Orpheus, Singing

In all seasons the crepe myrtle (Lagerstroemia indica) hears Orpheus, and heals


Orpheus with his lute made trees
And the mountain tops that freeze
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.


                                                       Henry VIII – Act III, Scene 1 ~ William Shakespeare


Comments always are welcome.

A Happy Accident

Sandhill crane (Antigone canadensis)

When seafog persists along the upper Texas coast during our transition from winter to spring, milky white skies and limited visibilty are the order of the day.

So it was yesterday, as I roamed the west end of Galveston Island in search of Spring. Crossing over San Luis pass, I paused for a walk into a bayside marsh when the unmistakable, gutteral cry of sandhill cranes began echoing through the air. 

Not expecting to sight them in the fog, I gave not a thought to camera settings until they crossed in front of me, their great wings creating eddies in the fog.

Shooting into milky skies with who-knows-what settings is an iffy proposition at best. But to my surprise, the photos in the series seem perfectly right: a delightful evocation of a foggy island day.


Comments always are welcome.

Blessing The Dust

“what has made it through the burning”


All those days
you felt like dust,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
Did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
nor for thinking
we are less
than we are,
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made,
and the stars that blaze
in our bones,
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.
                                                               “Blessing the Dust”  ~  Jan Richardson


Comments always are welcome.