It has been a while since I posted anything on my blog. August came and went so quickly, didn't it? Usually, it is so hot the whole month, I just hole up inside with air conditioning and try to survive, but this year was pleasantly cool here in the mountains. It is wonderful to open the windows and doors and sit out on the porch and see what the birds are up to. The rhododendrons bloomed out months ago, but their thick foliage has provided nests for many birds. Now that the robins have vacated their homes, other birds have seen fit to fight over sub-letting rights. The humming birds are so plentifiul at my feeder right now; the neighbors next door took their feeder down before going off on vacation, so I'm feeding their little squeakers, too. Hummers fight amongst themselves like little Japanese Kamakazi fighter pilots.
We did go camping for a few days in a very quiet campground, and I enjoyed getting down to the small creek there and trying to catch a trout. I failed to do so, but I enjoyed the peace of hearing nothing more than the water flowing by.
The little poem that follows expresses some of my feelings while I was at the creek:
At Whispering Pines
In this photo, I stand at the edge
of a small trout stream, casting line;
allowing the baited hook to drift.
The water murmurs by, unimpressed.
It only brings the fish man feeds it,
Left alone, it merely flows downstream.
Still, I look content, as water carries
my small burdens along, cleanses
the wastes of my useless worries,
clears my ears to hear it's gentle sound.
To flow downstream is it's purpose;
there is healing in a mountain stream.
LAST DAYS OF MY SUMMER GARDEN 2017 - (Crape Myrtle ) In many ways, this has been the hardest year of my life. Like my garden, the year is not finished yet.Here above the frost line, we are, ...