Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
The island of Asters in bloom.
With all they bring.
Affection.
Goldfinches.
Bouncing among petals. Now I see him, now I don't.
Along the buzz of bees.
Happy place...
Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
The island of Asters in bloom.
With all they bring.
Affection.
Goldfinches.
Bouncing among petals. Now I see him, now I don't.
Along the buzz of bees.
Happy place...
Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Spirited flutter in the air.
Brings this misty sense of knowing that IT might be there.
With the touch of ethereal.
Inspired playfulness is everywhere.
On the branches and the leaves.
In the sunken depths of snow,
and
the marks left behind.
Where each and every character comes together,
and the world is dancing...
Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Middle of the day.
Geese seem to be leaving, in the shades of sundown.
And soon enough, it gets darker.
Black's Nook dried-out Lotuses leave the space for Mergansers.
Floating into the night...
Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Or does it ?
Once in nature, the calendar loses its meaning.
Birds are not attuned to days, months, and years.
These are just instants of time,
and each instant is the seed that allows them to enjoy the living.
This is what it is all about...
Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Thistles belong to the class of noxious weeds as defined by humans.
Why is it so ? Very SIMPLE reason.
They tend to invade the space where OUR plants grow. The plants we use for food.
Never mind that it is a plant that gives food to butterflies, all kinds of bees, and Goldfinches.
Passing by a bunch of thistles gives me an idea of value that these beings attach to the plant.
See them, hear them.
Feel the buzzing energy, passion and joviality of the moment...
Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Frozen islets on the grassy planes remind of the winter.
Once the curving, twisting and gliding motions become shapes,
seal the air in mini globes, and
the leaves make me see
how alike are the contours of life and water and why I love them so much...
My prickles or smoothness are as much a quality of your hand as of myself.
I cannot tell you what I am, more than a ray of the summer's sun.
What I am I am, and say not. Being is the great explainer.
HENRY D. THOREAU, Journals, February 26, 1841
Fresh Pond, Cambridge, Massachusetts
This place is in the middle of the traffic that goes about and never lets IT be in peace.
Since the pond keeps water that all of us who live here drink,
surrounding patches of woods, meadows, and Black's Nook are kept as strainers.
The pockets of urban sprawl where wildlife comes for a visit from time to time,
and Nature seems to be striving to reassert herself
in surprisingly unexpected moments...