Immortal Alps Look Down

In lands I never saw — they say
Immortal Alps look down —
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament —
Whose Sandals touch the town —

Meek at whose everlasting feet
A Myriad Daisy play —
Which, Sir, are you and which am I
Upon an August day?

~Emily Dickinson #XXX Part Three: Love

What are men to rocks and mountains? 
~Jane Austen from Pride and Prejudice

This August day:

the immortal mountains loom large, a reminder of our transient blossoming at their everlasting feet.

We are but momentary blooms, gracing the ground, waiting patiently for our time in the sun.

Tethered and Devoted

lacehydrangea1sphere of pillowed sky
one faceless gathering of blue

shyly, I want to sit by you
but don’t

old globe come home
a blue-soft let near the cheek

dozer, I’m tethered, and devoted
to your raw and lonely bloom

my lavish need to drink
your world of crowded cups to fill.
~Tara Bray “hydrangea”

I can’t not look at the blooms everywhere now after the deprivation of winter. The rich colors and textures are overwhelming and welcome.

I capture them as best I can; some in a vase, most in photos. In photos they never wilt, blessed with a kind of immortality.

From Joy to Joy to Joy

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rainyrose

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
~Li-Young Lee from “From Blossoms”
variegatedazalea
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 chestnutblooms5116
These are impossible evenings of color and cool breezes.
A sense of immortality extends across the sky as far as the eye can see.
Impossible — because I know they won’t last; this precious time is ephemeral.
Still I revel in it,
moving from joy to joy to joy,
from buttercup to buttercup,
lifted up like petals loosened
and set down gently,
oh so gently,
to rest in the sweetness of line-dried sheets
that promise spring someday will last forever.
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clothesline

Impossible Blossom

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orange sherbet farm sunset
orange sherbet farm sunset

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
~Li-Young Lee from “From Blossoms”
These are impossible June evenings of color and warm breezes.
A sense of immortality extends across the sky as far as the eye can see.
Impossible — because I know they won’t last; this precious time is ephemeral.
Yet I may revel in it, moving from joy to joy to joy, from buttercup to buttercup,
lifted up and set down gently,
oh so gently,
to rest in the sweetness of line-dried sheets
that promise summer someday will last forever.
buttercup

marshmallow fields forever
marshmallow fields forever