Do you hear what I hear?

 Drifting in with the cool air

the whispery rush of many wings,

 a pause,

 and then soft flutterings and splashes.

 We all tiptoed quietly to the window

 to listen

to the flock of brown headed cowbirds

 busily bathing with

 quiet whirs, rustlings, and plashes.

In Bloom

A plethora of zinnias---

from seed freely broadcast

in July and virtually untended in August and September.

 A magnificent harvest.

Rightness

"Pan Playing", The Appleby, Augusta, GA, 2010

Garden ornament cannot be underestimated---it could be considered just as important as the garden itself. Especially when it is fabulously aged and tinged with Time. In some cases it is the reason behind the garden, as in Beverley Nichols' book The Gift of a Home:

     At each end of the lovely little wall there were two brick pillars. They stood there, perfectly poised, exactly the right height, exactly the right width....They had obviously been built to hold something---carved pineapples, or stone balls, or...or...or Urns.

   It was when the word
Urns
 came into my head that the garden was
 born.

Summer's End

"Yearning", Lake Thurmond, Labor Day 2010

Now the day is over,

Night is drawing nigh,

Shadows of the evening

Steal across the sky.

(Sabine Baring-Gould, English clergyman and author, 1834-1924)

I hope the shadows fell softly and sweetly on your holiday.

Knowing

I have been swept away by school preparations for the past two months, leaving my creative life parched. American Literature, Economics, Shakespeare, American government, Physical Science, Latin, Philosophy...it has been unending hard labor preparing to teach the 9th grade class in our Classical Conversations group. The sweet reward is the joy of knowing and once, knowing, sharing.

We don't know what we don't know, but when we begin to know a thing---unbelievably, miraculously God puts that “thing” in front of us again and again, in different contexts showing us connections and relevance. Some things we see immediately and are enlightened, some things remain to be revealed. The seed is planted.

A family funeral this week brought the dry spell to an end. It literally provided a physical break in my eternal preparations for class and brought me face to face with one of my first artistic mentors---my Biology professor and advisor from Converse College. She sensed something in me I wasn't aware of at the time and encouraged me to follow my passions and instincts. Every piece of art I produced while at Converse was a reflection of the natural world, what we would call the Sciences, but is really true Art produced by the ultimate Artist. She prodded me to combine my art and my sciences, but I didn't have a heart for diligence or faith to fly.
 

Self Portrait, Chemistry Lab, Converse College, 1983

 
As the hymn Rock of Ages swelled around us during the service, I realized the labors of being a homeschool mother have taught me diligence and given me the knowing—the confidence—to fly. As we seated ourselves, Marc Chagall was quoted: “Great art picks up where nature ends,” and I quickly glanced back at the sea of upturned faces hoping to catch my mentor's eye, wanting to shout “yes...I finally see!”