Be like the bird, who
pausing in his flight
on limb too slight,
feels it give way beneath him
yet sings,
knowing he has wings.
Victor Hugo, Les chants du crépuscule (Songs of Dusk), 1836
About the image: Did you spot the bird? I shot the “birdie-in-tree” a few days ago while checking out the scenery of my aunt’s new home. Even as I captured the image I knew I would [post] process it as a silhouette. The final lines of Hugo’s Songs of Dusk are a perfect fit. Don’t you think?
Art by Nola C. Specially colored for me by Christine B.
I read a Washington Post article this morning that reported the number of COVID-19 hospitalizations is rising in several U.S. states.
The card says it all.
It’s hard not to worry, but I am consoling myself with the hope that we are giving birth to something new and healthy.
About the Images: I received the cards in this #WordlessWednesday post from my friend and fellow Love Noter, Christine B. One arrived in April and the other late May. They are so appropriate for these times. The über cute “Socially Distant Hug” coloring card features the artwork of Nola C. She designed a number of free Corona coloring pages. You can find this card and others on her Facebook page. The pretty “This Sucks” card is from Paper Raven Company.
Earlier today, I decided to go to Instagram to look at pretty things–flowers, poetry, art, and trees. What I found was beautiful–many, many posts and responses to racism and social injustice in this country. As I hoped and prayed that the posts serve purposes beyond “looks” and “likes,” I continued to scroll for a bit of loveliness. Sadly, there was little.
Today, on this yet again not-so-#WordlessWednesday, I’m writing to invite you to continue to share the pretty. It is indeed important to speak up and act against racism, social injustice, and violations of human rights and to encourage and hold the conversations–especially since in this particular moment of struggle we may finally birth something new and right. Continue to use social media as a platform to inform, educate, and express outrage, but I implore you to continue to share the other aspects of your life also. We need it. We need respite from the struggle and the trauma. Our lives, though full of pain, are also full of beauty and love.
About the image: I spotted the bright yellow “heart” above as the guys and I exited a nature trail last Friday. It spoke volumes. It speaks volumes.
She says she glories in being abandoned. –J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Earlier this week while out for a drive, I caught a glimpse of an abandoned building I’ve photographed many times over the last several years. I’m always intrigued by how much the building changes, but I was stunned by the beauty of its neighbor [photos #1, 2, 4, 5].
I was pleased to find nature doing what it does–reclaiming what the humans left behind.
I had a difficult time choosing which photos to share for [not-so] #Wordless Wednesday–the originals or the edits. My hubby remarked that color photos tell a story, and the black and white ones are more artsy. Since I can’t decide whether I want to share a story or art, I’m sharing both sets.
Maria Lehtman, The Dreaming Doors
[For earlier shots of the building in photos #3 and #6, check out a 2016 post. You’ll be able to note some of the changes in the building’s condition].
May has been insane. I’m talking too much time in front of the computer, too little sleep, and no time for the things that nourish my soul. Therefore, I am taking a much needed break from the madness to share some rose photographs for a not-so-wordless Wednesday.
Since my son’s school couldn’t hold the annual Field Day activities, his teachers crafted an in-your-own-neighborhood scavenger hunt that served multiple purposes–socially distant fun in the sun, exercise, and healthy competition. While my not-so-little one hunted for items on the list, I captured the pretty hot pink knock out roses at the entrance of our neighborhood.
A few days later, my guys and I jumped into the car and took a drive to visit each of the aunts and deliver socially distant hugs. At Auntie Linda’s, I was able to give my camera a workout with the roses growing beautifully outside her town house. My favorite lens is on its last leg–it’s cracked–but it did okay.
After photographing everything green in our front- and backyards over the last few weeks, I desperately needed another color. What a gift the roses were!
And…whew! Thanks to this shift in focus, I feel so much better! Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow for #ThursdayTreeLove.
Today’s poem is a little lengthy, but it is worth the read. “A Brave and Startling Truth” was written by one of America’s favorite sages, Maya Angelou (1928-2014). She wrote the poem to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the United Nations (1995), but when I saw an excerpt of the poem used in an Earth Day activity, I thought why not share the whole poem today.
After reading the poem, be sure to go to Earth Stanzas and write your own Earth Day poem. The activity comes complete with prompts and model poems.
A Brave and Startling Truth
Maya Angelou
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn and scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
About the images: I had a bit of Photoshop fun with today’s images. Each photo subject is a gift from the earth. I will eventually share the original images. Until then, do you have any idea what they are? No? Well, I’m pretty sure you can [generally] guess this one:
Today’s poetic offering is not technically a poem, but the lines [below] from William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet are written in verse form–specifically in blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter). You remember that from high school English, right? The words, spoken by Juliet to Romeo, contain arguably the most famous “rose lines” ever written–though Gertrude Stein’s “a rose is a rose is a rose” offers stiff competition.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
[…]
‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
About the image: The roses above are from my mother’s garden. No matter what time of year we visit, the roses greet us. This photo was shot in mid-February on my iPhone, a couple of weeks before the CV madness. I’m grateful we made the trip when we did.
The short poem for today is for those of us who are suffering the sting of far too much loss during this period of COVID-19–when in many cases we can neither see nor touch our loved ones as they slip into rest.
Separation by W. S. Merton
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
It’s perfectly okay for you to sit with the loss. It’s okay for you to shut down and cease all the doing and shun all the words firing at you like darts, making your head spin.
This loss, this separation gives you permission to lean into the grief and allow yourself to feel all the things. Or to not feel anything.
I am born as the sun,
but then turn into the moon,
as my blonde hairs turn
grayish-white and fall to
the ground,
only to be buried again,
then to be born again,
into a thousand suns
and a thousand moons
“Hymn of the Divine Dandelion,” by Suzy Kassem
About the image: Social distancing and the disrespectful amount of rain we’ve had has made it quite difficult for me to capture the early spring blossoms, but the dandelions never fail me. I captured this one a couple of days ago outside a small marketplace. My hubby and I went on a literal hunt for tissue paper and hand soap. Our mission was half accomplished–soap, no TP. It was challenging o get out of the house early enough to beat the market stalkers. No worries, though. Hubby found some yesterday. Thankfully, there will be no rain today, and we will have six hours straight of sun [no clouds]! #CoronaChronicles
It’s gray and a little rainy today, but earlier this week we had a strong dose of sun. As soon as I had a break [Monday], I raced out my office, soaked in the sun, and basked in the therapeutic presence of trees. I’m so glad I did because I spent most of Tuesday in meetings!
I shot the photos in this post with my phone camera while the sun played peek-a-boo with the clouds.
I have been a little “off kilter” the last few days for a variety of reasons, but the brief visit with trees provided calm and perspective when I needed to tune out and tune in.
so hungry
for sun
it sheds
its clothes
and stretches naked
branches toward the sky
“Winter Tree,” Laura P. Salas
