Bruce Barone ~ Journal
May 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Tulip in the Rain.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Tulip Near Our Front Door.
Friday, May 13, 2011
At The Lower Mill Pond.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Mittineague Park.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Mittineague Park.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Do What You Love; Love What You Do.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Gardening.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Daryl Graduates.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Mittineague Park.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Photos for Prints.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Mending Wall. Robert Frost writes:
Something there is that
doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say '.Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."
Monday, May 2, 2011
Mittineague Park. This morning at the park down the street from where we live.
Sunday, May 1 2011
May Day. A beautiful day in which I woke to find the female Cardinal outside our living room window sitting in her nest upon the Japanese Andromeda.
Mary Oliver writes about a male cardinal in her poem, "Red Bird::
and I was the song in the summer leaves, but this was
only the first trick
I had hold of among my other mythologies,
for I also knew obedience: bring sticks to the nest,
food to the young, kisses to my bride.
But don’t stop there, stay with me: listen.
then I was the music of your heart, that you wanted and needed,
and thus wilderness bloomed that, with all its
followers: gardeners, lovers, people who weep
for the death of rivers.
music of the body. Do you understand? for truly the body needs
a song, a spirit, a soul. And no less, to make this work,
the soul has need of a body,
and I am both of the earth and I am of the inexplicable
beauty of heaven
where I fly so easily, so welcome, yes,
and this is why I have been sent, to teach this to your heart.”