It was dark. I saw fireflies. It was awesome.
My one remaining corn plant, that the garden pests haven’t destroyed, has produced two beautiful baby ears of corn!
The most beautiful thing about it is the corn silk on the top of them, creamy with a red tinge; like hair of a newborn baby.
The most complete joys in life are produced by the simplest things.
We recently paid our respects to the Comfort Maple; a 500-year-old sugar maple tree in the Niagara Region of Ontario, Canada. It is believed to be the oldest sugar maple in the country.
When the tree started its life, the Indigenous People were the only people here. They had their own culture and religion and traditions worthy of respect and emulation.
If I could only interview this tree; it would be an interview of a lifetime! What a book and what a movie that would be!
I bet this precious tree gave some lovely sweet maple syrup in its lifetime.
Preservation and conservation are essential.
The rarified ambience of an early summer evening.
The cumulus clouds that slowly move in the light blue sky.
The sun that sits in a corner of the sky like a dying campfire.
The special quality of the pre-sunset sunlight that illuminates the top of the trees.
The muted respectful staccato of the American robin and the low peaceful flute of the mourning dove.
The gentle breeze that blows the leaves and introduces a cooling air.
The sweet peas; the sweet peace; the sweet peas!
Baxter the bunny was only a few feet away from me leisurely munching on dandelion leaves in my back garden.
I spoke to him like Alec in the Black Stallion speaks to the horse; hoping to say something witty and charming in rabbit.
He looked at me head on and only rotated his long ears to hear the sound of birds or dogs.
At one point, he stood up on his hind legs; at another, he stretched his back.
All the while, he continued to enjoy his dandelion leaves. They disappeared efficiently into his mouth, regardless of the size of the leaves.
I felt honoured and privileged to share that time with him. He wasn’t scared of me and I was happy for that.
P.S. Rabbit in Persian translates to “donkey ears.” Sorry Baxter, it fits!
There were buttercups everywhere. The robins were dancing in them. And I was on a ten kilometre bike ride–great stress relief.
Along the trail there were homemade bird feeders. One of them looked like a Tiki hut. I was delighted and inspired.
Is there anything more relaxing than to sit by the willow trees and watch the barn swallows swoop down by the gently rippling water?
I don’t think so.
The American robin is the town crier. He announces the descending of the night.
He sings incessantly, sincerely, melodiously. He sings from the bottom of his heart.
All of a sudden, the meandering grey clouds slowly reveal the bright fingernail of a moon suspended over the darkened treetops.
The ringmaster, flicker, was not available to start the show.
All of a sudden, there were at least half a dozen squirrels, maybe more, racing through the treetops. Flying through the branches without a trapeze.
They were either playing or fighting; I’m not sure which. And when it was all over, I wasn’t sure whether to clap, laugh, or tell them to behave themselves.