it is a quiet afternoon at my mother's house. we've been doing little piddling things: i cut her little strip of a backyard, then trimmed the edges with a weeder. strings were tied for creeping lady bankia roses. the dogs have been walked, a lot. it is hot here, very hot, and walks are either early in the morning or after the sun has set. i've read, and she has read, and we watched parts of Lonesome Dove on tv last night. this is a quiet stretch, now that things have settled in a bit. i'm sitting at my computer, have sorted through some photographs i took a week or so ago, then thought i'd send them on their gentle way to you. i came across the four leaf clovers a week or so ago, when i flipped through some books to send on their way to the library's used bookstore. i have to do this - like checking pants pockets before running a load of laundry - because inevitably i will have tucked something within a book's pages. photographs, snippets of notes, a five dollar bill, a piece of lace, and dozens of lucky clovers have turned up: flat treasure hidden for me to find again. evening light, aglow
i love this photograph of june at home. do you notice anything special, other than the mist that hovers over those beloved mountains? i had stepped out onto the deck in the twilight as hundreds of lightning bugs began to rise from the grass, from between the branches of trees. there, in the bottom right corner of the photo, is captured the magical, luminescent flight of one of the little lanterns of firefly road.
and down at my mother's house, sweet beauty in her placement of the simplest of things:
unpolished silver, tarnished to a lustrous iridescent sheen -