Rockport Flowers


A tip of the hat to the flowers of summer, as we face our first threat of frost. These were found in a storefront window box in Rockport, Massachusetts back in August.

Comments

  1. KSeptember 16, 2011 at 3:23 PM

    I spent a day in Rockport once back in the early 90's. Lovely place.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Autumn Leaves -- Too Quickly

Image
When I was younger, fall was my favorite season. It seemed, as I day-dreamed out the school windows, that the crimsons, golds, and fiery oranges were a painted canvas to be enjoyed for weeks on end. Now the leaves are a fleeting show of glorious colors one weekend only to be ripped off by a windstorm the next, leaving us to stare at a world of gray and white for the next seven months. Perhaps if I actually had a window to look out while working, I could contentedly watch the season ease into into its show throughout the weeks of September and October, until finally exploding into the grand finale -- and not feel so cheated when the leaves are so unceremoniously flung to the ground to make way for the coming snow. Oh, autumn, to quote Marvell: "...yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found..." So while I was at Green Lakes over the weekend, I took time to just soak in the colors, albeit with a five year old at my side peppering m
Read more

Break My Heart

Image
"I happy you my Mommy and Daddy." Teshale has often shared that he misses his house and his family in "'topia." He seemed to really like his new home until his English expressive language developed to the point he could talk about his feelings, and likes and dislikes. "I no like this house," he would say as we would return home after school. "I want MY house." "MY house" means his house in Ethiopia. "I no like this house!" he would say at bedtime. "I want MY house." For quite a while, he expressed his desire to go back to his family in Ethiopia. He seemed to like us ok, but let's face it; he knows he has a "real" family in Ethiopia -- "real" in the sense of the one he was born into. He remembers his siblings and his Gashe -- his uncle, and the woman he called 'Ama' -- mother -- quite clearly. And he misses them terribly. If someone plucked me up from my home in the northeas
Read more

The Last Time

...But at my back I always hear  Times winged chariot drawing near...                                                                              --Andrew Marvell Part I, Early 2016: An older gentleman walks three miles around our neighborhood every day -- rain, snow, sleet, or occasionally, shine. Stickman, we called him until I asked his name, dubbed for the large stick he carries swinging and twirling first in one hand and then the other, back and forth as he walks, to get an upper body workout along with his daily constitutional. I see him often from my office window, and I smile. He's become part of my life, my daily routine, a bright moment in generally an otherwise gray and stress filled day. I admire him for his perseverance. Three miles a day, every day. He tells me that he used to run, but his knees eventually gave out, so now he walks. He has aged noticeably in the eleven years we've lived in this house. He walks more slowly, swings the stick less st
Read more