Thursday, March 25, 2010

Changes in the Garden

The 'before' picture taken from our kitchen door facing the Rock House. If you really look, you can see the Rock House back there behind the overgrowth, the ugly yellow tank, the weeds and saplings.


Same shot take two days ago. We have spent a good amount of time down there, clearing brush and saplings, cleaning up and clearing out, trimming and pruning. Travis, with his strong back and I, with my eye for layout and bossy attitude even managed to make a set of stairs so my father can safely navigate the hill (not shown in picture). Mark and I went to NC and transplanted rosemary, lavender, oregano, sage, lemon balm and columbine. You can see a few of the more impressive transplants in the photo. My vision is becoming reality. I love this part!


This a gratuitous photo of me which illustrates the kind of week it's been: I. Am. Frazzled.
See the crazy hair? The cigar? The jelly jar of wine clutched tightly in my fist?
Being close to the water helps soothe it all away.

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Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

My Readers, I love them!