June 30, 2013
There are, it seems, two muses: the Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate visions and desires, and the Muse of Realization, who returns again and again to say "It is yet more difficult than you thought." This is the muse of form. It may be then that form serves us best when it works as an obstruction, to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings. ― Wendell Berry
June 26, 2013
Danse Macabre has been so lovely in publishing my fairy tale themed poetry. Here is Mousewine, one of my favorites. Enjoy! http://dmdujour.wordpress.com/2013/06/25/susan-moorhead-mousewine/
June 23, 2013
The problem with epiphanies is that they can't sustain you forever. They are as fragile and ephemeral as the words in Charlotte's webs. quote from Josh Hanagarne, The World's Strongest Librarian
June 16, 2013
A man's children and his garden both reflect the amount of weeding done during the growing season. -- Anonymous. To my husband who has such great love for his children, who has helped them all grow into fine, smart, compassionate, funny, aware people. Love you. And also to my Father, George, missed and loved. Happy Father's Day.
June 14, 2013
June 13, 2013
June 12, 2013
A recent discovery of a great market, Rancho Grande, near my job packed with fruits and vegetables at extremely reasonable prices, as well as some unique market finds there and a great meat/cold cuts section as well. Hello Cobb Salad all summer. Add to that two farmer's markets in full swing on Fridays and Saturdays, I am summer happy with healthy choices. Now I just need to find a recipe on how to cook these gorgeous cranberry beans.
June 9, 2013
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. - Emily Dickinson
June 2, 2013
but had a swell one anyway. Not that he even wanted a pony, the newly minted 14 year old. Although I might. Hard to believe my youngest is now 14. Grateful the rain held off, a good time held by all, and as thunder rolls overheads, time to turn this puppy off.