I have so many questions about this jar of pickles. But it’s probably better if I don’t know. Seen at the Capulin General Store in Capulin, NM.

This photo was taken on May 15 – the night of the eclipse. You can’t really see the eclipse in this picture but I do think it’s a pretty image. Seen near Lake Haviland, north of Durango, CO.

Seen at the Albuquerque Botanical Gardens.

Seen in Fort Stockton, TX. Possibly the only pretty thing in Fort Stockton!

Heaven

It will be the past
and we’ll live there together.

Not as it was to live
But as it is remembered. 

It will be the past.
We’ll all go back together. 

Everyone we ever loved,
and lost, and must remember.

It will be the past.
And it will last forever.

     ~ Patrick Phillips 

For the Bird Singing before Dawn
Poem by Kim Stafford


Some people presume to be hopeful
when there is no evidence for hope,
to be happy when there is no cause.
Let me say now, I’m with them.

In deep darkness on a cold twig
in a dangerous world, one first
little fluff lets out a peep, a warble,
a song—and in a little while, behold:

the first glimmer comes, then a glow
filters through the misty trees,
then the bold sun rises, then
everyone starts bustling about.

And that first crazy optimist, can we
forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn,
“Hey, I made that happen!
And oh, life is so fine.”

It Was a Dream

It was a dream

We all carry with us this dream:

that something wonderful will happen,

that it must happen -

that time will open,

that the heart will open,

that doors will open,

that cliffs will be opened,

that springs will well forth,

that the dream will be opened,

- that we one peaceful morning will glide in -

onto a bay we had not been aware of.

    ~ by Olav H.Hauge

        ~Translated from the original Norwegian by Rolleiv Solholm

Separation

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

 ~ W. S. Merwin

  
Our Real Work
by Wendell Berry

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.

How Near to Fairyland

By Yone Noguchi


The spring warmth steals into me, drying up all the tears of my soul,
And gives me a flight into the vastness,—into a floorless, unroofed reverie-hall.

Lo, such greenness, such velvety greenness, such a heaven without heaven above! 
Lo, again, such grayness, such velvety grayness, such an earth without earth below!
My soul sails through the waveless mirror-seas.

Oh, how near to Fairyland! 
Blow, blow, gust of wind! 
Sweep away my soul-boat against that very shore!