the transition

From Jon painting to Jon on the last day....
next up, pictures of Pomfret!

leaf picking

a loss for pictures instead of words

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

all in a day's day

morning

afternoon

evening

ooohhhhhh

Darlings, I am tired. We are moved. Here is an old picture to tide you over until I can think again: My last bike ride to the train station from 60 Valley on 7/24. Now comes unpacking. Shudder.

the move begins

It's 7am and we can't make ourselves stay in bed any longer. It's raining, dark, and we'll be unloading the truck in Pomfret by 3 today.

for the birds

Sitting with my coffee in South Boston watching the birds. I could sit and watch them all day. (Having sound is a plus for this.)