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Winter starts in bursts of cold and drives us into our thicker clothes.
The sunny days warm our faces first,
then our backs as we ride the trails to their ends
and ride them home again.
Fireplace fire with flickering light comforts as night winds rise.
The sunny days warm our faces first,
then our backs as we ride the trails to their ends
and ride them home again.
Fireplace fire with flickering light comforts as night winds rise.
Art Show in March- the Man In the Moon
When I started out to build the pieces for this show, I began making various images of the man in the moon that most all would recognize. The challenge was, simply put, to create an image in a more or less three dimensional manner using recycled, repurposed and reused materials. As I worked along from piece to piece things changed, though I did not consciously seek the changing. What began as a straightforward presentation of images became expressions of emotion and ideas or concepts, and gained energy one to the next.
After months of work, and nearing an end, it occurs to me that we of the earth have for all time up to now looked at the
Ascension of the Hunter's Moon
Fall carries beneath its bold colors and cool sunny days a whisper of the struggle for life that comes with winter. The Hunter's Moon rises from the edge of the prairie,its red a nighttime reflection of the red of blood spilled out during the day over prairie earth and scattered among the forest leaves in the battle to survive. The hunter posted in good cover and perfectly still waits for the fullness of his time, and watches curiously as two long-legged spiders before him each stalk the other in a delicate dance touching lightly,having nothing much to eat. As the afternoon sun gives way to the dim evening light and long shadows, a cooler bre
Autumn
A wet October is unusual. But,that is what we have. The sassafras, persimmon and oak trees are making good color along the lanes even so. The countryside displays a subtle dark beauty unlike the dripping wet city whose shadows and lights reflect in puddles and shine off slick chrome. In the country, out and away from the lights of town, fields of soybeans and corn lay quietly like brown corduroy waiting to dry down and be picked, their leaves drooped and falling to earth. I still hear a few crickets far apart from their fellows. Only a short time back, they sounded a rhythm, wave after wave washing through the woods on any summer night. But
End Of Summer
August always brings with it the end of summer. The yard grass is tough and dusty. A few leaves begin drifting down from their branches. Here in the Midwest, in the Mississippi River valley the humidity matches the heat. The cicadas and other bugs love it.
Every now and then some rose pushes out a new bloom. How delicate and fragile it seems and ridiculously bold to unfold its tender petals into so harsh a world.
© 2010 - 2024 knivesandroses
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Lovely poem! And so true, especially this week for me as we deal with two blizzards back to back.
“All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken” - Thomas Wolfe
“All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken” - Thomas Wolfe