Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Rose Clothes the Blossom Grows

A woman whose blog I love and read regularly challenges her crowd to spend an hour a day for a whole week sewing clothes for kids. After years of being scared of patterns, measuring, and any other sort of accuracy in creation I'm excited to take part - and hopefully post the creations here. 

In other news - the summer crop is dying down, the squash having produced a whopping 5 zucchini but endless blossoms, tomatoes from Zach which produced 4 beautiful red and purple, sweet and savory fruits, and radish which have mites and are being harvested early. Fall crops have been planted: lettuce, onion, beets. They are sprouting and hopefully will spurt before the December cold. This evening has a chill to it, like autumn is settling in but I know next month will be warm as we carve our pumpkins and wait for an excuse to costume and throw a party for all ghouls. 

I visited the rose garden by the lake a few weekends ago: one photo below, and more here. 

    A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
    Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
    By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
    He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

    How can those terrified vague fingers push
    The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
    And how can body, laid in that white rush,
    But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

    A shudder in the loins engenders there
    The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
    And Agamemnon dead.

                        Being so caught up,

    So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
    Did she put on his knowledge with his power
    Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

-Yeats, Leda and the Swan

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Fort Desoto

Visiting home always feels like a mad dash to see everything I love and everyone I want to hug all at once and then before I know it I'm stuck in the terminal with a two-hour delay because of an approaching hurricane, or I'm leaving New Orleans in a daze of lactic acid and gin and tonic overkill sitting all strapped in, or connecting in LAX when the steward announces that we are grounded for thirty minutes while the fog in San Fran passes over the airport. As if it is ever going to stop.  

Click the photo for more!