HERE
I'm being ganged up on. When Stella, my neighbor's black lab, wants to go for a walk (they don't walk her), she comes and paces in front of the glass doors where Mom is sitting, looking in with those sad brown eyes, as if to say, "Mrs. Iten can your chubby son come out and play?"
I hear, "Stella's out. (Pause) I like Stella."
Translation: "My chubby son WILL come out and play. Now."
I have no chance.
THERE
Poem of the week:
Poem, do not raise your voice.
Be a whisper that says, "There!"
where the stream speaks to itself
of the deep rock of the hill
it has carved its way down to
in flowing over them. "There!"
where the sun enters and the tanager
flares suddenly on the lighted branch.
"There!" where the aerial columbine
brightens on its slender stalk.
Walk, poem. Watch, and make no noise.
W. Berry
I'm being ganged up on. When Stella, my neighbor's black lab, wants to go for a walk (they don't walk her), she comes and paces in front of the glass doors where Mom is sitting, looking in with those sad brown eyes, as if to say, "Mrs. Iten can your chubby son come out and play?"
I hear, "Stella's out. (Pause) I like Stella."
Translation: "My chubby son WILL come out and play. Now."
I have no chance.
THERE
Poem of the week:
Poem, do not raise your voice.
Be a whisper that says, "There!"
where the stream speaks to itself
of the deep rock of the hill
it has carved its way down to
in flowing over them. "There!"
where the sun enters and the tanager
flares suddenly on the lighted branch.
"There!" where the aerial columbine
brightens on its slender stalk.
Walk, poem. Watch, and make no noise.
W. Berry
My
Gardening Angels have planted three new wildflowers on Iten's Acres
this year: spiderwort, smooth ruellia, and prairie coneflowers. And
it's still only the middle of July!
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