three hills

i brought these linden leaves home because i liked their heart shapes. then i promptly cut them in half. so i made green hills. and then i have spent the remainder of the day mulling over my complicated feelings about ernest hemingway. as i get older, i have a harder and harder time separating the art (writing) from the man or woman who created it. i like his writing. i do not like the persona he embodied. i sometimes wonder how much of that public persona was actually him or the media’s insatiable appetite for a certain type of male hero. this subject is beautifully explored in an article i recently read in the paris review. “what do we do with the art of monstrous men.” https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2017/11/20/art-monstrous-men/

linden leaves

p.s. linden leaf is used for colds, stuffy nose, sore throat, breathing problems (bronchitis), headaches, fever, and to make it easier to bring up phlegm by coughing (as an expectorant).

tell me your story

while working in the yard today i found two feathers. this one. and a perfectly intact owl feather. while the owl feather is an interesting study in beauty and evolutionary perfection. i felt this feather probably had a more interesting story. how it arrived in my backyard, in this condition is curious. on a beach, tumbled by waves i would not have been surprised. but sticking upright out of the grass, like this, speaks to me. whatever the story, it is probably a tragedy. was there hubris? was there simply fate? did someone fly too close to the sun?

while it lasts

yes, green oak leaves have been hanging around since late may. but i am noticing them now only because they will soon be red.  many of my friends are becoming empty nesters. and, without exception, they all get teary and nostalgic about everything their fledging child does during the months leading up to departure. omg, this will be my last (fill in the blank) ever. these are the same mom’s who one year prior could not find a single nice thing to say about their almost young-adult child who never did a dish, a load of laundry, or put gas in the car. well, every fall, in late august i am that soon to be empty nester mom. omg, this is my last chance to photograph green stuff for the next six months.

green pin oak leaves

everyone’s thirsty

we’ve had an very dry summer here in the twin cities. in minnesota, no rain means fewer bugs. fewer bugs and no rain means long leisurely evenings on the deck without getting chased indoors. this all sounds welcome. and part of it is. we’ve used our deck every night this summer. but, a bigger part of it is not so welcome. we’ve had so little rain that i am seeing leaves curl up and dry out, before they’ve had a chance to change color or even fall to the ground. i struggle sometimes with how to balance my love of nature’s expressions with my sense of mourning that nature used to be a constant, and we have turned it into a variable.

you’ve been warned

please don’t shoot the messenger.

sumac leaves in mid-august