The profound lasciviousness of S P R I N G . . .

Dumbarton Oaks Gardens

to be continued...

I did not have you so abandoned
in this dark season.

With a light heart
i recalled your warm embrace
even as a latched the door
against your icy breath.

M E D I T A T I O N

What makes a drop of water cling to glass,
then choose its particular course of descent?

One may feed me lines of scientific scripture:
surface tension, molecular meniscus-so on and so forth-
but let me eat of magic and wonder instead;
it is more satisfying.

* The Giver of Stars *

Hold your soul open for my welcoming.
Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me
With its clear and rippled coolness,
That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,
Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory.
Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire,
The life and joy of tongues of flame,
And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,
I may rouse the blear-eyed world,
And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten.

-Amy Lowell

The plum branch blossoms, and smells divine.

Thank you for hand-misted plum branches
and the anticipation
of the first pink blossom
escaping its dormant coccoon,

for soft buds
on waxy branches,
the early bloomers
most people miss-
chickweed, cudweed, henpeck-
and the curly-Q tops
of wild onion
in my miniature bouquet.

I LOVE . . .

... a rustic provencal pain au levain turned sliced-down on a thick birch cutting board.

... a fluffy calico cat of peach, white and gray who runs off the porch to greet me at my car.

... the flicker of candlelight in the early morning through a Moroccan-style brass votive holder.

... the distant wind-composed melody of wind-chimes.

... the rich smokiness of the Lapsang Souchong that hangs in my mouth.

... the teal ceramic teapot resting on the carved, wooden trivet from India.

... bread dipped in olive oil + honey.