Happy New Year - 2016

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, English writer (1809–92)
- Photo of Lees McRae College Tuffts Bell Tower

“Spring is the Period”

Spring is the Period… Emily Dickinson

Spring is the Period


Express from God.


Among the other seasons

Himself abide,

But during March and April


None stir abroad


Without a cordial interview


With God.

Excited about spring this year and working in my flower garden. Ordered lavender seeds that I am planning to begin indoors to transplant outside in the mountains once the weather is free of frost.

Mountain Stream in the Snow

"Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature."-- Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) American Essayist, Poet and Philosopher.

Stream behind the barn in Banner Elk

An Irish Friendship Wish - Author Unknown

May there always be work for your hands to do;


May your purse always hold a coin or two;



May the sun always shine on your windowpane;



May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain;



May the hand of a friend always be near you;

May God fill your heart with gladness 
to cheer you.. 

"The frolic architecture of the snow." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

The largest snowfall in the High Country in two years fell on January 17, 2013.  This is the first accumulating snowfall of the season with snow fall reported between six and ten inches around the region. Needless to say, power outages were prevalent with this storm.

The Snow-Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,

Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,

Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air

Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,

And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.

The steed and traveler stopped, the courier's feet

Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit

Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed

In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry

Out of an unseen quarry evermore

Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer

Curves his white bastions with projected roof

Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.

Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work

So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he

For number or proportion. Mockingly,

On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;

A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;

Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,

Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,

A tapering turret overtops the work.

And when his hours are numbered, and the world

Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art

To mimic in slow structure, stone by stone,

Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,

The frolic architecture of the snow.

Getting the Garden Ready to Plant!

A Poem Garden 


Author Unknown 

Tomato, 


Perfect, round and red,


Growing in your garden bed. 


Cornstalk, 


Tall and green 


With yellow corn inside, unseen.


Melon, 
Sweet and round,


Resting on the ground. 
 

String bean, 


On the vine, 


Green like this garden of mine.

Field plowed and ready to plant when the danger of frost passes.

GRIEF IS LIKE A RIVER
By Cinthia G. Kelley

My grief is like a river,
I have to let it flow,
but I myself determine
just where the banks will go.

Some days the current takes me
in waves of guilt and pain,
but there are always quiet pools
where I can rest again.

I crash on rocks of anger;
my faith seems faint indeed,
but there are other swimmers
who know that what I need

Are loving hands to hold me
when the waters are too swift,
and someone kind to listen
when I just seem to drift.

Grief’s river is a process
of relinquishing the past.
By swimming in hope’s channels,
I’ll reach the shore at last.

Found this poem that reflected the process in my journey of dealing with with grief and loss this past year.   The message in this poem is filled with such hope and the determination of letting go and healing.

Our Revels Now Are Ended!

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. 

William Shakespeare, "The Tempest", Act 4 scene 1

 

 The To Kill a Mockingbird stage is now empty - all have returned to resume their daily activities - farewell!

Daffodils Blooming in February

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:


For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

A day with the feeling of spring prompted me to take the photos of these daffodils blooming. I thought the poem reflected the happiness I felt with the promise of warmer weather.