In the morning a lilyOpens to the lightCurving pink petalsArms overheadLike a ballerinaSpinning on tiptoeTo music Greeting the day.

Apricots ripe from the orchardI can smell them still and feelFuzzy nap, the color of peachesSalmon. We wash them and dry. "Oh, gentle now", cut them in twoPry out the pit with its almondy seedHeat them in syrup and spoon into hot Glass jars for the canner to boil and sealMama lifts them from the bubbling water. They... Continue Reading →

“But an empty shell, like an empty nest, invites day-dreams of refuge."-- Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space:  The Classical Look at How We Experience Intimate Places