august
August 2022 #202
August 2022, #201
August 2022, #200
August 2022, #199
August 2022, #198
August 2022, #197
late summer flowers, #115
1.
There is small patch of dry soil on the corner of 6th and Jackson streets. Two of its sides are boarded by a fence at the edge of a paved parking lot. The other two sides by the curve of the sidewalk. Because we have had little rain this patch of ground has gotten little water. The soil is as white and hard as the concrete that surrounds it. I would have paid little attention to it except for sprouting in the barely discernible crack between the sidewalk and the soil is an Indian Blanket whose blooms are saturated in reds and yellows. The Indian blanket is a drought hardy plant, but I was amazed that something so beautiful and vibrant could come from, in my view, the harsh conditions of the hard and dry soil.
while the day’s traffic
stops and goes to red and green…
a silent witness
2.
3.
August Monthly Gallery:
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late summer waves, #114
1.
2.
Last night I went for a walk intending to watch the sunset. I got a late start and when walking over the hill into the canyon on a dirt trail above the South Fork of the Palouse River, I found the sun had already set. It was that momentary pause between day and night when boundaries disappear and colors blend. I find a beauty in this pause and lose myself in the conversation where for a moment all are talking and listening in silence.
As the darkness deepened I remained lost when the night conversation began with the calling of Crickets and Katydids. In the pause and into the night there were no boundaries or a sense of time, a felt a hint of something beyond myself. After returning home I thought about the conversations I participate in daily with my neighbors, driving from one place to another weaving from lane to lane, and those I spend the day with. Two questions came to mind; where does this feeling go when walking through the pause from night into day and how can I carry it to silently participate in the day’s conversations?
Palouse hills echo
rimmed in light years moonlight gray
coyotes yip-yipping
the maple tree, #113
when autumn winds blow
where will they go when they fall?
and who will listen?