Blooms of White Light Humming Birds Take Flight

As Autumn approaches summer, sweeping her under fallen leaves beneath the trees, plants put forth new buds, along with the old faded blooms. There is poetry to this time of year, where old and new brave chilling nights, perhaps sensing the end is nearing. Could it be that plants sprout out the last of youthful joy withheld till now ... before they close up for the inevitable winter. There is much knowing ... without a brain... for some... of what is to come... in plants and trees... in birds and bees. Great movement is stirring... within leafy wings ... feathers and foliage take their cue and bid adieu. The day is quieter... even cicadas cease clicking tymbals... flocks gather and conquer air... leaving behind those who have fastened their lives ... not so free to fly towards warmer light... lasting longer. Where they head night hangs its lighter cloak later, and life moves freer. We stay and watch natures marvel of change and don our heavier garb. I love the seasons and the freshness they bring, but the departure of hummingbirds does deflate a bit... for I become accustomed to their presence in the gardens... their antics so amusing and magical. Of course I know they must go ... as they always do... as they will come again... but there is an emptiness none other can fill ... a place that holds an opening ... a longing for their little hums and squeaks... their chase scenes and curious inching towards me. I have watched the young ones grow and wish them safe flight to their winter home. May there be many along the way offering them safe passage... food for flight in flower corridors and, where they must, in drought ridden areas, void of flowers... hang other feeders, to nourish, replenish the tiny rapid wings, that carry them throughout their journey. My gardens now offer fuel for passing hummers as migration is in full bloom. Here I offer some last portraits of the young ones and one migrating mature male, along with lovely light white blossoms of the garden. I should add a few words in honor of the Aphrodite... who goes forth with tattered diminished dress... most likely from the Cat birds constant duress... still she can fly and sip and manage to get by.

Rosy Pink and Purple Tones Blooming Friday

Here is a pink and purple sampling from the gardens... hidden jewels budding and blooming here and there... white and green turn rosy pink ... days are cooler... nights filled with katydid chorus and chilly air... fall is tumbling into the gardens ... summer flees from the trees ... true colors begin to melt the outer green ... soon the hills will be ablaze... I love this season and hope it lingers. To see other gardens embracing fall visit lovely Katarina's Roses and Stuff. Have a great weekend!

Provincetown Cape Cod

To arrive in Provincetown, Massachusetts you might sail, fly, or walk as Henry David Thoreau did back in the 1850's... but if you drive you cross over Cap Cod Canal and head towards the tip or 'finger' of what many call 'the right arm of Massachusetts'. You drive around the bent elbow for the last miles and soon begin to see a sweep of white dunes. The tiny town is nestled around Cape Cod Bay and is truly magical in its way. Once a Portuguese fishing village... now and for many years, a renowned artist colony which thrives between the calm bay, expanse of large dunes and the wide and wild Atlantic. Notable painters and writers such as Susan Glaspell, Eugene O'Neill, Charles Webster Hawthorne and Norman Mailer to name but a few, became part time and full time residents lured by the landscape and unique light of Provincetown. These and others were pioneers in founding what later became a famous theatre group and art school. It is enchanting walking along the bay at sunset with the moonrise, as the lights go on along MacMillan Wharf and inside the homes and galleries of the townspeople. The 252 foot Pilgrim Monument stretches up towards the large dome of sky offering great views of the town, as well as the surrounding ocean and harbor. Long Point Lighthouse's shining beacon and white tower seem like a miniature, after eyeing the monument, though tiny in comparison, it sits proudly glowing upon the very tip of Cape Cod. It is interesting to see all the old wooden pillars that are standing up against the rising tides and the various other mediums residents use to keep the bay back. While standing amid this charm and beauty... I make a wish that it always will... and returning home... continue to write and call my President and representatives in Congress, to encourage the passing of a true clean energy bill. Jupiter and the moon grow brighter, as a silver molten path shimmers and grows across the water beneath the near full waxing mirror to our sun. I find joy in the boats swaying back and forth, creating rope to mast music, which accompany the bay sounds slurping to the shore, as I head towards the center, where galleries and a friend await me.