Rosa xanthina var. spontanea Canary Bird

“Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet.”

Katharine Lee Bates

Proud Momma

“A mother’s love lasts forever.”

Happy Mother’s Day to all moms out there!

Spring

Spring

By Pablo Neruda

 

The bird has come

to bring light to birth.

From every trill of his,

water is born.

 

And between water and light which unwind the air,

now the spring is inaugurated,

now the seed is aware of its own growing;

the root takes shape in the corolla,

at last the eyelids of the pollen open.
All this accomplished by a simple bird

from his perch on a green branch

Birds of a Feather

“Birds of a feather will gather together.” 

Robert Burton

Starling

“Starlings are mostly a drab and ignored little bird until you really look at them. Then they are irridescent shimmers of sunlight with a sweet melodic voice. Only a few people know the truth about these beauties.”

Lu Schwartz

A Friend in Orange

“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.”
Jean Cocteau

The Sun will Rise

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

Victor Hugo

Darkness into Light

“Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.”
Leonora Carrington

Trees at Sunset 1

For me, trees have always been the best preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Hermann Hesse