Don't know what these are but all I can say is I wish my hair looked like this! Whatever they are, they're tiny,
only about the size of the fingernail on your pinkie.

Their heads are beginning to grow heavy. They stop watching the sun and lean toward the earth. So full of riches. Bees and song birds have been feasting. But every sunflower leaves the ghost of itself behind and so they cannot fail to reappear next year.

Except for some hardy tomatoes, everything edible from the garden vanished weeks ago, either eaten by slugs and/or woodchucks or drowned in the monsoons of June. But today, in the back of the garden, I discovered one tiny eggplant! Worth its sweet little weight in gold. Below -- a picture of its actual size.

A success story, no matter the size.

With the help of a zinnia,a sunset begins to practice its usual beautiful revelations.

Stella, the mourning dove's new friend. Stella is a domestic dove. People often release these doves at weddings or funerals but unfortunately they don't know how to fend for themselves in the wild. She was found starving to death and brought to the Center for Wildlife. If you want to release something at a wedding (or funeral) white pigeons
are the way to go.

Emily Dickinson

These are the days when Birds come back --
A very few -- a Bird or two --
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume
The old -- old sophistries of June --
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee --
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear --
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze --
Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake --
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!

Went rowing yesterday and today. Last evening, the water was calm and quiet, herons gliding by overhead. When I came in, I carried a dusky stillness with me. This afternoon, a whole different story. I nearly got run over twice by power boats and had to duck and dodge big sailboats for nearly the whole row. But it doesn't matter. I was out on the river and there's no where else I'd rather be.

Apple for the teacher? I picked this beauty from a fruit tree in Durham. The tree's loaded with fruit that seems to be going to waste, probably because the apples have spots. Next time I pass by, I'll be sure to bring a bag.

Am starting back to teach tomorrow after eight months on sabbatical. Oh how I wish everyone could have that gift of time. The ability to just stop.
And recoup. I'm very happy to be going back. Have missed my students.
Have missed the wonderful energy that happens in a classroom. Maybe I will take my dove to class. . .

Just Another Ordinary Day on the River

Am mesmerized by the patterns stones make in walls. How they do and do not fit together and yet -- there is a wall. Would love to do a painting of this section.

And these many greys are much like the greys I saw down on the dock this afternoon as I bailed tropical storm Danny out of my boat. I'd throw water out and the wind would throw it right back. After awhile it seemed like a game. Took me a long time to win.
To the seagulls, it was just another
ordinary day on the river.

The Most Beautiful Boat in the World

I finally got my boat into the water. Had to sneak into a neighbor's yard to get this picture. She has 4 or 5 dogs who were driven into a frenzy by my trespassing. Sounded like 10 or 11 dogs, really. Who cares. Worth it for a picture of the most beautiful boat in the world.

Late and Nearly Only Sunflower

The rainiest June on record did away with most of the sunflowers I planted. This one just began to open a few days ago. Can there really be that much hair on the leaves? I never noticed before. Doesn't this vaguely resemble a Venus Fly Trap?

One for the Green

This truck belongs to a neighbor who lost his driver's license. Looks to me like he might not be getting it back.

Floppy

Worked for several hours in the "junk" room today, sorting through an astounding amount of meaningless paper. And mold. But very happily came across this picture of Floppy, the dog who came to our house the day I was born. Whenever I got sad, I'd take him under the big old oak dining room table and put my arms around him and we'd both just sit there, happy as could be, invisible because of the table cloth. It was my hidden home inside our house. No doubt about it. He was my guardian angel.

Putting things together

I'm cleaning and organizing the room that had become the junk room. In the process, I unearthed copies of books I've written and I put them together. Hard to tell from this picture because they've fanned out but the poems/books I've spent my life writing can be held easily in one hand. At first that seemed kind of pitiful. But on consideration, it became
marvelous, ecologically beautiful and actually, a kind of true magic -- like a tiny zoo made entirely of origami animals or
even a little bit like those weird little pebbles we used to get when we were kids, the kind you tossed into your water glass and watched as they bloomed into what the advertising called "gardens under the sea." Only poems are better. Because they do open and extend themselves in the most astonishing ways. And when you shut the book, the poems shrink then vanish right back into their thin, nearly weightless paper homes.

What we've been carrying all this time

It is the beginning of summer and we
are at the museum. The line begins in a bright white room with a marble floor and statues of Greek Gods and Goddesses. Some of them are missing heads, some missing arms but nevertheless, they are radiantly beautiful. There seem to be thousands of us, happy, excited and waiting with patience. Each of us has a small box or parcel and all of them are handmade and lightweight. When the line begins to move, I see that we are filling the entire museum as we're being guided to the top floor, the roof really, where there is a huge garden. There is earth enough for everyone and we are each given time to plant the seeds we've been carrying in the boxes or cloth parcels. I see that a woman has planted nasturtiums and this makes me happy because they are such easy flowers to grow, so bright and lively, and they are edible. It's clear to me, suddenly,
that this earth is sacred; the seeds are what we've made of our lives; the whole roof-top garden a thank you to God. And even a simple flower like the nasturtium is welcome.

When I staggered out of the junk room, covered in dust and mold, I found this beautiful day!