Two Tulips

I took this before I left the crisp May spring of Philadelphia for the enveloping heat of Bejuco.  It is only here that I feel warm, calm and untethered, but back to those tulips that displayed early morning drops of dew.  I love the tulips when they are tightly holding onto their inner secrets, closed in on themselves before the flop of petals and the exposure of pistols make them unwieldy and unbalanced.  When I left, three of my special tulips were just beginning their journey, and I was really sad to miss their unfolding in "peaches and cream," a color that always beckons with its indistinguishable shouts of pink and orange and yellow, all muted by whatever gives it that vague creamy sense.  I love watching those three tulips, always later than any other spring flowers, always a reminder that at any minute a really scorching day could send them over the edge and end the magnificent cycle of their opening.  And now I just wonder if anybody is watching, waiting and sighing over the majesty of the color as it changes with the morning's white light and the afternoon's golden glow.  Every time I leave, I feel regret, sadness, for whatever I am missing, but I feel that same way whenever I leave Bejuco.  It is too bad that I am not enormous and capable of straddling two places so that I could peek down on each to see what is in bloom, what needs tending, who needs hugs, who wants company, and how Shadow is faring.  

Solution!

One of the doves returned, and when I slowly and quietly went outside with an umbrella, the two of them didn't move.  I adjusted the green canopy so that it is fairly sturdy and will keep them all dry through the night!  It might even help cut the wind that blows their feathers.  

It's the little things.  Daily.

A Threesome

These three doves were huddled together during the rain today, and I noticed the one in the middle had different coloring.  I wondered if it was a different bird altogether or if it was a baby.  I could hear their mourning coo for much of the day, and when Shadow and I just went out for a walk in the now chilly dripping rain, I noticed the multi-colored bird had only one dove friend with it.  By the time we returned, the one in the middle was alone; I surmise it is hurt because there is a big, hairy prowling cat who jumps into the bushes and mauls the song birds.  The cat belongs to my back-door neighbor, and her name is Delilah.  Just looking at her makes me wheeze, and now I'm wondering what to do about this sodden bird that clearly cannot fly.  Do I bring it into the house out of the rain?  If it cannot fly, I do not think it will make it through the night, but if I bring it inside, what will I feed it?  How to keep it warm?

I have an obligation to try.

Eeyieeyi -o

I went to the Erdenheim Farm today to watch the young lambs frolic and frisk, but they were rather staid and calm this afternoon - not one frisker in the bunch.  This poor mother, however, looks as though she's dragging around an unnecessary winter coat that definitely affects her ability to frolic, but at least she can nibble the grass that seems to be greening up nicely for her and her little guys.

Community in Pears

I painted this pair of pears today while all I really wanted to do was EAT the damn things.  They look lopsided, but the piece of wood was a little shorter on the top than I'd anticipated (I really DO need new glasses), and the pears were funky anyway.  Now I don't want to eat them any more because they seem so happy sitting there together, and that is what I'm thinking of these days - TOGETHER.  

I've been reading a great deal about community, and although I derive my religion and spiritual grounding from being alone and outside, poking along, peering, peeking, and picking through things I see, things I find and things I hear, that I thought I'd give more than some thought about community and really LOOK at things that are together.  I'm starting with pairs, as that seems the easiest "community."  Perhaps I will get to larger communities as I drift along.  I love thinking of little communities of two and remember vividly being shown to my table when I go to restaurants alone.  "Party of one?" the person always asks, and I try to assure her that yes, this IS a party even though I am "one."  What the hell is the stigma about being "one"?

Part of one signing out for now.  Here's to maintaining this thought for more than three entries...