Tabbie decided to wander out into the garden a few days ago, camera in hand, to face the cold damp wind which has defined our October this year. I could sense some dissatisfaction when the memory card was grudgingly handed over with a scowl, but Tabz’ face lit up with a big smile when I asked if anything pretty remained in spite of the near-wintry weather. “Vagabond” was the puzzling one-word reply I received. It took me three days to figure it out. D’oh! - Aggie
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There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood— Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by. And my lonely spirit thrills To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of flame, She calls and calls each vagabond by name.
- A Vagabond Song, by William Bliss Carman ________________________________
Yo, little fella!
No matter the world’s gone mad,
your groove’s shinin’ bright.
- Aggie Aglaia _____________
Yellow orchids. Tabbie’s got such great plants. This one is rupicolous, meaning it grows on rocks. It’s a miniature orchid called Laelia bradei from Minas Gerais, Brazil where it thrives at elevations of 1200 – 1300 meters (3937 – 4265 feet) in the nooks and crannies on exposed flat rocky ledges. The entire plant sticking up out of the pot measures just under 3 inches (7.6 cm) tall at the tip of the highest petal. Each flower is a mere 1 inch (2.5 cm) across. Dainty fortitude.
designed by the ages
attuned to the here and now
aloofness an eternal ruse
we fall for it somehow
synapses aligned with precision
neurons poised to ignite the fire
peace reigns an indulgent moment
cat worships sun’s pyre
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman’s boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson
It is with heavy heart I announce the temporary yet indefinite suspension of my blogging activities. I have come to this decision after long and careful consideration of several factors mostly related to my health. I extend my deepest gratitude to all who have faithfully followed my journey here over the past year. The fact that any of you are interested in what I have to say boggles my mind just a bit.
When will I be back? Honestly, I do not know. This site will not just suddenly disappear. Comments will continue to be moderated by me or by an assistant. You may see some changes happening as some of the tags, categories, pages or posts are retooled, time and health permitting.
As I seek renewed health, peace and direction in my life, I hope you will continue to visit from time to time and explore the archives. Don’t be surprised if, during my hiatus, I make the occasional wordless post showcasing some new photograph of bird, cat, orchid, rose…
The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas, Annihilating all that’s made To a green thought in a green shade. ~ Andrew Marvell
