Sunday, October 9, 2011
Hands of a rock n' roll band
Monday, October 3, 2011
Reminders of Home
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Salut
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Braids and Cuckoo Clocks
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Sitting still
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Crisp
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Mary and Max
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Gena Rowlands
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Basilica
Monday, August 15, 2011
Cloud Life
Saturday, August 6, 2011
An escape into oblivion
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Skipper
{The Summer Day}
By: Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
We all miss you, Uncle Skip. What a wild, precious and laugh-filled life you had.
Rest in Peace 7.19.11