tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28610934985936533042024-03-13T01:57:51.167-07:00The Gathering of StonesLinda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-74853405760418120512012-06-29T02:56:00.000-07:002012-06-29T03:14:14.374-07:00Man in a Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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While my family was walking in the woods, we came upon this wonderful carving. I don't know how long it has been there or who did it, but I was glad I had my camera along.<br />
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I love being outdoors and observing nature, whether it be the honey bees pollinating, colorful wildflowers, gnarly old trees, field mice scurrying under exposed tree roots, or a cerulean sky painted with fluffy white clouds. This time, it seems the roles were reversed in a way. The old bearded man in the tree is watching us.<br />
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My "stone" today is a tanka. Tanka is a form of Japanese poetry. It is somewhat like a haiku with two extra lines added. Those lines usually offer a twist, a change in mood or a related idea that give it a broader or deeper meaning. Though some people faithfully follow the syllable count 5-7-5-7-7 most modern writers simply follow the rule of short-long-short-long-long. A tanka does not have a title. Often there is no capitalization and little if any punctuation. However, if you google "how to write a tanka" there seem to be varying "schools", each with their own set of defining factors.<br />
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old man in a tree<br />
his wooden stare follows me<br />
as I pass him by~<br />
some people never really leave us<br />
memories etched upon our souls<br />
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<br />Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-22708386601470760562012-01-31T15:35:00.000-08:002012-01-31T15:42:03.419-08:00Oops!I am really good at seeing "stones". During the past year, I have learned to observe and appreciate the little things. What I am not good at is recording them anywhere other than in my wee widdly head, especially on this blog. Today is the last day of the January challenge and I have managed to do how many posts? What's that you say...only one? FAIL! Guilty as charged. But that post did have a whole week's worth. Here are a few I remember from the past, ummm, FOUR weeks. (blogger hides face in shame) <br />
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Two pigeons dive for the same crumb. Peck, peck, poke. One hobbles away, then the other. I examine the morsel still on the pavement. A cigarette bud. I guess pigeons don't smoke. (yeah, I am also a failed comedian...lol...but that is exactly the stupid joke that came to mind at that moment)<br />
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Delicate lacy bonnets~hoar frost on the rosehips.<br />
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Morning surprise~ a white heart center in the kiwi halves.<br />
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Cuddling~ only the sound of his beating heart breaks the silence.<br />
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Okay...I feel better now that I posted a few. Now it is time for bed.<br />
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Good-night!Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-66414499428757662782012-01-07T18:06:00.000-08:002012-01-07T18:06:28.101-08:00The Whole WeekThe first week of January has flown by. After posting my New Year's stone, I have neglected to share them since. So, I will have to list them all together and kill two birds with one stone--or is that one week with 7 stones? Whatever. Here they are.<br />
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Monday, January 2<br />
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<i>She wraps one arm over my waist, leans her head against by shoulder. The fragrance of her freshly washed hair is pretty flowers and innocence, a reminder that underneath all that teenager my sweet little girl still exists. </i><br />
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Tuesday, January 3 <br />
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<i>While others ridicule him, I blame his friends and friends. They should have told him he can't sing. </i><br />
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Wednesday, January 4<br />
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<i>No stone today. I suddenly remember what it is like to be young. I'm a kid who just failed a test. </i><br />
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Thursday, January 5<br />
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<i>Sudden storm. Feet encased in cold, wet socks trudge on through puddles of melting sleet. These black, studded boots aren't waterproof.</i><br />
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Friday, January 6<br />
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<i>Sitting across from you I see every sign of age, every flaw, and don't give a damn. My heart is yours eternally.</i> <br />
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Saturday, January 7<br />
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<i>Skin on skin. </i><br />
<i>Blooming like a rose </i><br />
<i>wet with morning dew.</i>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-87984649013502239572012-01-01T11:58:00.000-08:002012-01-01T11:58:27.101-08:00January 1, 2012The new year is here! January 2012. Do you know what that means? It is time once again for the River of Stones. If you want to pay more attention to the world around you and make note of one simple observation each day, <a href="http://www.writingourwayhome.com/p/river-jan-12.html">click here for information on how to take part.</a> I will be posting my observations here daily during the month of January.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Linda Hofke. Copyright 2012.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The sparkler looks like a fiery dandelion shooting glittery seeds into the dark of the night as we plant our hopes and dreams for a new year. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!</div>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-32568805514170420762011-10-09T12:15:00.000-07:002011-10-09T12:19:10.884-07:00Hoppity-hop!The Grasshopper<br />
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Perhaps it is like a child who wants to jump from the swing and land on a cloud. One leap and he's landed on a plaid seersucker sky. <br />
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Isn't it adorable?<br />
<span id="goog_1427198023"></span><span id="goog_1427198024"></span>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-623409529078929552011-07-27T00:47:00.000-07:002011-07-27T00:49:10.931-07:00Tweet-tweetThe four baby birds I'd been observing up high in the bush in our garden have grown and flown away. They've probably got their own little high-rise nests someone near by. In the meantime, I discovered that a smaller bird with a lower nest now has little ones to take care of. Three tiny ones are just now starting to get their feathers and look adorable. Here are two of them:<br />
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Stone 23: Fledglings sporting thin, feathery mohawks peep as mother bird gathers worms.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-66738552581048234752011-07-24T14:48:00.000-07:002011-07-25T01:40:21.093-07:00Animals, animals, animals. (18-22)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoEVtGBAVJiw1N1ZsLogaFU96_fm-9NAirxcMsQ1R-d_mYKBmRgsD7ymJVIlAjRPPIAXxsAkveXVtQY5rTKq7W9pKOJFwJ7G1Vd1SYBMlrC2XXrbWuUZtH08qe8iDrrb82a4WnYMqIITA/s1600/CIMG9713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoEVtGBAVJiw1N1ZsLogaFU96_fm-9NAirxcMsQ1R-d_mYKBmRgsD7ymJVIlAjRPPIAXxsAkveXVtQY5rTKq7W9pKOJFwJ7G1Vd1SYBMlrC2XXrbWuUZtH08qe8iDrrb82a4WnYMqIITA/s400/CIMG9713.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo by Katarina Hofke.</td></tr>
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As the cat relaxes on the sun-warmed macadam, slivers of shadows from the wrought iron gate paint new stripes across her fur.<br />
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With the blue lighting, the bat's wings look thin and crumpled like pieces of burnt paper. <br />
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As all the horses continue to graze, the curious foal trots over to greet me, and I become the "stone". <br />
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Walking along the wooded path, I brush up against a tiny branch. On it a snail, attached to the backside of a leaf, begins to uncoil from its shell, its antennae moving back and forth as if waving "hello".<br />
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Sometimes life is a rocky road, whether you are man, mouse or beetle.<br />
Just keep going.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-91444925636163887992011-07-23T16:26:00.000-07:002011-07-23T16:26:59.983-07:00Blowing in the breeze<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVDqa4kbkuWbNx2GUuKTeMhLOQ81qrLST5ZstJMpYP3yy5E57CLWyeNcAMns1T4eshSKCqmOyLKFAFusQAerlKGr2jqx_l-aWYLwP-TIBa9HntYZ-O6FstMJAea56u7au4qsQRzKuBfc/s1600/CIMG9918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVDqa4kbkuWbNx2GUuKTeMhLOQ81qrLST5ZstJMpYP3yy5E57CLWyeNcAMns1T4eshSKCqmOyLKFAFusQAerlKGr2jqx_l-aWYLwP-TIBa9HntYZ-O6FstMJAea56u7au4qsQRzKuBfc/s400/CIMG9918.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The breeze gently folds the top petal of the poppy down like a mother putting a cap on a childs head, protecting its face from the blazing sun. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span id="goog_133730679"></span><span id="goog_133730680"></span>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-78599452267102353542011-07-16T16:31:00.000-07:002011-07-16T16:47:16.981-07:00July 15 and 16<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To Infinity ...and beyond!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Honey bees and bumble bees busily gather nectar, flying from one big blue sphere to the next like astronauts visiting a string of planets. One zooms right past my ear. Buzzzzzz! Flower globes, astronauts, buzzing...it somehow makes me think of Buzz Lightyear. Imagine all those humming insects hollering, "To infinity...and beyond!" <br />
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July 16<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXF08qczwqq-LP6Y-CwDNVCufvGsdAyL9cCnYK7ESAYSCky3-SJRPjFJUqWSImnthrPbWn9lff7M7me7uV6mGOfeNCMCE2p0JDTEcw2bBzfIXVv1NWNodo0CRHMhZyW_7YDxWbgO9rnvE/s1600/CIMG9763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXF08qczwqq-LP6Y-CwDNVCufvGsdAyL9cCnYK7ESAYSCky3-SJRPjFJUqWSImnthrPbWn9lff7M7me7uV6mGOfeNCMCE2p0JDTEcw2bBzfIXVv1NWNodo0CRHMhZyW_7YDxWbgO9rnvE/s400/CIMG9763.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ivy twists around the tree, covering it so well that one can barely see the bark. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Four feet off the ground a snail holds on tight as it sleeps in its</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> spiral-shaped shell.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-87702719838286066182011-07-16T15:30:00.000-07:002011-07-16T15:30:21.650-07:00Stones in a Row<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The <a href="http://ariverofstones.blogspot.com/p/about.html">River of Stones</a> is flowing and is already at its halfway point. Many people are participating and the most recently posted <a href="http://theriverofstones.blogspot.com/">stones can be found here</a>. I am a bit behind with posting, so here are my "stones" from the past few days.<br />
<br />
Day 11<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXgTSbkIex0cnZHG1S5KK4lJvKXBrj7rQQhnvmouvP0-LiEkN0lWwtjBPYfJYayWnE3ekpAGsJAbu13iJQS3wnKAu77lyxX0r0WlnBFo6iRfCPuobEgs5tLs3fjpjQ7jGQzIjM2f8Ku8/s1600/CIMG9778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXgTSbkIex0cnZHG1S5KK4lJvKXBrj7rQQhnvmouvP0-LiEkN0lWwtjBPYfJYayWnE3ekpAGsJAbu13iJQS3wnKAu77lyxX0r0WlnBFo6iRfCPuobEgs5tLs3fjpjQ7jGQzIjM2f8Ku8/s320/CIMG9778.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The afternoon sun shines down on the playground. As the temperature rises, all little pirates abandon ship.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Day 12 <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQDY4oULybxF00OS8mjq8my5e5nYu1iZA64y4m_H9HNOamhj-6mj67m3pu8GWJdmgwcwcPJ0mZZlQ96EZyYMuJB3PmNW3hkPxCj_xL3rolYlV23liyTDgoauupaAlKUwuDgF0EUjBVCY/s1600/CIMG9791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQDY4oULybxF00OS8mjq8my5e5nYu1iZA64y4m_H9HNOamhj-6mj67m3pu8GWJdmgwcwcPJ0mZZlQ96EZyYMuJB3PmNW3hkPxCj_xL3rolYlV23liyTDgoauupaAlKUwuDgF0EUjBVCY/s400/CIMG9791.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
A cluster of orange berries dangle from the tree, each one the taste of poison to human lips but to another the sweet bounty of summer--God's way of providing balance<br />
<br />
Day 13<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_kvCwd5sGay0Cmdt5-PSb-gTprYhcmU6otvdu36HqpBxj-3aaThQaUoLiP5tVbrsT5LSbdRdmkx0jHq4y7SA0ASfkFpn-KEh2VsYOdrZV_I84UoAu3pIMuCDcTLN93KhOagYj_8X4tk/s1600/CIMG9857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_kvCwd5sGay0Cmdt5-PSb-gTprYhcmU6otvdu36HqpBxj-3aaThQaUoLiP5tVbrsT5LSbdRdmkx0jHq4y7SA0ASfkFpn-KEh2VsYOdrZV_I84UoAu3pIMuCDcTLN93KhOagYj_8X4tk/s400/CIMG9857.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
Light shining on the farmer's field reminds me of the lines "amber waves of grain" and I think about home.<br />
<br />
<br />
Day 14<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikteklpiA29JUkj0UhPQnFvpOhttMwf8lHm403RGAxS6qlWoVzdcgNrF2jrQLwiaJqu97Vu_ZkST02gyBtpMcx0E8tRDNozOzSddlLpLVRojA3uT2UrYjD_Tcw4WZneSN2Qnd2XHGnB_M/s1600/CIMG9861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikteklpiA29JUkj0UhPQnFvpOhttMwf8lHm403RGAxS6qlWoVzdcgNrF2jrQLwiaJqu97Vu_ZkST02gyBtpMcx0E8tRDNozOzSddlLpLVRojA3uT2UrYjD_Tcw4WZneSN2Qnd2XHGnB_M/s320/CIMG9861.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Seeds attached to white fluffy parachutes--<br />
I want to blow as hard as I can<br />
and make a hundred wishes.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-41550676455225628892011-07-12T13:25:00.000-07:002011-07-12T13:25:43.286-07:00Tenth Summer Stone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkSwZb3umVRfKp4w_C5CahNMNSAA0HXsDdtEtjhzg61xB2k_VL9w9p-oGTbW1UkmwxVEUJDRmy4xINPuBK2A_PpJvNNiqEHPA7l4I5dex0Zw8wvdoQlZ5yLz609a5VD2ikaQxY4Ep7uQ/s1600/CIMG9519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkSwZb3umVRfKp4w_C5CahNMNSAA0HXsDdtEtjhzg61xB2k_VL9w9p-oGTbW1UkmwxVEUJDRmy4xINPuBK2A_PpJvNNiqEHPA7l4I5dex0Zw8wvdoQlZ5yLz609a5VD2ikaQxY4Ep7uQ/s640/CIMG9519.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>How unusual. The butterfly's middle looks like it has been painted with white-out or blotched with bleach. Bright veined wing tips--one golden yellow, the other slightly more orange--look like separate entities touching opposite edges of a foreign achromatic mass. Perhaps this unusual coloring helps protect it from predators, confusing them, but it only served to get my attention. Sometimes there is beauty in imperfection.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-64940729508033556222011-07-10T15:19:00.000-07:002011-07-10T15:19:12.497-07:00Ninth Summer Stone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy52v4QhojIX5_K6vWOz1XU6_FmdAni9KeZ1YFGB99zHKy7o_wfuObYrESmYznvs0JrchsGaPH4x-TwhtCamVYNcre0O2zovQjuz-8HazwOUtHa7SAq1p0rCu0iPMPTuOwgngRCuSnf_U/s1600/CIMG9751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy52v4QhojIX5_K6vWOz1XU6_FmdAni9KeZ1YFGB99zHKy7o_wfuObYrESmYznvs0JrchsGaPH4x-TwhtCamVYNcre0O2zovQjuz-8HazwOUtHa7SAq1p0rCu0iPMPTuOwgngRCuSnf_U/s320/CIMG9751.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Body arched upon the thistle's lavender flowerhead, the bee carefully gathers sweet nectar.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-34367417874883184942011-07-10T12:59:00.000-07:002011-07-10T12:59:13.350-07:00Eighth Summer Stone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiBt0vRjF9NF113bpAWiaBEp1k4TVHX2GkRqgn6zfBC9cM2zFeOMj6bhCkSIxh6d_hrw2qbJuQB7aouoaVSshIQah327m8MdskyGtu5XWXwtGkKGD6mKP8Az2Ua_xk42eTE6YsgBuumI/s1600/CIMG9731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiBt0vRjF9NF113bpAWiaBEp1k4TVHX2GkRqgn6zfBC9cM2zFeOMj6bhCkSIxh6d_hrw2qbJuQB7aouoaVSshIQah327m8MdskyGtu5XWXwtGkKGD6mKP8Az2Ua_xk42eTE6YsgBuumI/s400/CIMG9731.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Keeping my distance, I remain as still as can be, but mother bird hears my camera zoom adjust--she adjusts her view, too.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-76192276390609998112011-07-10T12:41:00.000-07:002011-07-10T13:53:39.430-07:00Seventh Summer Stone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGuWr972UROo3Olj7kVZ-tZjjKlwsHeqpdHT5FO13d5zRhvVtItUdJpCT8Zm6rswQNRle_W1eAjeyuNG2kVch8nuiRym5S_YC51Ru_v2WEB4LSw5dtJ3zKvmB4cFZMiXXdzf8NeYESq3g/s1600/CIMG9740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGuWr972UROo3Olj7kVZ-tZjjKlwsHeqpdHT5FO13d5zRhvVtItUdJpCT8Zm6rswQNRle_W1eAjeyuNG2kVch8nuiRym5S_YC51Ru_v2WEB4LSw5dtJ3zKvmB4cFZMiXXdzf8NeYESq3g/s400/CIMG9740.JPG" width="300" /></a></div> one lone ripe berry<br />
my patience<br />
tested.<br />
Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-42371097283300212882011-07-07T12:03:00.000-07:002011-07-07T12:03:47.503-07:00Sixth stoneThe house is full of the scent of blueberry muffins baking,<br />
and I am a child once again.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-16522906626715413592011-07-07T12:00:00.000-07:002011-07-07T12:00:44.824-07:00Fifth Stone - watchingA bird sits on the fence only a foot away.<br />
I stay still, wait, listen to it sing as it watches me. <br />
After three minutes I slowly walk by.<br />
Unphased the bird continues chirping its song,<br />
watching, watching, watching me go.<br />
I wonder if I am the bird's stone.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-66098606050101049782011-07-07T11:56:00.000-07:002011-07-07T11:56:14.373-07:00Fourth Stoneparking lot<br />
trucker sleeps against window<br />
one sun-red cheekLinda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-83870710155446364392011-07-03T14:47:00.000-07:002011-07-03T14:47:05.627-07:00July River of Stone #3 - rusty tussock moth larva<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qe-b34TXY43CUp_qnR-ZD7eK1V_-Of5RWbREajiKB3tMKlq7YCw11odVisor324mLESlEUy6i8dOMbQCacMyzQ_HKNB72U1KL0KW6VafAMnKd2YPPmp8uMkrzhEkEKRgR_AAqaZPji8/s1600/CIMG9398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qe-b34TXY43CUp_qnR-ZD7eK1V_-Of5RWbREajiKB3tMKlq7YCw11odVisor324mLESlEUy6i8dOMbQCacMyzQ_HKNB72U1KL0KW6VafAMnKd2YPPmp8uMkrzhEkEKRgR_AAqaZPji8/s400/CIMG9398.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Those four mountains you carry upon your elongated, red spotted body look like yellowed paint brushes. The bristly protruding hairs, spikey tail, and hairy antennae make you look fierce. Yet, you are beautiful in a way and certainly more interesting than the brown moth you will become. Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-80163672919110132472011-07-02T16:47:00.000-07:002011-07-02T16:50:32.543-07:00July River of Stones #2 - one day after the hail storm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mYF4sAEbIUTCKkjbTVSgrV_PW-UnOEIKe_l3qwKbrgpg2YUfiosHqto9nVbfxMscGxzeqMEnxL9EFvI2n9LSvWuLSBmB77w7XL9QxyHtJ_rTorx1MehF4YZI6K2Tss4g2xTouFLhDWw/s1600/CIMG9645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mYF4sAEbIUTCKkjbTVSgrV_PW-UnOEIKe_l3qwKbrgpg2YUfiosHqto9nVbfxMscGxzeqMEnxL9EFvI2n9LSvWuLSBmB77w7XL9QxyHtJ_rTorx1MehF4YZI6K2Tss4g2xTouFLhDWw/s400/CIMG9645.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The zucchinni plant looks like someone used it for target practice. No evidence of the perpetrator remains.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-70152427278596267042011-07-01T16:56:00.000-07:002011-07-01T16:56:33.055-07:00July River of Stones #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8G1kkfakeYqdsQRWxQ0ogSeCbngX0qGR32wtGNGVvaGyg8A0eDNyoRXWeNP3nl509jhBHXpNqJAU7tbClNNRk655oFw1UekRQVcL0E7vHdoioVgsfiIedEkkPLK5SUpkRQiz6bky_H_0/s1600/CIMG9598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8G1kkfakeYqdsQRWxQ0ogSeCbngX0qGR32wtGNGVvaGyg8A0eDNyoRXWeNP3nl509jhBHXpNqJAU7tbClNNRk655oFw1UekRQVcL0E7vHdoioVgsfiIedEkkPLK5SUpkRQiz6bky_H_0/s400/CIMG9598.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Scattered beneath the red currants, July hail looks like giant white berries.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-59021386383337835632011-03-25T13:32:00.000-07:002011-03-25T13:32:17.634-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosgfKuqEQMnURQntW4QYmqkSCxRA7Y7yn-l2n7eXMrbineL67qziIecflhTQLx4_QWwpfbTABvrNFSd_7-xVkbC5gReKrehD8_q755S0dzoL2RsclPpLx1Zu3Md2du2FHzyg_tqC13vA/s1600/forsythia.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosgfKuqEQMnURQntW4QYmqkSCxRA7Y7yn-l2n7eXMrbineL67qziIecflhTQLx4_QWwpfbTABvrNFSd_7-xVkbC5gReKrehD8_q755S0dzoL2RsclPpLx1Zu3Md2du2FHzyg_tqC13vA/s400/forsythia.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Days are growing longer.<br />
Birds rejoice with song.<br />
Lined up in rows,<br />
hundreds of golden Forsythia stars<br />
signal the coming of Spring.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-21925593943926665372011-03-07T14:59:00.000-08:002011-03-07T16:37:35.398-08:00Evening Stone<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}"><span class="messageBody"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The waxing crescent moon sits in the star-filled sky; a beautiful sliver of evening wonder.</span></span></span></h6>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-60066135527270547902011-03-05T15:59:00.000-08:002011-03-05T15:59:11.432-08:00BreakfastPale toast and boiled water with coffee grounds floating in it.<br />
I subdue my laugh, because it really is the thought that counts.<br />
And she included my favorite jam. How sweet.Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-68642442828287567642011-01-31T13:06:00.000-08:002011-02-01T12:32:54.722-08:00River of Stones - Day 31January comes to a close with frost-covered fields and gardens.<br />
Bleached skies and clouded breath suggest winter is here to stay,<br />
but growing on a bush like a faint whisper of hope<br />
the woolly pussy willows tell me spring is on the way.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZOnNo42UrcnQs0P_IxCMoUohQmg-mUE0moXk0tRQ7iMLCWz6vx_rM6iEv4N5kY_9-2A2Jv6WQWv9mE-XJ-hEDixuT5X6uM3iH0taB8Q7t_l0Fsb3UptKS5TfQdHZwvKxn-a62EaKiYo/s1600/pussywillowCIMG8342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZOnNo42UrcnQs0P_IxCMoUohQmg-mUE0moXk0tRQ7iMLCWz6vx_rM6iEv4N5kY_9-2A2Jv6WQWv9mE-XJ-hEDixuT5X6uM3iH0taB8Q7t_l0Fsb3UptKS5TfQdHZwvKxn-a62EaKiYo/s320/pussywillowCIMG8342.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2861093498593653304.post-18348338318065950952011-01-30T11:48:00.000-08:002011-01-30T11:48:36.627-08:00River of Stones - Day 30High tension lines look like strings holding up the tower<br />
as if an electrified marionette for a giant or for the gods,<br />
but we all know it only plays puppet to the ever-growing,<br />
never ending show of human consumption. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-S_49mSt1PKyBRxtEWgo39XyvzxJnYHDCEidvioZtDo667lbRbTKiJZe49Q_Yh3GtFIcPQUbLPcu1YI0-NYJVQKtt2d8Tl7hcDT_qVQAEE7FdgytuDMoQLq19tzEomjLYztsV1-nR60/s1600/powerCIMG8278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-S_49mSt1PKyBRxtEWgo39XyvzxJnYHDCEidvioZtDo667lbRbTKiJZe49Q_Yh3GtFIcPQUbLPcu1YI0-NYJVQKtt2d8Tl7hcDT_qVQAEE7FdgytuDMoQLq19tzEomjLYztsV1-nR60/s320/powerCIMG8278.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Linda H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/01005584805379179415noreply@blogger.com5