And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth. --Raymond Carver (1938-1988), American author and poet, from Poems of Gratitude (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets series), 2017
The Hubster dislikes our Rose of Sharon trees— he likens them to weeds. Yet I am convinced that it is always the “weeds” who provide the most refuge without asking anything in return. In five minutes, I watched six hummingbirds zoom around the blossoms as they jockeyed for a chance at the waning late-summer blooms. I watched cardinals and Carolina wrens fight over the ripening grape clusters from the vine that is supported by not one but two trees along our fence— trees that also give us privacy in our yard. I watched butterflies— humble little skippers, but also hairstreaks, fritillaries, swallowtails, and oh my God, even a monarch, once so ubiquitous but now almost as surprising to see as a Bengal tiger. Even on my deck I could hear the thrum of probably thirty bumble bees hovering like tugboats from blossom to bloom, staying aloft only God knows how. We owe our lives to the “weeds” of this world, to their humble welcome and hospitality. The least we can do is call them beautiful. -- L. K. S. Photo taken this morning of a bumblebee on a Rose of Sharon and then using the Angel filter on Prisma.
Ah, grief, I should not treat you like a homeless dog who comes to the back door for a crust, for a meatless bone. I should trust you. I should coax you into the house and give you your own corner, a worn mat to lie on, your own water dish. You think I don’t know you’ve been living under my porch. You long for your real place to be readied before winter comes. You need your name, your collar and tag. You need the right to warn off intruders, to consider my house your own and me your person and yourself my own dog. --Denise Levertov (1923-1997), Anglo-American poet, from Poems 1972-1982.
