I’m surprised at feelings I’ve had since I began writing Dear Dad letters. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m trying to get something from Dad that he can’t give me. I don’t think I am. I definitely feel I’m ‘out there,’ in the driver’s seat without a finished roadmap, uncertain where this will lead.
Most surprising, though, Read the rest of this entry »
Bearded cacti in Silver Garden
Longwood Gardens PA
Dear Dad,
About those ‘letters’ I mentioned in my last letter (no pun intended!)…
Here they are: Read the rest of this entry »
Here’s a wonderful story–the telling of which was inspired by my Amy Carmichael post Sunday, “Once in a granite hill.” I’ve never received such a beautiful Postcard to Elouise! The story is heartwarming, thought-provoking and true. What more is there? Besides a big thank-you to the author! Enjoy…
aging trunk bends low
strong lateral supports fruit
birthed of long labor
* * *
No, you’re not seeing double. Read the rest of this entry »
Pomegranate in Bonsai Garden,
Longwood Gardens
Dear Dad,
Here’s an idea I had today. I was trying to figure out how, at our ages, I would like to begin a conversation with you. So I had this wild idea, based on my experience with the other main man in my life, my husband. Read the rest of this entry »
sweet sound of heartbeat
first song of white-throat sparrow
silent break of day
* * *
Thank you for this gift–
another day of rest.
*
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 January 2015
Photo credit: http://www.birds.audobon.org via internet search
For complete profile with birdsong, click here.
Here’s a happy poem from Amy Carmichael. It reminds me of creation, Sabbath rest, children, and what it takes to survive in a sometimes desolate landscape. These bluebells are in the British Isles. Amy grew up in Ireland, and doubtless enjoyed bluebells like these when she was growing up.
Texas bluebells, the state’s flower, were one of Diane’s favorites. On one of my spring trips to Houston, which happily included our daughter, Diane and her family drove us out into the country to view spectacular Texas bluebells. This post is in honor of Diane, whose eyes were as blue as the bluebells of Texas.
I think Amy wrote this poem especially for children, of which she was one at least in spirit. You might try reading it out loud–just for fun!
Bluebells
Once in a granite hill
God carved a hollow place,
Called the blue air, and said, “Now fill
This emptiness of space.”
Or was it angels came,
And set among the fells
A crystal bowl, and filled the same
With handfuls of bluebells?
Hot hours walked overhead;
Our valley grew more sweet,
Though elsewhere gentle colors fled
Fearing those burning feet.
Those burning feet—the fells
Are withered where they go,
But still the misty blue bluebells
Only the bluer blow.
O God, who made the bowl
And filled it full of blue,
Canst Thou not make of this, my soul,
A vase of flowers, too?
Let not the hot hours make
Thy child as withered fells,
But fill me full, for love’s dear sake,
With blue as of bluebells.
Amy Carmichael, Mountain Breezes:
The Collected Poems of Amy Carmichael, pp. 132-33
© 1999, The Dohnavur Fellowship, published by Christian Literature Crusade.
Published in Pans (prior to 1917) and Made in the Pans (1917)
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 24 January 2015
Photo credit: http://www.loweswatercam.co.uk
mirrored in the pond
drab leafless trees come to life
dance on gleaming sky
* * *
To see trees dancing on the sky, click on photo.
rigid white spines
protect thick upright stem
tiny leaflets shrink
* * *
I don’t have a clue what to call this beauty.
It stands in the Silver Garden at Longwood Gardens.
Living repository of succulents, mosses and unusual trees.
All capable of living with limited water supplies.
The dark area behind it is part of a window frame.
I decided to see whether I could write a haiku
that at least captured what I was seeing in the photo.
Then I searched for cacti images to see what kind it might be.
That’s when I discovered my first effort was off the mark.
I rewrote it accordingly. I think.
It seems ‘normal’ plant logic doesn’t work here.
The spines, for example, are actually ‘leaves.’
The little green leaflets won’t develop into leaves.
Sometimes they become the source of more spines.
And then there’s that tall upright stem.
Not really a ‘spine,’ though we often call it that.
The function of the true spines (not simply thorns)
is not to protect those cute oval leaflets.
It’s to guard the cactus from predators seeking its treasure–
life-giving, water-like liquid, stored on behalf of the plant.
No, I won’t turn this into a lesson about life or death.
I just want you to know how hard I worked on this haiku for you!
Also, if you’re cactus-savvy,
and can enlighten us about what to call it
or about anything else of interest,
such as statements above that are wrong,
now’s your chance!
This is not a poem.
I decided it looked better this way.
* * *
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 22 January 2015
Photo credit: DAFraser, May 2014
Silver Garden, Longwood Gardens Pennsylvania
Telling the Truth 