The tide’s out.
Tag: Summer
Happy Gap
That’s how I heard “Appy,” for Appalachian Gap in Vermont’s Green Mountains.
These are from last summer. I hate to think what the route’s like now, after the recent record-breaking flooding.
Baby spiders
I do love day lilies
So do the deer.
I really do wish they’d stop eating ours, at least until the blooming’s over.
Lookin’ lush
Here’s a progress report on our raised, fenced-in garden experiment this year. So far, we’ve had no further problem with the deer, although they’ve been daily visitors to the back yard and neighbors lately, especially as small apples have been falling from the gone-wild trees.
The picture shows tomato plants thriving as they’re finally blossoming in our mostly cool climate, along with basil, calendula, cucumbers, and peppers.
The adjoining bed has been producing romaine lettuce, Swiss chard, parsley, and sugar-snap peas, while the leeks are coming long royally.
You’d think those birds would be far more ravenous in the depths of winter
We continue to keep our bird feeders out through the summer (something we wouldn’t do if we had bears in town), but I am surprised by how much more they eat in summertime, when there’s plenty of other food available, than they do in deep cold and snowy conditions when they need more to keep their metabolism up.
Yeah, we know there are more of them now and that they’re also feeding their babies. But on some days they eat as much as they would otherwise consume in two weeks – or more.
On the other hand, we do enjoy watching the variety and drama as they dine right outside the window at our kitchen table throughout the year.
Full moon rising into clouds
This is how the rising moon looked from across our street last night. The reflection is in the bay between us and Campobello Island in New Brunswick, Canada. Some of those lights on the island are moving traffic.
Mount Jefferson
In New Hampshire’s White Mountains Presidential Range as seen from the Vermont state line.
Dipping in glorious waters
I haven’t written a real poem
in at last a decade
prose, especially fiction, has taken the fore
plus relocating to a remote Maine island
do I even consider the photography
How else do you think
other than by talking to yourself even silently
or through the fingers or feet
I’ve long preferred instrumental music, abstract
or airs in languages I don’t understand
and usually forget the lyrics and lines in scores
I’ve sung in concert
So I was swimming a half-mile a day
before the pandemic but haven’t been back
in deep water, fresh or surf, indoor or out till today,
my first venture in a little-known river pooling
too rocky for laps but perfect for extending myself
in the familiar chill under a cloud-strewn afternoon sky
yes, it’s glorious and refreshing
in a way I discovered my first year after college
in hippie abandon or the New England coast
and Dover’s Olympic pool later
it’s the sunlight and breeze
stretching above, around
a call to attend to my rooting as well
in meditation, prayer, Scripture, favored poets
all as seemingly impractical
Sloop at the pier
The Prinses Mia had been sailed across the Atlantic by one man.
Jnana's Red Barn 