Christmas Eve 2010

Christmas Eve Haiku

stars radiant
ink black sky moon not risen
christ child's birthday nears

Christmas Food

I think we can all remember the smells of Christmas. Just the phrase "smells of Christmas" touches senses deep in the brain and disturbs olfactory echoes down there from years of Christmas memories.

The sharp pine odor of the Christmas tree in my childhood in England is replaced in later years by the scent of wild cedar cut from the hillsides around Birney. Of course I can't forget the family quarrels over which tree to cut. We almost killed each other over the tree especially when Sarah was with us; she always wanted us to cut the tallest tree we could find. She wasn't satisfied unless it touched the ceiling.

And poignant memories come back to me of the year that Peter was recuperating from his heart surgery a month prior to Christmas. I cut the tree alone that year and somehow managed to cut a cedar that was about 12 feet high, drag it up the draw, and using scientific thought and the principles of physics put it on top of our Mercury Colony Park station wagon and drove it home! I still can't believe that I managed it, so I attribute a lot to the prayer I say silently before cutting it down.

The smells of cooking? Oh my. During the war the center of feasting was Baking Hen raised on my aunt's smallholding, which in later years was replaced by Turkey. The air in the kitchen redolent with cooking bird was always interspersed with the fresh sage and onion stuffing sizzling along with it. The kitchen, normally cold from lack of central heating, positively glowed with the warmth from the oven, and steam condensed and ran down the cold kitchen window, my mother's face rosy red as she bore the platter to the table. The hen was always served traditionally, surrounded by roasted pork sausages.

There is no adequate way to describe the smell of Christmas pudding - referred to over here as "plum pudding". Every family has its own recipe and each one is a little different. Some smell of the suet, others of the rum, some of the ale with which they are moistened before steaming. But in the end they all look the same as they are carried to the table alight with the dancing blue flames of an ounce or two of brandy saved especially for the festivities.

No Christmas in England would be complete without Mince pies. The afternoon of Christmas Eve found the house filled with the spicy aroma of baking mince pies. These small munchables of buttery pastry each hide a generous amount of mincemeat, which in England contains no meat, just candied fruits, currants and apples laced with rum or brandy, and macerated into one glorious flavorful mouthful. I was so happy when I was old enough to go Carol Singing with the church choir. The Choir was always roundly toasted wherever they sang, and plied with mince pies and small glasses of sherry wine. Younger members got "a spot of the good stuff" too, and we arrived home around midnight bellies full and fell into bed a bit "squiffy" from a few dollops of wine.

May you all have a truly Happy Christmas and the smells of Christmas food permeate your dreams.

The Peace Tree

daily haiku

christ buddha allah
we all celebrate their birth
mystery and peace

Christmas traditions continue; without Peter it is lonely and sad. However doing the familiar is comforting, even so, and I work through more grief as I continue our traditions. I put up the peace tree yesterday. This evolved over the years and was something that he loved. I wrote an essay about it that was published by the Billings Gazette in 2008:

The Peace Tree

by Christine Valentine

Our tradition started so many years ago that I can’t remember exactly when it began. When my first husband was alive I bought a flock of 24 Chinese paper doves. I perched them on pine boughs placed around pictures, windows, doorways etc and they looked very pretty.

After I remarried I bought a large white dove made of feathers and started decorating a small tree in my kitchen with little white lights, all the paper doves, and the large dove crowning the top of the tree. The year that Americans were taken hostage in Iran I wrote a prayer for their safety and placed it in the beak of the large dove. After Christmas, on Twelfth Night I burned the prayer with some cedar in a small personal ceremony.

Each year this tradition continues. My family looks forward to the peace tree, and my friends ask, “Will you put up your peace tree this year?” Prayers for those involved in wars continue, not just for the soldiers but the people of those countries who are hurt, dying and dead: the Gulf War, Bosnia Herzegovina, Afghanistan, Iraq, Congo, Ethiopia, Darfur, Haiti, Israel and the middle east, and Kenya, among others.

The paper doves are falling apart now. I fix them with tape and hang them anyway, because always there is a war somewhere, always I need to write a prayer and burn it on Twelfth Night. I look forward to a Christmas when I do not have to write a prayer because there is no war.

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daily haiku

open the curtains
wonderland before my eyes
trees frosted with hoar

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purple finches fight

seed enough for all of them

jousting keeps them warm

We've had 4-5" of snow and it is beginning to snow again. Another 1-2 inches forecast. Sub-zero temps are coming on Tuesday so it looks like a white Thanksgiving. Haven't had one of those in a while. The last few years it's been sunny and in the 30's as we drove in to our friends in Sheridan for the Thanksgiving feast.

I don't mind snow, but the sunless grey days get to me. Since I can't do anything about them, I stay busy with projects and act like 'pioneer woman' getting wheelbarrows full of logs and stacking them near the door so I can reach them easily at night. Bought a new tarp to cover them so they'll stay dry.

The purple finches are flocking to the bird feeder - why are they called purple when anyone can see they are red? This keeps Snowy entertained as they fly around energetically, chatter and fight. I took her out to help me move logs, but she didn't think much of it, and "chicken cat" as I call her, wanted to go back in after only one load! Two pilgrims finding their way across a lonely winter landscape.

Weathering The Storm

Daily Haiku

paint weathers and flakes

a sign of impermanence

we must expect change

Walking around the outside of the house a while ago I was looking at the state of the fence. While not in the best of shape to begin with, it was hit hard by the big storm we had in July. Steph painted it in 2009 - but you would never know it right now. The hail plus summer sun have removed most of the paint; boards are broken and need to be replaced. Next spring there's a passel of work for Miss Fixit.

Looking at my life four months out from losing Peter, I think I am weathering better than the fence. My pain has lessened, I feel cheerful and experience joy on most days. I still experience moments when memories of Peter rise to stab my heart, but it is not quite so intense and doesn't last as long. I thank God for all the friends and our children who have helped to support me and who have cared for me knowingly or unknowingly. It will be a long winter but an interesting one, I think.

Striations

Daily Haiku

so many colors

the earth is being painted

by a loving god

Vision And Poetry

Sometimes the sky is a drama queen. Tonight she looked like something out of an art deco painting. One simply cannot capture it in a photo - for instance in this one the sky was far more turquoise. Besides which there is an interesting process in the mind. It sees the landscape and combines it with memory to enhance what we see; a part of the visual process, otherwise why would I have thought of the painting? Is this how we write poetry, consciously or subconsciously? Visual pictures or word pictures combine with our life images to produce something new?

Daily Haiku

day into evening

transitions before our eyes

heaven in a glance

Visual Poetry on a Windy Day

Today was a gusty windy day here - it felt wintry. The shadowed sun kept playing hide and seek with grey clouds and sparse rain was hurled by the wind, each drop stinging my skin. I felt like playing with it, so I did. I remembered my little Flip camcorder sitting idly on the desk here by the window, and decide to make wind images. I hope you enjoy the little video.

Daily Haiku

choke cherry leaves rattle
red flags in the autumn breeze
point the way to winter

As Winter Approaches

Daily Haiku

to embrace winter
put the house in order
the mental house too

We are expecting the first storms of the season in the coming week. I have grown to love these sunny days so much - I spend as much time as possible outdoors. A solitary winter has no appeal for me, but as with everything I have done so far, I will take it one day at a time and not project.

Robin Politics

Daily Haiku

on a cloudy day

the smell of democracy

juniper berries

The photo above is Robin poop. The last few years we have been attacked by flocks of American Robins - about fifteen of them in a flock. They come to feed on the cedar berries around the house, and this year there are plenty; perch on the trees and defecate all over the patio and rock path into the house.

Robin poop gets into the cleats of shoes and boots and tracks indoors. Messy. So once a day I sweep robin poop from the walkway, the only joy from doing this comes from the wonderful juniper smell when they are moved around - very fresh and very aromatic.

It struck me today that the USA is kinda like that. We descend on a country, with good reason or without, partake of it's substances and then poop all over everything that's left and track it around in our footprints. This is called giving them democracy. I suppose it must smell fresh and aromatic to the inhabitants but at what cost?

Risks

In late August I cleaned all the patios. Even though it was almost time for frost, I decided to plant some petunias in containers to provide a spot of color outside. Despite first frost on 9/7 they have survived, grown, and are providing me with a little happiness whenever I see them. The purple ones have little "eyes" in the middle and it is almost like they smile back to me.

Sometimes despite the odds against us we have to take risks small or large; do the thing that doesn't seem sensible to others, just be our own self and do what makes us happy.

daily haiku

beauty of purple

greets my eyes anew each day

heart sings a new song

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colors of autumn

creeping into the landscape

rouge on the cheeks of fall

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I talk to chickens

they cluck and look through the wire

my language is strange

I suppose we can say when we rake leaves that we are removing the excess so that new sprouts can grow next year without being smothered by the old foliage. So it is in life. We often have to let go of the old connections to let the new ones grow. Letting go does not mean denying the past but embracing it and beginning to grow towards the future.

Letting go is one of the most fearful things we do in life, at least it is for me. I don't want my life to change; I want to hold it, love it, wrap it in my arms and not let go. But change it will and changed it has. I don't hold the reigns of control, I've known this for years but every day now I am faced with the decision to move in a new direction. Some days it is a lot easier than others, sometimes I go backwards more than forwards, but I have no control over the new sprouting process.

Daily Haiku

to find tomorrow

we have to let today die

moon sets sun rises

In my youth (...ahem) I sewed a lot, mastered Vogue Designer patterns and used all kinds of fabrics. Daughter Sarah is now following in my footsteps and I am so happy that she is having fun making her own clothes.

In the fall garden there are spider webs that use the zig-zag stitch to sew across the circular filaments of their web - it is very distinctive with the yellow garden spider. The purpose of the zig zag is unclear; here is a comment from wikipedia:

The web of the yellow garden spider is distinctive: a circular shape up to 2 feet in diameter, with a dense zigzag of silk, known as a stabilimentum, in the center. The purpose of the stabilimentum is disputed. It is possible that it acts as camouflage for the spider lurking in the web's center, but it may also attract insect prey, or even warn birds of the presence of the otherwise difficult-to-see web. Only those spiders that are active during the day construct stabilimenta in their webs.

Daily Haiku

against clear blue sky
afternoon shadows lengthen
mornings are cold now

Yesterday at 34 degrees

Daily Haiku

thirty four degrees

cat still in her summer coat

dreams of winter frost

Playgrounds for Bees

One of the hardiest plants in my garden is mint. It has a shallow root system and tolerates heat and drought very well. It stays green all summer giving the impression that I garden a lot when in actual fact I do minmal work! Right now it is beginning to blossom; the bees love it and between the Mint & Russian Sage I have a lot of visitors in the form of large bumblebees.
I encourage any bee activity in the garden. It is sad that our bee population has been so badly devastated over the previous years, so it is important to plant what they love.

Daily Haiku

bumblebee visits

gathers sweet nectar from mint

honey from the heart

Poker Jim Burn

You may remember reading on my August 21st blog, that I worked at a Fire Tower on Poker Jim Butte in 1973. Today the US Forest Service started a controlled burn up around that area, so the air is full of smoke. It is still fairly green, so the fire is not too hot and the smoke not too intense. As a result when I sat outdoors today, I actually enjoyed the aroma.

However, Snowy could not have cared less; she was in her usual guard-cat position by the back door!!

Daily Haiku

Nero fiddled while

Rome burned, they say; my cat naps

while the forest flames

Falling Leaves

Daily Haiku

dry summer leaves fall

yellow, lime, tan, and ochre

autumn rising soon

A Late Summer Obituary For Myself

A Late Summer Obituary For Myself

First published in HARD GROUND III - writing the rockies.

Pronghorn Press 2002



I sit outside.

The joy of cool morning air breaks the subjugation of last week’s heat wave.

Everything is still.

No birds sing.

The ‘swuff’ of windsock tendrils reveals a light breeze moving across the hill, and a solitary note from the wind chime hanging in the cottonwood heralds the stirring wind.

Lavender colored spikes of Russian Sage begin to sway, as they reach skyward from the dry powdery soil. Petunias have lost their color, grow stunted and acid yellow from too much watering. The Cedar trees drop early brown needles in my hair as I water the plants
in the flowerbed beneath them, then fall out as I sit at the computer keyboard later in the day.

The cat performs her early morning ritual, sniffs at all the required stations for nocturnal intruders, then marks them carefully again with her chin to make sure they know this is her territory.

The best survivors of the summer drought are the old bleached cow skulls that lean against the shed. Dragged in one winter from the hills, they’ve reached the status quo of death and idly watch the change of seasons without blinking a vapid eye.

It would be nice to think that one day, someone could value my skull enough to lean it against the shed so I can watch all the things I love in the garden. Maybe they’d talk to me like Hamlet did to Horatio, “Alas, poor Chris………… I knew her, Horatio”

Then I could watch some other poor frustrated gardener deal with wilting flowers, parched soil, unrelenting sun, and lack of rain. Maybe their cat will use me as her marker against the invading foe.

A gardener’s small reward for toil expended in this life.

Golden Light

Today was a spectacular day weather-wise, the temperature this morning when I got up was 41°. Later it was in the 70's and I finished my project cleaning up the storm debris. In all I removed 11 wheelbarrow loads of dirt from the three rock patios. Amazing.

I had lunch on the deck and sat outside again tonight; watched as the sun went down. I am so lucky to live in this place despite the wild weather and hardships encountered along the way. The evening light now touches everything with gold, the opposite of the golden light of winter that occurs in December at dawn.

Daily Haiku

golden evening light

touches summer pine needles

cones are falling now

Mending a Heart and a Windchime

When I was cleaning around the patio I found a windchime that I used to enjoy until it broke. With more time to look at it today, I discovered a way to mend it. Now it hangs from the deck and sings out once again.

Daily Haiku

In the northwest wind

Chimes sing out their melody

Soothe my lonely heart

Perfect Camouflage

Daily Haiku

this morning I saw

a wondrous toad so small and still

hiding from the world

Memories of a Fire Lookout

Daily Haiku

the smell of hot grass

hoppers shelter beneath rocks

all waiting for rain

We hit the century mark today. Only about the second time this summer. It seems only yesterday we had summers that were hot, dry and 110' each day for 6-8 weeks. Thank God for this pleasant summer that has been relatively cool and wet. Even so, up on the hill here, with no shade trees the sun pelts down on the house and I have to draw the blinds after 11.00 am, and use the a/c units in the afternoon.

Tomorrow we have a cold front coming in that will probably set off some crackerjack thunderstorms, and I get nervous after the bad one we had earlier this summer. Birney stayed green for most of this month, but mounting temps in the last week are rapidly drying the grass and turning everything to it's fall shade of tan.

When I was widowed the first time, I spent the end of the summer manning the fire tower at Poker Jim Butte, on Custer National Forest 10 miles from Birney. It was a wonderful experience. Here is an essay I wrote about the memory of that time:

Morning on Poker Jim Butte

It was 1973. I was newly widowed, and the summer was long and hot. In August I found temporary work as the Lookout on a fire tower in southeastern Montana, Poker Jim Butte.

I always enjoyed solitude and since my husband died, was getting used that state again.

The mornings were fairly uneventful, the cool air suppressing most smoldering wood, until the hotter afternoon came along with it’s thunderstorms and lightning strikes that ignited old dead wood and grass, and fanning yesterday’s embers. The evenings were pretty exciting. Storms rolling in from the Big Horns meant that I had to stand on an insulated stool and mark the lightning strikes on the map, ready to watch those places next day for “smokes” to call in to HQ.

It took me a long time to learn how to judge distances. I made the usual mistake calling in to HQ the smoke from a local sawmill; I am sure they got a chuckle about “the greenhorn up on Poker Jim”. Then a local rancher stopped by and showed me some key points along with their distances and I was up and running, able to give coordinates of a “smoke” and estimate the distance from the tower with the best of them.

In the mornings I did chores. Kept the little room clean, cooked food for later in the day, and went to the local spring for drinking water. My dogs loved the place; they chased rabbits in the morning and lay in the shade of the tower in the afternoon. But the best time was early morning. Up with the sun, I made coffee and took it out to one of the picnic tables on the end of the Butte. I could see all the way to the Big Horns most days and the view of the surrounding countryside was fantastic. It was so cool and quiet. Nothing but the swish of a light breeze through the pines and the gentle lowing of a cow here and there. I felt so in touch with the Creator, did a lot of praying for myself and others. I felt my husband’s presence in many ways but mostly a warm sense of happiness as though he was still there in this place we had often walked in together. It was a healing time.

Halfway through September the thunderstorms gave way to rain for several days, and the work came to an end as the fire danger subsided for the fall. I packed my belongings and left for home. But I will always remember the peace and healing that came from that month working on the Fire Tower, the feeling is always close to me, all I have to do is close my eyes.

Sunflowers

The neighbor across from my office in downtown Birney plants sunflowers each year. He just takes handfuls of birdseed and plants them along his fences. Right now his garden is alive with gold and a joy to see. I asked if I could photograph them. I had to be careful as their centers were filled with bumblebees sometimes three to a flower; they were certainly a bunch of happy bees. Of all the pictures I took, this one appealed to me the most - if you look carefully the center is a whirligig - just like op-art. A few years ago I wrote about a volunteer sunflower.

If Life Gives You Sunflowers……
During the winter we faithfully put out seed for the birds. Our kindness has another side however; come spring the flowerbeds are decorated with strange plants! Sunflowers seem the most prolific and crop up all over the place. One summer a huge plant appeared which we have never been able to identify. I watered it along with the other plants and it grew to around four and a half feet high by the end of the summer. I carefully removed the seed heads in case it might be a noxious weed. All my friends commented as to its spectacular appearance.

This spring when I was working on two planters, I found a wonderful reward. Two small rose bushes. I transplanted them into pots and gave one to friends in Wyoming, a part of our world given to theirs. The little garden helpers I believe responsible for these unsolicited gifts are probably the many chipmunks that moved in about five years ago. They store away seeds for the winter months then unknowingly give me surprises in the flowerbeds in the spring.

I could dig out these seedlings and throw them away, but instead I treasure them, give them a little nurture and enjoy the results. Most years I have at least one six-foot sunflower that feeds the birds in the fall. After all if life gives you sunflowers, celebrate sunshine.

A New Lily

Daily Haiku

one day at a time

I can handle anything

If I stay sober

One of the daylilies that I planted last fall, blossomed today and is a joy to behold. The bloom brought to mind the logo of AA - a triangle inside a circle:

The AA Symbol- What it Means
The new [July 1955] symbol for A.A.,is a circle enclosing a triangle. The circle stands for the whole world of A.A., and the triangle stands for A.A.'s Three Legacies of Recovery, Unity, and Service. Within our wonderful new world, we have found freedom from our fatal obsession.

Two Days Without Water

Haiku Series

When there’s no water
Do not flush when you go pee
Drink instant coffee

Carrying buckets
Will develop your muscles
Does anyone care?

Don’t wash the lettuce
Take a chance with e-coli
Use lots of dressing

Use deodorant
Take care when brushing your teeth
Not to rinse too much

When the driller comes
Don’t give him your tale of woe
Let him do his work

Golden Glories

The wet summer brought out the best in my yarrows this year. They are up to my shoulder in height - 4 -5 feet high, and there were volunteers all over the yard. Their golden blooms appeared with no cultivation and brighten the garden, which was sadly neglected this summer since I was pre-occupied with other things.

Daily Haiku

when the sky is grey

yarrows in all their splendor

bring sunshine to me

Daily Haiku

bittersweet purple

chokecherries ripen for fall

heart may heal with them

A Really Fat Bat

Batty - Part One

Oh the joys of country living. I have been noticing some excrement in a corner of the dining room - thought that the wind had blown mouse dirt in during the storms that we've have been having regularly of late. Then yesterday I thought I saw some insulation hanging down and made a note to plug up the hole where it was.

Well it was not insulation! I looked more closely this afternoon and it was a bat! The fattest bat I have ever seen - is it pregnant? Yuk! The last time we had one in the house we asked our neighbor to deal with it. It was flying around the living room, there was no way out and nothing to catch it with, so it met an untimely end. I called the neighbor - this time determined to deal with it myself and he suggested plugging the hole with steel wool. I am now armed with a large bag of the stuff and ready to roll once it leaves for it's evening feeding outdoors.

Haiku #1

a really fat bat

made a social call on me

he was not welcome

7.00 pm- Update: Using the flashlight I was able to see at least 2 bats up there - a colony? I am waiting for them to go out for dinner.

Batty - Part two

They finally left for their evening feeding frenzy at 9.00pm and out came the old witch with her broomstick (literally). I used the telescoping handle of a microfiber duster, stuck the pads of steel wool on the end and rammed them up into the crevice - it was very large and took the whole package. I feel sorry for them - if they didn't look so weird I think I could love them, "just not in the house, boys". My feminist side scored some points today.

Haiku #2

living by myself

I often crave company

but not that of bat

I usually write about nature but today will be different - I just want to celebrate good friends that care enough to come and visit. Even Snowy enjoyed her day! Hill House hasn't had a visit from youngsters in a long time and they were so cute and fun to have here.

Daily Haiku

there is nothing like

the sound of children's laughter

to gladden the heart

Septic Butterflies

With temperatures in the 90's every day we were well underway to aquiring the prairie browns and tans of grass color that signifies high summer and early fall. But a storm a few days ago dropped another 1/2 inch of rain conserving the green that has been such a pleasure this year, both to our eyes and to those who are putting up hay. In the photo the taller long weeds and grasses in the middle and left of the picture, are those that are fed by the drainage field from the septic tank. They remind me of one of the first poems that I wrote:

Saturday Moments

Blue skies
puffy white clouds
sunlight;
shadows created
by clouds across the sun.

I sit outdoors,
my oily body producing rivulets of sweat
which trickle down my throat,
collect in a stream,
and flow into the fold between my breasts.

Cool breezes flow through the pine trees
the sound reminding me of surf
rolling up to touch my feet,
and spending laughing days
running along the beach.

A shadow touches my eyelids.
A vulture caught in the breeze

passes overhead.
One wing dips, and momentarily
he changes course;
looks down at me.

Dead flesh he thinks?
I smile.
Not today
I call,
and he flies on.

White butterfies
flutter through the lush weeds
growing on the drainage field.
I chuckle, happy to consider
that my waste
creates a playground for butterflies.

A multitude of swallows circle angrily,
disturbed by some predator?
A moment later they are gone
calm's restored, and I hear water
rushing over rocks below the hill.

Blue skies
Puffy white clouds
Sunlight;
Shadows created
by clouds across the sun.

The Nest

This morning at my office I noticed a wrens nest that must have been blown out of the tree by the big storm. What a beautiful work of art. Their little beaks carefully wove grasses and twigs; lined it with soft hair - maybe sweepings from the house of the elderly lady who lives next door. It is strong enough to hold the sacred eggs and a few little pink and gray bodies with large beaks along with mum or dad.

Like the wrens, I have lost my nest. Not the physical surroundings but the spiritual entity that was lined with the soft hairs of love.

Daily Haiku

not a day goes by

without my remembering

all those years of you

After the storm

Daily Haiku

orange lily flames

reminder that life goes on

that storms always pass

The Bad Storm

It came marching up the river, and down Hanging Woman Creek simultaneously, and seemed to collide over our house. I could tell by the way it moved so fast that there were high winds with it. The rain started, ordinary at first and then torrential with a high wind. Then with pops and bangs the hail started; the noise mounted until it was almost deafening. In amongst this was lightning and thunder, but the thunder was almost drowned out by the noise of the ice golf balls being thrown at the house and windows. I prayed very hard that the huge picture window on the porch would be spared - it was specially shipped to us from Denver in 1967.

I went into the kitchen and discovered rain being blown in through a broken window and made a makeshift stop with a copy of the New York Times. There were shards of glass, some the size of a large pinhead all over the floor and dining room table. The glass is the old kind (at least 1932) that you can see wavy lines in. It is a shame to lose any of it. Once the storm calmed I made a makeshift block with some cardboard. The storm window that we leave on the middle

window was smashed and probably did a good job in protecting the actual house window.

I slept well last night being grateful that more damage did not occur.

Daily Haiku

hailstones hurled by wind

screamed like banshees at windows

my heart was stronger

Fall Thoughts

Even though it is barely the end of July, there seems to be signs of an early fall in the air. The swallows are flocking, the morning temperatures have fallen to 49' and 52' at night in the last 10 days. The leaves on the cottonwoods are beginning to rattle, and the chokecherries are beginning to ripen. But the cricket that sings when we move towards fall is not yet in evidence.

Daily Haiku

morning silently

waits for song of the cricket

heralding the fall

Star Gazing

A special gift of sympathy was given to me this week . A bouquet of flowers. I used the safety belt in my car in order to transport it down the gravel road without bruising the blossoms. In the bouquet was a Stargazer Lily; oh how I love them. Large, vivacious, and aromatic it sends it's fragrance out into the room and captures my attention every time I enter. It keeps me company by it's sheer perfume.

Many of us gaze at a star-filled sky. I would guess that poets indulge in the past-time more than others. A walk under a deep blue sky filled with stars at the end of summer or early fall is

like seeing a miracle, and if we are especially lucky, we can witness meteor showers. Out here in Big Sky country it is rare that we cannot see the stars, one of the many reasons I love it here.

Daily Haiku

in our star-filled world

we float towards a heaven

not of our making

**NOTE

Stargazer lilies originated in the late 1900s, making them a new addition to the more than 3,000-year-old lily family. Depending on their context and color, stargazer lilies can mean purity, sympathy, prosperity or hope. Though traditional stargazer lilies' petals have red and pink bursts of color outlined in white, stargazer lilies can also be solid white. Read more: What is the Meaning of Stargazer Lilies? eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/facts_5792067_meaning-stargazer-lilies_.html#ixzz0u5pT2uI9

Relining the Nest

With the warmer weather Snowy is shedding in hand-fulls. I brush her daily and always take out at least three brush-fulls. She leaves clumps of hair thoughout the house. Since Peter left she has been waiting for him to come home. I think she has finally adjusted; the other night she sat in his armchair stared at the upholstered back and then batted it with her paw as though she was angry wth him. I know how she feels.

Daily Haiku

they will line their nest
with a swathe of white cat fur
for a second hatch

Coronation Gold

With abundant moisture this spring and early summer the Yarrows are very majestic. Suited to our arid climate, they grow and bloom each year despite the whims of mother nature. Right now they are between 4-5 feet tall. The type that I planted around the house is called "Coronation Gold".

I am trying to reprogram my day and find things to do that I enjoy by myself and have no memories attached. At lunch I turned on the TV and went to Headline News; there I was lucky enough to see, live, the Queen of England address the United Nations. She is a remarkable woman and I admire her; people do not realize how hard she works. (I just wish she'd lose those hats!) A quote from her speech,

"the UN has moved from being a high-minded aspiration to being a real force for common good. But in tomorrow’s world, we must all work together as hard as ever if we are truly to be a United Nations”.

I remember her coronation in all it's splendor. It was one of my first experiences with television. Aerial on the roof, of course, we all sat in a darkened room and watched the Queen in her coach riding to Westminister Abbey in flickering black and white images. A far cry from the high definition color that I watch today. Coronation Gold.... a fitting flower for a Queen.

Myosotis Palustris

After a loved one dies we often look around for little signs of a spiritual presence whether it is real or fanciful. When my first husband died I found many signs, with Peter none until this morning. I have collected Portmeirion Botanic Garden for many years and we decided to use it every day and enjoy it instead of setting it all aside for guests and special occasions.

This morning I dropped a breakfast mug. The words I uttered are unprintable. I was about to throw it in the garbage when I decided to look to see which flower was illustrated on it. Then I got a surprise - Myosotis Pallustris - Forget-Me-Not. How appropriate for the day in which I went to the crematorium to say goodbye. I will never forget 36 yrs of marriage to a loving, kind, father and husband.

Two of my close Cheyenne friends were with me Charles and Donna Bearcomesout. I read the poem LOVE (July 3rd) and said a few words about Peter loving all his family, particularly loving his children enough to bring them up as a single parent - facing many hardships. Then Charlie talked about knowing Peter for many years and said a blessing for him in the Cheyenne language.

No Peter; anyone who has loved us as much as you will never be forgotten. Myosotis Pallustris.

Daily Haiku

tiny flower of blue

five-petaled face peeps at you

sincerity shines through

July Fourth 2010

LOVE

God is the ultimate expression
Of love in this world.
If we love ourselves,
Then God’s love is expressed
Within us, and through our actions.
If we love others, then we show
The face of God to them.
Only by love
Can our wildest dreams
Be realized.

© C. Valentine 5/2007