A Bit of Warmth and Color

 It's Groundhog Day, a day when everyone, including that small furry rodent, considers how much more of this winter foolishness it is possible to endure.  I decided to take myself out to a local garden center and walk among the flowering houseplants.  They have an indoor pool with koi, and I visited them too.  The fish aren't fed in the winter, so when I agitated the surface of their world they rose, expecting a treat.  These altered photos are the results of my excursion.  I hope they bring you a smile.

I liked Lily Long's poem because of its joyous and optimistic tone.  I can't say that my dreams have been so pleasant lately, but I still like the feeling reading these words gives me.   

The Singing Place

by Lily A. Long

Cold may lie the day

     And bare of grace;

At night I slip away

     To the Singing Place.

A border of mist and doubt

     Before the gate,

And the Dancing Stars grow still

     As hushed I wait.

Then faint and far away

     I catch the beat

In broken rhythm and rhyme

     Of joyous feet, --

Lifting waves of sound

     That will rise and swell

(If the prying eyes of thought

     Break not the spell),

Rise and swell and retreat

     And fall and flee,

As over the edge of sleep

     They beckon me.

And I wait as the seaweed waits

     For the lifting tide;

To ask would be to be awake,--

     To be denied.

I could my eyes in the mist

     That veils the hem,--

And then with a rush I am past,--

I am Theirs, and of Them!

And the pulsing chant swells up

     To touch the sky,

And the song is joy, is life,

     And the song am I!

The thunderous music peals

     Around, o'rhead-

The dead would awake to hear

     If there were dead;

But the life of the throbbing Sun

     Is in the song,

And we weave the world anew

     And the Singing Throng

Fill every corner of space--

Over the edge of sleep

     I bring out but a trace

Of the chants that pulse and sweep

     In the Singing Place.