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It’s Bridge Season! April 25, 2011

Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature.
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Things are starting to get colorful on our local landmark, the Bridge of Flowers in sweet little Shelburne Falls.

Here are some blue-ass whatchacallits under some other thing:

That’s fancy horticultural lingo for “I don’t know Jack.”

But I do  know that the crocuses and daffodils are out, and it’s looking good:

I know, you folks are going to strangle me if I don’t figure out some new way to photograph this place.

I’m working on it.

More From The Bridge. April 19, 2009

Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature.
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Well, actually, two more, ’cause it’s getting late, and I have to rise and shine at an obscene hour.

Crocuses on The Bridge:

crocuses

…and a daffodil:

daffodil

That is all.

While You Lay Sleeping. June 9, 2008

Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death.
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The steaming cauldron of the day dissolves into shadows and mists, twirling each other around in the night, celebrating the vanquishing of the Sun.

I take a walk, feeling my shirt dry, loosen, let go of my back, move again across my shoulder blades; I unbutton it.

Past the darkened storefronts, the barely-open restaurants, the South End Window of the West End Pub,

…to where The Bridge breathes a sigh of relief, alone or nearly so,

the prying, poking tourists, gone,

the pissing Shih Tzu whose Mommy somehow believed the sign couldn’t possibly apply to Her Baby, gone,

the trampling feet and clutching fists of exuberant children, gone, and with them a few buds The Bridge hadn’t been quite done with yet.

Now it’s The Bridge’s turn to relax, the wisteria’s time to unwind,

the flowers’ turn to sway in the breeze, free from the fear of being plucked by quick little hands,

to stretch their slender toes outward through the lovingly tended soil, to at last drink deeply as Tish waters them, soaking them ’till they sing, almost audibly if you know how to listen.

Listen:

Do you hear it?

It’s a song of contentment, of satisfaction with a transient existence, of knowledge that they’re an important part of a cycle which will go on when they’re gone,

but only because they were here,

they did their part,

and passed it on.

Pass it on, My Friends. Every day, to those who watch you, learn from you, depend on you to show them how it’s done. It’s meant to be theirs; our part is just to pass it on as best we can, without despoiling it,

the Earth, or the Sky, or the Love, or the Hope.

Pass it on.

Namaste.