Overcoming Bloglessness

Sure Signs

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The return of the blues is a sure sign of spring,
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as well as the greening grass
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and the poor, unwelcome dandelions.
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Catkins are a sure sign.
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Mothers, tending their nests are a sure sign of spring,
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and farmers, tending their fields.
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Spring is calving season.
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And nothing says spring like butterflies on bear poo.
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Here’s wishing you a happy spring!
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Weekly Photo Challenge:
Spring!

Daffodils

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Daily Prompt: Lookin’ Out My Back Door.
Look out your back window or door — describe what you see, as if you were trying to convey the scene to someone from another country or planet.

Daffodils

There’s not much color here in early spring; not like back home where yards are gaudy and lush by now. The backyard here is all brown fence and grey rock with just a bit of green beginning to show in the lawn. Three raised beds are barren, but for the stickery raspberry canes and their supports. Firewood is stacked neatly along the fence and the fire pit holds two large logs, ready to light on a starlit night. Dad’s battered old wheelbarrow and our new one stand idle together, propped up against the shed where the canoe hangs, waiting. You might see a flash of bluebird or a red breasted robin splashing in the birdbath, but nothing’s blooming yet. Nothing. So I bought daffodils.

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Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

by William Wordsworth

 


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Wild Licorice

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These red, hairy pods caught my eye yesterday. They were abundant, down by the Flathead river. I was surprised to find, when I looked it up, that it’s wild licorice!

The roots can be eaten raw or cooked. Some people say it tastes like sweet potatoes. It contains glycyrrhizin, a substance that’s 50 times sweeter than sugar.
Licorice is used to treat ulcers and bronchial asthma and is used in cough syrup. It can cause high blood pressure.

Next time I’m down by the river, I’m going to try some wild licorice root.

Daily Prompt: Moved to Tears At The Airport

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026Daily Prompt: Moved to Tears.

Describe the last time you were moved to tears by something beautiful.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us BEAUTY.

Arrival Gate

It was the children that made me reach for my hankie. Two little girls welcomed the arriving boy and girl with giant hugs, wrapping their arms around one another, clinging unselfconsciously for a sweet, happy moment. They embraced each leg of the arriving mom with bouncing up and down joy.
The two moms, sisters or best friends or cousins, held each other briefly, smiling and glad to be reunited, but glad like ever watchful moms, not glad like children. It was the beautiful children that got me all teary-eyed.

Good thing I always take a hankie to the airport.