Breakfast Skies and a Morning Walk

Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.

Kahlil Gibran

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flood

No individual raindrop ever considers itself responsible for the flood   Anon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wet dawn inks

Winter Trees

The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing --
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.

Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history --

Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietàs?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.


Sylvia Plath



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the Mountain in the Mist

 

 

Blue Epynt

 

 

Yonder

 

 

Winter in the Wye Valley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wye Valley, December