The Poetry of the Earth

Laying in bed, last night.

No lights, windows open.  Just the fingernail clip of a yellow moon keeping an eye on things.

And a serenade by the end-of-summer choir of crickets.

"How many crickets do you think we are hearing? Like 100? Or 14? Or like a million?"

"I don't know."

"I wonder."

I send a thought out of my 2nd story window, down and into the night, the dark, through the old oak tree branches, slipping to the dewy grass, into the crevices of the tiger lilies.

Goodnight, sweet crickets, constant in this night, rocking me to sleep. Your song nearly makes me weep, carries me softly back thirty years of summer eves.

THE POETRY of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills. John Keats, December 30, 1816.

Unpacking...

The Good of Down

Today. Me and the girls slept in until 7:28 and that is early but it felt late.

Today. I caught a glimpse out of the cottage window of Elizabeth, a smile on her face, 

her head bent back, eyes squinting, watching the bubbles she blew through the wand fly up

and up

and up

And away.  

And then I was watching too and leaning out the window 

looking up and wondering…

To where…

Today. We spent a hazy August day at the beach and three hours wasn’t enough time for my five year old to catch waves and my three old slithered in the muddy wet sand like a snake and my one year old waded into Lake Michigan like she had been on this earth far longer than a year.

At days end, after an afternoon thunderstorm that had ushered most of Ellison Bay into slowing down, suddenly whoots! And whooshes….and a handful of kids from up the hill were biking down the road full speed and shouting joy and carefree, the happy giggles of being say 9 and 11 and 13 and riding matching white cruisers down the Lakeview hill road after a rain. 

I sat on the porch, wanting to join them, to feel the mist and grit on my legs from the wet road and the thrill and tickle of downhill fast, and then to speak it and shout it out.

Oh man, the good of down!

Back up again and again and again

for the good of down. 

Image here.

August

August 1st and the clouds were big today, so tall, commanding your attention away from the Queen Anne's Lace and tonight, the insects are singing so lovely and the air is so thick and sweet and the breeze feels like a loved one is blowing air in your face in a good way, you smirk.

In the distance, the gods are playing with the light switch, a little storm to close the day.

Take your time, August, don't be in a rush.

Photo: Lupen Grainne, available to purchase on Etsy 

Tuesday Best

You know what's the best?

Sharing a laugh with your kids. 

Today, baby Vivie discovered her tongue. 

How long it was, how she could stick it outside her mouth and curl it up at the tip.

 Most of the day, if you looked at Vivie, she had her tongue fully extended. 

It was the silliest of sights, the sweetest of discoveries.

And me and Elizabeth and Maren couldn't quit giggling. 

I had a moment where I rose above myself, the room, and I could see all four of us laughing together, and it was... 

the 

best.

via Becky Earl Photography

via Pinterest

Rainbows, Ponies, Keanu, Virgin Mary

The latest story is brewing in my brain, consuming all my energy for words. I've been a royal crabapple to everyone but the kiddos. It was all I could muster to share a few strands that tied our weekend's adventure together. Ah, (hand to forehead) to be a struggling, wanna be, I'm nobody, writer.

I took the girls last Thursday night and we drove to home to Wisconsin.  Under a rain cloud that travelled nearly every single mile with us, actually.  (Downpours, traffic jams, snow storms: read I miss my husband The Driver. ) Thankfully, rainbows kept popping up in front of us, good distractions when traveling with little girls and no DVD player. The silly fantasy that I might really be headed to a pot of gold, which is currently trading at $1622 a share on the stock market, was diminished when just LaCrosse was at the end of the rainbow.

The next day, my girls played with horses.

I was left with a few hours to myself. 

What's a girl to do?

Right out of the gate, I found some scenery parked a few feet away 

from one of my favorite haunt's front door. 

Sadly, Keanu was not inside getting his antique fix on.

I did spot this.
If it weren't for the Coca Cola all over her face,
 she'd be striking on some big white beach house wall. Maybe?

This would be good for rocking your babies in the beach house...
with the white glossy floors and potted fig leaf tree.

I love me some bark cloth. 

But it always looks a bit too loved by its previous occupants.

If it weren't for the fact that I completely get squimish about the sport of boxing and didn't think Winona, Minnesota was sort of a creepy town, this would be cool. 

The gal who wore this dress was friends with Laverne and Shirley? For reals?

POC: Pop of Color. Storage too, which would make it POCS!

Before Keanu, there was Carlos Imperato. And he was at the antique store, go figure! 

Yes, get outta here, that's him below the "F", arms crossed.

I showed this picture to my mom, good Catholic. 

"Isn't this strange? Why is there a woman under Mary's robe?!"

"Lifting her up, Jen."

Let's take another gander at Keanu, shall we? 

Happy Monday.