the sap oozes from the fresh cut to the fir, perfuming our fingers with its wild, spicy scent
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Sister Winter
… But my heart is
Returned to sister winter
But my hands are
As cold as ice …
Waking up to spring
“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
The light in the leaves
“Oh, look how beautiful the sun is shining through the trees!” I said, drunk on the last golden light of evening glowing through the golden leaves of the ginko trees.
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Garden tales
I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. — Ruth Stout It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. — Charles Dickens In the…
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come to dust
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to…
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maidens drowned
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
the dryness and the rain
after completing messes of men, the first part of my photography project inspired by mewithoutYou’s brother, sister, cranking the second part out was surprisingly easy. as part of this shoot i learned about betta fish and discovered just how many things cockle burrs can latch onto. [and how cold 40-degree weather can be — thanks…
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messes of men
i’ve talked before about my love for mewithoutYou’s album brother, sister, and my desire to “illustrate” it, so to speak, through photography and other media. a desire four or five years in the making finally got off the ground last march when i did two shoots based on “messes of men,” the first song on…
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incense
6:15
this morning the sun
streaked the sky with ruby wonder —
but i went back to bed
tethered
is it a chain or
a root that holds us here; is
it fear or just love?
root & leaf
these leaves had roots once.
this sheaf was a forest
(or a tree)
and birds nested
in its branches,
squirrels cannoned
from limb to limb
with death-defying grace.
the distance between
on june 23, 2013,
one of the flying wallendas
crossed the grand canyon
on a tightrope,
fifteen-hundred feet
above the river
running along the bottom.
i suppose you have trees
the evening sun set the oak leaves glowing
like bronze against the still-blue sky,
and i wished i could show you
how beautiful it was, could explain
why i wished i could show you.
butter (good)
oh sister, bring out the butter (good)
and place it on the table there
then rest your bones
and welcome home;
for you we’ve always got a chair
music from a distant room
i heard the voice rise and fall,
passion and hesitation twinned in its timbre.
what we call the beginning
morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
what we call the beginning is often the end.
network
the young grass stands slight
and fragile against the cold.