads and little traffic, the island’s ideal for riding. Half an hour brings you to the other end, where the village sits, housing the ferry terminal, the library, the school, the Farmers’ Market plaza, and the best ice-cream parlor in the county. Two hours takes you around the island’s…
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Summer House: Ch. 12
Summer House: Ch. 12
Sonya set her hat, upside down, like a basket, on the table. It was full of blackberries.
“Oh, that’ll stain!” I said.
“There are so many berries!” she replied. “Out by the edge of the woods? All growing wild. So, so many! Why, it took me only fifteen minutes to pick these!”
I poured them into a colander and rinsed them.
“Your hat, though!” I laughed. “It’ll take some scrubbing to get the juice…
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Summer House: A Gardener's First Lesson
Summer House: A Gardener’s First Lesson
A Gardener’s First Lesson
Out by where the lavender grows my grandfather planted rows and rows of carrots, parsnips, radishes and beans.
Out by where the lavender grows I asked him how he chose which seed to bury. Was it simple as it seemed?
Out by where the lavender grows he said, “Listen. Your finger knows.” He set a hard round nugget in my palm, brown and green.
Out by where the lavender grows
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Summer House: Ch. 11
Summer House: Ch. 11
While we waited for the soil to dry enough that we could work it, I ordered seeds, picked up two barrels’ full of well-composted manure from a neighbor who kept goats, and filed for a permit for a stall at the Farmers’ Market. To ensure local produce and stimulate island economy, county voters had passed an ordinance allowing only residents or property-tax payers to sell at markets and fairs.…
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Summer House: Ch. 10
Summer House: Ch. 10
In the Tuesday morning drizzle, Sonya and I headed to the Farmers’ Market. Elise and Bernard stayed behind with a game of gin rummy, a Harry Potter video, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven.
“My kids will be so spoiled,” Sonya said as we bundled into our rain coats and slogged down the puddled road.
“It’s good for them,” I said, remembering my summer days with cousins.…
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Eight Pieces: As it Fits
Eight Pieces: As it Fits
Kristal’s stay was coming to an end. On Friday, the rental service would come to pick up her canvases and ship them back home. She’d arranged for them to be sent directly the the gallery. She’d been in contact with the gallery owner, a friend and former colleague, sending him snaps of her paintings.
“The light’s incredible,” he’d said. “I’ll take them all.” He’d already lined up a few customers…
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Eight Pieces: Hearth
During the bright days, full of color and the sweet humid air, Kristal soaked up the free, easy feeling to take home with her. It wouldn’t be long now before she needed to return, and this was what she wanted to return with: a feeling of freedom.
Romance could wait, she decided. She felt no need to replace her ex.
In the late evening, after the clouds that brought the afternoon rain blew off,…
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Summer House: Open Doors
Summer House: Open Doors
Open Doors
Kitchen doors open to let loose the scents of stew, roast squash, steaming peas, brownies, coffee, tea.
Kitchen doors open to send free the sounds of humming the song that grandma sang, the C major scale played by stumbling fingers of a child, the shouts that supper is ready, that the cake is done, that it’s time to eat.
Kitchen doors open and in you come, with your hurried laughter,…
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Summer House: Ch. 9
Summer House: Ch. 9
The doors between our two homes stay open. On the island, no one locks doors, anyway.
A custom of knocking never even began for us, not since Bernard raced over for pancakes and “white honey coffee” his first morning here.
I’ve discovered it’s just as convenient to make a meal for four as it is for one, and I appreciate not having so many left-overs.
Bernard has taken it upon himself to keep the…
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