Fallen White Ash Tree through the lens of.....

This ash tree fell a couple years ago, surrounded by young saplings.

Here are three versions of the ash tree 

through the lens of a kaleidoscope

Kabuya - created by Sarah Kavage and Adria Garcia

For our Mother

In golden light she freely yields                      

to hands that stroke and tenderly coax,        

fair-haired strands into cornrow braids.       

(I can still hear her sigh,                     

                         her moans of delight).                                    

Lie down here and rest against her warmth,            

this place where cottonwoods whisper       

and poplars reply, with waves lapping beyond.       

(I can still hear her sigh,

her moans of delight).

Lulled by this stillness spoon closer in                      

 to the cadence and beat of her heart.           

Cradled here, yield, to the warmth, to the field.         

(I can still hear her sigh,

her moans of delight).

Catherine Haynes

A typical spring morning: babies, beavers, eagles

Unfortunately I only had my cell phone on me, but what a morning!

It seems early for baby geese. 

 A juvenile and adult bald eagles.

 The beaver!!

Crabapples and aspen (on the right)



In Beauty May I Walk

Navajo Blessing Way Prayer

In beauty may I walk.

All the day long may I walk.

Through the returning seasons may I walk.

With dew about my feet may I walk.

With beauty may I walk.

With beauty before me, may I walk.

With beauty behind me, may I walk.

With beauty above me, may I walk.

With beauty below me, may I walk.

With beauty all around me, may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.

It is finished in beauty.

It is finished in beauty.



Magnuson Park Trees and Ducks and Birds and ...

Sycamore

Cottonwood has her Leaves on

Nesting in plain sight, but he is watchful

Northern Shoveler

Everyone's SINGING!

Magnuson Park's Mountain

One Magnuson Park Misty Morning

There must be a poem about...

There is nothing like standing in a vortex

of singing Red-Winged Blackbirds