Hollyhocks

From half a world away you send me

Photos of your garden.

The delphinium, you say, are passed their bloom.

But I have always been in love with blue;

With me it has no prime.

When I open the next, the winds you say

Have been barreling through your yard

Whip around me.

There is no evidence of wind,

But here is evidence of water.

And that is what comes to me again and again-

With snippets of what you have said;

The watering ban that makes you bear the water –

The apple tree you say they grow under-

The bulletins before they bloomed.

But more than those, the strained-at memory

Of when you first inquired what flowers and colors

I favored, and of the photos I scoured for,

Of when you planted them and even if ever

You told me how the seeds came to your hand.

Your hand. Your hand. Your hands brought that

Shovel to ground and seeds to soil, brought thought

Not just from spigot, but from half a world away

To the spot where these creamy angels wait to open.

They would be far above my head.

I have longed for your garden many times

Since it unfolded for my eyes.

I have walked to those stalks and sat beneath them.

I have buried my face in my hands and wondered

How I could possibly tell you what now grows in me.

If I could be there- if you could find me-

Carry me somewhere else (like that painting you once sent)-

Or let your limbs find the ground your feet have found-

Let me traverse that half a world

To feel the exquisite pressure of your presence.

I try, my love, I try. I try to tell you

How deep what you have planted grows.

But I am wordless and artless,

And one silent tear only slips after another.

Collect them. Collect them. Water these flowers with them, too.

This I know: water lies between us tonight.

Water rocks dreams.

You carry water on the path you tread.

I carry you everywhere

And still never see your face on this earth.

Tonight the pale angels fold their wings

In their bed beneath the apple tree.

Tonight you are already asleep.

Tonight I press my head against your chest

Grateful for language that crosses oceans

And listen to your full heart beating.   

                                               

C.M. Carroll

Sunday Morning ...

...spent ordering plants and seeds. It is a bit of a late start, but I think it will all work out in the end.

Thrifted

Needlepoint Eyeglass Case

We are on the hunt...

... for a rabbit.  Sadly, so far fruitless.

Chick Daze and a Pile o' Ducks at the Tractor Supply

~

As always, click on photos to enlarge.

 

I paid an outrageous sum...

...for this brick to be cast and placed on a beloved walkway.

It was my mantra and message of hope after 9-11.

I still try to think like this.

Gift from my husband...

We were leaving the cabin to go to town. He suddenly disappeared and then reappeared on the passenger side of the car. He was holding something behind his back and asked if I wanted it now or later, but added that it was two of my favorite things together. Then he thrust it towards me and announced "...a  nest AND moss!!! "

Photos just do not do this jewel justice!

As always, click on photo to enlarge.

Easter, 2012 ~ Cades Cove

In My Hands ; Easter Eggs

( Made these by dying eggs in standard primary color dye

and decoupaging graphics cut from paper napkins

using a paint brush and elmer's glue! )

~

As always, click on photos to enlarge.