Reflections of hay fields glow in the sky
Cottonwoods thinning their leaves by and by
Warm evening sunset brings hope for fine days
Before winter’s sun begins thinning its rays.
My garden had a lot of volunteers this year, especially the poppies. So many stuck their heads up when I called for help in the jungle of my garden, that I couldn’t decide which ones to choose and which to deny. Here are two, the first of many that I hope to post as time goes on.
I’m royal purple says the queen,
Most regal that you’ve ever seen.
I come from tall and stately stock,
My “white and purple” says I rock.
I’m one of those from Flanders’ Fields
Remembered well, my power shields
The fallen from forgotten sleep
As every year, I watch do keep.
Rosa acicularis, the wild rose, was named the provincial flower of the province of Alberta in 1930. It grows in most parts of Alberta and brightens up the landscape with its delicate fragrance and colourful blooms.
Dotted with delicately scented flowers, the foliage is thick and thorny, making an almost impenetrable hedge, to the joy of small birds trying to escape predators.
This day, the sunlight was too bright for the true soft pink of the roses to show in the hedge below.
The wild rose speaks:
My name is Rose, but I am told,
My fragrance may not be so bold,
Yet it’s as sweet e’en if my name
Were something else, and quite mundane.
“A rose by any other name … “
My soft scent would be just the same.
My petals delicate and pale
Disperse aromas without fail.
The thick protective hedge I’m on
Will guard against the evil one.
My thorny branches scratch and tear
At anyone who passes there.
Sleeping Beauty’s castle stood
Enveloped in protective wood
With thorns to cut and make afraid
All those who would assault the maid.
But after all those hundred years
I’m still around, for you, my dears.
The Captain has been working on the hull of the boat at the annual haulout. He’s had to take the boat to a haulout facility several hours’ run from home.
The work is nearly done and I think he’ll soon be home.
Do you think that could be him coming into the bay, Mr Robin?
Well, Admiral Anneli, I can be your lookout. I’ve got a good view here, but I don’t know…. I see a boat, but it could be anybody.
I sure hope it’s him. The lawn needs mowing. I need him to come home.
I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. Could be anybody. Lots of boats around here.
It’s a fishboat, but it’s too far away to tell if it’s the Captain. No … maybe not ….
I’ve got good eyes, but I can’t see that far. I’m not an eagle, you know.
What do you see now? Are you looking around the corner?
Yes … I’m just making sure he finds his way into the harbour.
Can’t be the Captain then. He knows his way, no problem.
Probably not him then. Better get that lawn mower fired up yourself.
So Admiral, when do you think he’ll be home then?
Oh, any time now. Soon….
Harrumpfff! Why don’t you just mow that lawn before it rains? Don’t you know it’s harder for me to find worms when the grass gets too long? My children are depending on me to bring them food.
That’s the last time I’m going to bother worrying about the Captain coming home. I don’t care who cuts the grass as long as it gets done. I need access to those worms.
I only stopped to rest my wings
And not to worry over things.
The railing seemed a perfect place
I stood there tall with style and grace.
A fishing boat was cruising past,
Perhaps the Captain, home at last.
The Admiral needs a helping hand
To cut the grass that’s on their land.
It suits me fine to have him back
As things ’round here are kind of slack.
Let’s hope the next boat in the bay
Will be her Captain home to stay.
For a while….
This morning when I did my walk
I had to brave the rain.
I trotted like a racehorse
Just to hurry home again.
Once in the door, my feet were wiped,
A towel rubbed me dry.
I lay down on my usual place
And let out a big sigh.
Then came my treat, a nice warm throw
Just taken from the dryer.
The toasty warmth was better than
A rocker by the fire.
I snuggled in and closed my eyes
The people smiled at me.
I didn’t move a muscle and
Was quite content, you see.
It is morning. Ruby is lying low while I get my coffee going. I can almost hear her thinking, “See? I’m being good.”
Emma takes her cue from the older dog and lies low too. They both know there’s a good chance they’ll get a treat before breakfast, just so I won’t feel so guilty about eating mine before going to feed them.
The tiny Melmac dishes have been part of our household since they belonged to our cats 40 years ago. They are the dogs’ snack dishes now.
I usually crumble half a slice of bread into each dish, add a bit of whatever tasty morsel might be around – a sprinkle of parmesan, a tiny dash of half and half, whatever is handy – and add some warm water. I walk over to the hallway with Emma and Ruby right behind me. Without being told, they each sit in their usual spots, Emma to the right, Ruby to the left. I place the dishes on the floor and as always, Emma looks up at me while Ruby stares at her dish. When I say, “Okay,” they lap up the goodies.
Afterwards, like the good girls they are, they bring me the dishes to put in the sink.
Here is Ruby with her brown dish.
And here is Emma with her cream dish. (Her pictures are often blurry because she is always in motion.)
Then, partially satisfied, they lie at my feet until I’ve had my coffee and toast, knowing that afterwards we’ll go downstairs and they’ll have a real “dog’s breakfast.”
“Manners matter,” Ruby says.
Emma says, “I’m cute.”
“That’s not enough,” the old dog warns.
“And you should follow suit.
Just lie down flat, and roll your eyes
To watch what’s going on.
Pretty soon we’ll get our snack
And breakfast won’t be long.
Sit there patiently and wait.
Never whine or jump.
If you do, we’ll miss our snack
So sit down on your rump.
When the mistress says, ‘Okay!’
We can begin to eat.
You’d better not start in too soon,
She doesn’t like a cheat.
“Oh yeah, but Ruby,” Emma says,
“You always watch your food.
I watch, adoringly, her face,
And capture her good mood.”
Linc! Lincoln! Where are you? … Folks, have you seen my baby?
Shh! Don’t move!
Lincoln, you little rascal. Is that you?
Heh-heh, I think I can outrun the old lady.
Searchin’ for my baby squirrel,
Lookin’ o’er de whole wide worl’.
Lincoln! Lincoln! Where are you?
See the trials you put me through.
Askin’ every dame and gent,
“Do y’all know where delinquent?”