meadow teems with life
meadow teems with life
old farmhouse stands abandoned–
new point of interest
* * *
Visitor Destination Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth
connecting the dots of my life
Tag: Nature
February 1, 2015
clear titmouse whistles
clear titmouse whistles
melt icy morning silence—
warm forecast of spring
* * *
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 31 January 2015
Photo and birdsong credit: www. birdwatchersdigest.com
January 31, 2015
Farewell, English Oak
English Oak in Summer
This year I chose a tree calendar to hang above my desk. Every month I turn the page to a new month and a new photo.
January features an imposing English Oak in winter, standing in a snow-coated field. The branches, twigs and trunks seem to be partially outlined with a dusty icing of light snow. Read the rest of this entry »
January 30, 2015
gray-blue monuments
gray-blue monuments
come to rest on sandy shore–
bleached remnants of life
January 29, 2015
low afternoon sun
low afternoon sun
illuminates interior–
hushed benediction
* * *
It’s October 2012. My husband and I are with a couple of family members. It’s late afternoon. We’re walking back from the beach to the parking lot, on a trail through Oswald West State Park. We pass trees in multiple configurations–from straight and upright to bent or twisted. Many are covered with moss from thick fog that rolls in from the Pacific Ocean.
We pass several trees with hollowed-out space at the base of the trunk. Some have twisted roots with pockets of air where the earth has eroded. The trees reach high toward the sky, seeking light. They seem to have been around for centuries, adjusting to the dim, seemingly haunted environment.
We’ve walked a good distance from the shoreline, away from rolling surf and the muffled sound of human voices. Evening approaches. The air takes on a hushed, cathedral-like quality. Late afternoon sun filters into usually darkened spaces, and offers a silent benediction.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 January 2015
Photo Credit, DAFraser, October 2012
Oswald West State Park, Oregon
January 28, 2015
Dear Mom, Here’s a haiku. . .
mother and babies
make their way through grass and weeds
one step at a time
* * *
Dear Mom,
Here’s a haiku I wrote just for you! Read the rest of this entry »
January 26, 2015
aging trunk
aging trunk bends low
strong lateral supports fruit
birthed of long labor
* * *
No, you’re not seeing double. Read the rest of this entry »
January 25, 2015
sweet sound of heartbeat
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.
January 25, 2015
“Once in a granite hill. . .”
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
Telling the Truth 