Why do I associate Ruby with butterflies? I’m not real sure, to be honest.
It may be that at the time she was born my beautiful niece Courtney was terribly ill. Butterflies and babies are hope. Oh, and she was a marvelous baby, with a sweet, spunky demeanor. A face you immediately fall in love with.
I tend, as you do, to find beauty in things I love. Photographing these things is only natural; capturing the simple things in our lives, where we go and where we’ve been.
(Ruby loving on a friend.)
It may be that butterflies are a lesson of letting go, their beauty is only with us for a short time. As was our beautiful Courtney. Her beauty, deep within, touching every facet of our lives. She became our glue. She kept our hearts close, our spirits yearning for one more minute.
Courtney, with butterfly’s wings will fly gracefully and beautifully; a gentle dance on the breeze, from flower to flower.
“I like living, I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” ~ Agatha Christie
Winter. Just another of life’s adventures; fraught with roller coaster temperatures and seemingly insurmountable layers of snow and ice. A journey that forced us inside, inside ourselves to ponder our dreams and the roads we have already traveled. To navigate our paths, or wander serendipitously, our minds open to what could be.
Something about the near hibernation plummets me into retrospect, a desire to reroute my intended destination; to find joy in my journey, succumb to the stillness. Be. It has faded , winter; I struggle to rectify the inside with the out. I listen to melody of my past, believing the best is yet to come. Fresh beginnings, new goals, bright dreams; they are all there in the song. A song of sweet nothings. I delight in the sweet nothings now, the season slowed me enough to recognize contentment in the ordinary. The sunrise, the sunset, skyping with my husband 10 thousand miles away, puppy kisses, baby giggles, or a llama’s whiffle; these are gifts that could slip by without being noticed, aren’t they? Keep your eyes and your heart open lest you miss life’s beauty. Some of the best moments are the simplest. Be well, catch the moments and hold on tight. Jess
The first day of spring is a perfect time to build your home; at least this couple thinks so.
Just outside my living-room window a sparrow family is building their nest in the Forsythia just swelling with buds.
It’s not a terribly pleasant day for building. The sun is struggling to be seen through the clouds and we expect snow to fall.
She is dressed rather plainly today, you wouldn’t want to muss your best finery would you. I don’t think she expected visitors.
She simply won’t be seen this way in public and takes her leave. Thank you very much.
Or perhaps she has stepped out for a few items of decoration to enhance the new abode.
I think he’s decided to use this time to tidy up his appearance. I do believe she’ll appreciate his efforts. (or perhaps he has an itch)
Where did she get off to; she can’t think I can do this alone.
Oh, there she is.
Do like how things are coming along? No? Oh well, it’s just the foundation.
Maybe she doesn’t know I’m here…
I believe she can see me now.
Let me show off my chest a little; she’ll like that.
How embarrassing, she didn’t even notice.
Perhaps I should get back to work, she might like that more…I have to impress her somehow.
Enjoy your day.
Break out the inspiration box; I’m looking for Spring.
It has to be here somewhere, it just does. No matter that thermometer out side my door reads 7 degrees. Look away.
It is Spring tomorrow, the calendar said so.
I hear birds singing their chilly songs.
There are animals who are waiting to awaken; the sun’s warmth waiting to tell them it’s time.
Be gone with you Old Man Winter, how can we miss you if you never leave. Don’t worry you won’t soon be forgotten.
We have seeds to start and gardens to sow.
There are babies to be born and eggs to be laid.
My crocus’ are desperate to break from the frozen depths.
Where is Spring? If you have seen her, could you please tell she is missed.
When was the least time you wrote, received, or even thought about writing a letter to a friend or loved one? Not an e-mail, nor text, no, a real pen to paper letter.
There are few things more cherished in my box of saves; collected moments of my life, held in my hand as only a written page sent can be. A tangible gift written with care, bringing back the day young lives intertwined not to be forgotten as lives moved on.
This young love will remain as new as the first kiss, relived each time the note is unwrapped and aged eyes are set upon it.
Letter from a dear friend, sent to bring comfort on your saddest day.
I remember the days when they were penned and sent to our hand in celebration, passion, sorrow and hope ~ like photos of the past a moment of time is captured on the page.
A thing of the past. Am I forced to accept this truth?
My Husband is half way across the globe for some weeks, I think I will pen him a note today. It will fly across the sea on ly to return home in his work weary hand.
Perhaps, I’ll write a note for you.
Although the shortest of days have gone by and whatever nastiness of weather we have before us; the month of February passes.
March is near, and each day we ebb out a few more cherished moments of sunlight.
Minute by minute, the days lengthen out, almost imperceptible, even as the growth of a child. All at once the moment comes as if by epiphany; we notice we are out of doors in twilight for another quarter of a precious hour.
The air is still bitingly cold.
The sun shines strong enough to cause icicles to drip, that is hope.
My fingers ache to dig in the garden’s soil. To feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my neck.
I think I will spend some time today sorting and gathering seeds saved, seeds bought, clay potting pots, and all of the thingamajigs, and whatchamacallits a gardening crazy girl could wish for.
I wonder how many seedlings will survive a Walker Hound 3 month old pup? Maybe I should hold off on that.
Common sense and good nature will do a lot to make the pilgrimage of life not too difficult”
– William Somerset Maugham
Sophie, you are not a duck…
Andrew, my sweet, sweet little neighbor. Oh, and Claire.
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.”
– Robert Frost, Two Roads