lunar eclipse

I was up last Friday night at 4:30 in the morning

swinging solomon to sleep.

The full moon was glowing blue in my window

as the sound of the womb played.

I looked out to see that the moon was not full anymore.

Obscured by some clouds, may be.

A few days later, a girl told me I saw the lunar eclipse.

It gave her the goosebumps.

orange you glad to see me?

spring sprung

{: 0)

seeing signs

A mish-mash of fingerpaint is another owl for who.

The first fine hairs stand still & grow.

An imprint of hand-solo-mon whispers power to the people.

Solomon Ray Montgomery 5.9.10

Sometimes, there are no words.

This is the story of Solomon.

Our boy spent his first night with mom and dad last night. 

Rebirth.

little ladies

                      On my walk at the beach,
                      all along the tideline, I found thousands of  dead ladybugs.
                      An unsolved mystery.

                      It made me remember something I forgot,
                      the ladybugs in a brown bag in my fridge.
                      Mark and Jen gave them to me.

                      They found them on a walk,
                      by a stream on the Coldspring trail.
                      So many, the rocks looked red.

                      I released them that night.
                      May be they will also end up on the tideline.

thank you

mother earth and father sky.

May 8th

       As May approaches, the birth of spring.

       The baby will make a journey,

       short in distance, but great in miracle.

       Edith wrote a diary a century ago,

       observing nature, and drawing the beauty.

       This is her May.

Her book is an inspiration.

For one year, she wrote and drew

the things she found on her walks,

the flowers in bloom,

the weather patterns,

the birds that pass through,

and everything with such detail.

I found this book in the library,

and was sad to return it to the dusty shelf.

May be someone else

will also be curious to look inside.

sometimes...

...you just have to let go.

thinking of you up the coast.

this is our month. hope we land safely.

The Whitney Ranch

On my last day

selling blueberries

I took a walk

between the rows

and paid attention

to the details

of growth.

White flower,

green berry, purple,

blue.

Emeralds, jewels
sharp blues,
and misties.

Rachel and Ralph are the farmers.

She's fixin old sewing machines
and volunteering at the thrift store.

He plays the washboard 
and tends to keep bees.

Once in a while, 
a bird finds a way into blueberry heaven.

Only thing is
it's easier gettin in
than it is gettin out.

an excavation

                      Walking through the streets of old Jaffa in Israel.
                      The town where Jonah set sail and eventually was swallowed by a whale.
                      
                       I casually stumbled across an ancient underground city,
                       No one was around.

                       Just a ladder and an old towel.
                       And a hole in the ground.

a photo of a photo

why do i collect old photos? 

Our memories become one.

we are all one.

collective stories.

left untold. 

waiting to unfold.

the Ojai Valley

   

    This is my last week working for b.d at the Ojai farmer's market.

    I will miss the early Sunday morning drive into the valley.

    Every morning would offer something new.

    Last Sunday, the fog rolled in behind a beautiful stone wall. 

  

Roberto's Chair

We lived across the street
 from a school in Brooklyn.

they were always throwing out
 books and chairs and school things.

I found this chair, destined to be forgotten.

This was my morning chair.

by the kitchen window.

a glimpse of my home: II

memories of a past unknown.

to ponder.

lost,  and found again. 

a glimpse of my home: I

by a new window.

reminders of the past.

love, lost and found.

Once

Once

I found a disposable camera

at the Greenwood cemetery.

I developed the film.

and this is what i saw.

Mother

--------

Love is our Mother and

The way of our Prophet.

Yet it is in our nature

To fight with Love.

We can’t see you, mother,

Hidden behind dark veils

Woven by ourselves.

--------

Rumi

when life hands you a lemon...

you take a picture of it.