Slow shutter needed.
Daffodil and tulip share
early morning light.
~ ~ ~ ~
There is enough for us all,
if we take less than we want.
Light ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #319
Slow shutter needed.
Daffodil and tulip share
early morning light.
~ ~ ~ ~
There is enough for us all,
if we take less than we want.
I considered posting my photo wordlessly, with the post’s title as a hint that I have something beyond a nice image in mind. Too subtle. Compulsively explicit, I wrote a haiku. Then I expanded the haiku to a tanka.
I hesitated. The tanka’s last 2 lines might be too preachy. Then I read the Gandhi quote in a great collection of images and quotes: Our Beautiful, Broken World (curated by Mitch Teemley).
Thanks, Mitch. The time for subtlety is long gone.
Carpe Diem #1832 Narcissus (Daffodils)
Mythornithology
When we saw himself,
Narcissus forgot to drink.
Eagle had more sense.
Click here to see more images and read interesting facts about flowers in the genus Narcissus (AKA daffodils).
Click here to see more images from the Weather Channel’s 2016 Photo Contest.
Widower’s Song #4: This Urn
It held her ashes,
waiting until daffodils
came for them in spring.
Then it held one last bouquet
of her favorite flowers.
The Pink Rebel is actually a Thanksgiving cactus (if U want to draw the distinction). It earned its nickname by blooming when it damn well pleases, with no special treatment from me. I keep the soil moist all year, with a little diluted fertilizer in the water. The plant gets as much light as my window will give it, with no enforced darkness or coolness. Experts say a Xmas or Thanksgiving cactus so treated is unlikely to bloom at all, let alone during the daffodil season. But unlikely things do sometimes happen. Don’t bet on when or where.
… were her favorite flowers, so cheery and dependable in early spring.
I scattered her ashes among daffodils.
Carpe Diem #1402 Daffodils (one-bun)
I took my favorite photo of my late wife Edith in 1981, long before she showed symptoms of the disease that would dominate our lives in the current century. Alzheimer’s. I cared for her in our own home as long as possible; I visited often during her final years in a nursing home. This post is about one aspect of the endgame that may be helpful to others in a similar situation.
In Edith’s childhood home city, the Ohio River emerges from the confluence of smaller rivers. Three streams flow together at the end of this post. Please bear with me.
“Are you ready to bring Edith home now?” The funeral director’s question at the end of the calling hours brought me a sense of relief. She could come home at last, in our own car. While she waited for reunion with her favorite flowers in the spring of 2015, I began what eventually became a trilogy of haiku.
Widower’s Song #1
No haiku can say
how strange this is: her journey
ended before mine.
Widower’s Song #2
Warm earth welcomed her,
ashes among daffodils
she planted and loved.
Widower’s Song #3
Ghosts do not haunt me.
Remembered joys can often
overcome regrets.
In response to Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge:
I scattered
her ashes
among daffodils.
Mellow Curmudgeon 