Metamorphoses: a brief photo essay

All the leaves are green.

Hello Dear Ones,

I waited many months for the snow to melt. Then I spent hours sitting outside listening to the birds and watching the leaves grow. And it’s finally here: everything is green (and violet).

I stepped outside earlier this week to drink my coffee and commune with the feisty birds and saw this, my first violet, set amongst these stones and decided a photo essay was of the utmost import.

A violet. May 2023.

I’ve been watching the candles (new growth) on this pine tree for a few days out from my bedroom window. The lighter green reaches out from the darker green, in a sense, encircling the tree. It does something funny and pleasant to my brain.

Pine tree candles. May 2023.

I sometimes sit in this chair in the mornings when I don’t feel like looking at the brush in the firepit where my other chair lives.

Cast Iron white painted chair. May 2023.

Everything silly in this yard my grandmother brought over. This tree face is one.

Who says trees aren’t watching? May 2023.

Every time I look outside the front window I still for a second think someone is digging in our garden this lady’s butt is always looking at me. This weekend Grandma, who was visiting, made rhubarb crisp with these rhubarbs.

Maybe this lady will plant our garden. May 2023.

A few days ago, our crabapple tree with all its flowers, was humming so loud I started looking for a beehive. I didn’t see one but I did also find two hummingbirds. The next day these bleeding hearts bloomed. I am so grateful. I was worried about the hummingbirds. They must eat every 10 minutes and burn between 6,600 to 12,000 daily. I wondered how they were surviving having come back before things were blooming!

To all the bleeding hearts in the room. May 2023.

I’ve had a bit of a hibernation, a metamorphosis myself. Some thoughts and ideas are percolating. More soon.

With love,