6.18.15 "I love the light; I love the changing seasons. I love without much thought to reason." Janis Ian

6.18.15 So lovely, quietly living their life along the river.

6.15.15 A quiet dark morning on the river

6.16.15 Who can see the wind?

Who can see the wind?
Neither you nor I
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by

6.15.15 Eyes closed, worshiping the moment

A loving thoughtful someone comes by, with the most luxuriant decadent Peony bouquets, two weeks running . 

The smell of each blossom follows you through the rooms of your home; sweet , spicy , one an almost poignant scent. 

And when you go to trim the stems of the butter soft blossoms, some cascade down into the softest extraordinary piles of petals , as it strikes you that they truly should be lining the cotton -sheet-made bed of someone somewhere, imagining them lowering down among the fluttering scented small heaps of ripened blossoms, lying there , eyes closed, worshiping the moment.

6.12.15 The Killdeer try in vain to herd their tiny puffball babies

The Killdeer try in vain to herd their tiny puffball babies, while the Shepherd happily races to the end of the leash and then back to me, prancing, sticks in mouth, as the early June day delivers it's oppressive heat to us all, and the skies shift in their sunset, then shift and shift again.