A Beautiful Question or A Beautiful Answer?

queen anne's lace

Queen Anne’s Lace – August, 2016 – Mars, PA

I wandered
and I wondered

surrounded by the intricate
beauty of nature.

Did “the queen”
strive to achieve her beauty…
or did she just
allow it to happen?

Did she recognize her beauty
in the complexity…
Or did it
even matter?

Was she
a weed…
Or was she
a beautiful flower?

Is it a
beautiful question…
Or is it
a beautiful answer?


Cheers & Hugs,

Beauty in the Cracks

in the cracks stone wall flowers

The other evening
after dinner,
I went outside
to breathe in
the gentle fragrance
of the Spring air
and dig my fingers
into the warming earth
to clear the leaves and twigs and “weeds”
in preparation for planting
flowers and herbs and vegetables.

In the crack of the stone wall
in the landscape where nothing should grow
and where I tend to pull out things
that do not “belong,”
I decided to leave this tender
flowering plant
that added life
and its own kind of beauty
when you look at it for what it simply is.

Like life in between,
where I cherish the moments,
I cherish the beauty
in the cracks of life.

The crack in the chip
of an heirloom antique cow creamer,
or the crack in the humor
of a “dig” or a joke from one of my guys.

The crack in the corner of the lips
of a friend’s smile when they see me,
or the crack in the voice of my Dad
when we reminisce
about times we’ve spent together
or the times we sadly missed.

The cracks in the corners of
hubby’s (and even my) eyes
that show we have lived and loved and laughed
throughout the years.
(not to mention another cute crack
when he bends over without a belt!)

There truly is beauty
in the cracks of life
if only we open our eyes to see
the tiny little joys
in the cracks in between.

Cheers & Hugs,

Queen Anne’s Lace

queen anns lace
Queen Anne’s Lace
in a vase
on the patio by the door.

Sweet memories of summers past
and a Grandma I did so adore.

She could make bouquets from weeds,
bring life to seeds,
make soup from bones,
and homemade ice cream cones.

We played Old Maid
while we drank lemonade
or sipped on root beer
or cream soda floats.

We would sing and laugh on the side porch swing
making up words to our favorite songs.
She would tell me sweet stories of her life and her past
while we dreamed of the future and who would be part of the cast.

We’d watch the morning glories close
while the moon flowers arose.
They were perfectly entwined
in an ornate grate
which bordered the slope
and the colorful splendor
of the portulaca flower bed
I will always remember.

Oh how I hope
that I can someday be
the kind of grandma
she was to me.

Cheers & Hugs,