If a rose will be pink, I think this is the shade I love the best.
This particular bush in my neighborhood was well cared for, and so vigorous and happy:
Notice how the fading blooms develop a serrated edge, decorating themselves for their going-out.
The Grass
The grass so little has to do,—
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,
And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;
And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,—
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.
And even when it dies, to pass
In odours so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.
And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,—
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!
-Emily Dickinson
I’m posting this poem for Lisa and for Jody, because they appreciate grass. I do too, but I must not be a good grass-photographer. All I could find in my files just now is a picture Pippin took at Hadrian’s Wall. Don’t miss the butterfly!
I went out before dawn, and my rose tour was slightly extended by some wispy clouds that even after sunrise kept the light from being too bright.
My favorite of the morning’s finds might be this bush. The buds are orange, and the open flowers start out orange and fade to a lovely pink blend.
All these warm hues made for quite a glowing bush, as busy and bright as the sun.
The Law the Lawyers Know About
The law the lawyers know about
Is property and land;
But why the leaves are on the trees,
And why the wind disturbs the seas,
Why honey is the food of bees,
Why horses have such tender knees,
Why winters come and rivers freeze,
Why Faith is more than what one sees,
And Hope survives the worst disease,
And Charity is more than these,
They do not understand.
–H.D.C. Pepler
