rain on sunshine

Frances Hodgson Burnett- The Secret Garden

"Is the spring coming?" he said. "What is it like?"...
"It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine...”

Emily on spring

Emily Dickinson-(1830-86)

DEAR March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat—
You must have walked—
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!

I got your letter, and the bird’s;
The maples never knew
That you were coming,—I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me—
And all those hills
You left for me to hue;
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.

Who knocks? That April!
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come,
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.

very friendly

A little handful of puppets, no pun intended. I whacked them out of felt and sewed them up willy nilly without much thought to measurement. It seemed an irony that the pig was almost too tight on my hand. Shouldn't the pig have been the most spacious?A nice plump pig? They all seem to have different voices just as you would hope. The hen is a marvelous mother and the cow is very friendly.

maybe

I've wished my mind was like a giant blackboard and that I could erase whatever memory I wanted.
Would the air be full of chalk dust?

Maybe the scribble and scrawl I want to rub away is like shadow in a picture. It causes the light to stand out.

salvaged

I love books.
I mean I really love the books themselves.
The books.
Not just the stories.
When I was a kid, I remember loving the way books smelled.
That wonderful sweet scent of book glue.
Loved the way they felt in my hand and the deckle edges of the pages.
Loved the pictures.
I'm still a sucker for illustrations.
They can make or break it for me.
Sometimes books are republished with different jacket art.
What??!!!
That can't be the right thing to do.
I get attached to the drawings. New ones seem like interlopers.

I think bending the corner on a page of a book is heartless.
It makes me wince.
It might seem unthinkable then that I have completely cut up a vintage children's book.
But I have.
I did feel a small twinge but I ignored it and snipped away.
The book was from 1960. The illustrations were wonderful.
It's just that someone else thought so too.
Someone who owned the book before me.
They had recklessly snipped here and there and the story was in tatters.
The bits I could still read seemed pretty preachy but stories were like that once upon a time.

I salvaged the remaining pictures to make cards for my Auntie.
She sends us weekly notes in hand crafted cards.
Cards she has cleverly crafted from this and that.
Upcycled artistry.

Hope she likes the kitties coming her way.

can be

Remember to Keep Calm:
This is only a game.
The players should all have fun,
the coaches are volunteers,
the referees are Human,
respect is not an option.
This is only a game.

I've been smiling ever since I read this. It is from a local soccer league. One of those statements imbedded in the signature of an email and I LOVE it.
I love it because this morning I woke in a beige state of mind.
Kind of colorless.
Nearly a funk.
Almost a frazzle.
Then I read that reminder.

I need to keep calm.
Today can be like a game.
I should have fun.
We're all the same.
Volunteers and referees.
All human.
Respect is the thing.
For me just the same as you.
For you just the same as me.
Today can be like a game.

overly

I only cried when I thought of the squirrel.
Unfortunately, I thought of it all the way home.
Poor little squirrel.
Run down on the road in the prime of its life.
And by me.
A squirrel lover.
It was all too tragic.

And last summer someone tread upon the cricket my grandson had been playing with.
The cricket he loved.
It was one of us.
We just aren't sure who.
Also tragic.
He took it better than I did.
And once, long ago, my husband made the mistake of stepping on an ant.
On purpose.
It was my grandsons favourite ant.
If this all seems overly sentimental you are likely right.

We have weeds that sprout up tauntingly in the gravel walk way. I have been known to pour boiling water on them, a sort of medieval war on weeds. When I suggested this as a possible, legitimate technique, I was scolded by a woman who asked me in a shocked and trembling voice, how I felt about the worms and bugs I was annihilating so barbarically.
Now THAT is overly sentimental.