Flowers grace life with beauty
Flowers bring everyone joy
Flowers invite humans to hike, laugh, love
Flowers sing songs of peace.
Spring in LA County
flora
The Huntington Gardens–Part Two
In the last six weeks I have travelled to these gardens five times, two alone and three with house guests. Amid all the turmoil in the world today this is a place where nature continues its grand display, instilling a sense of peace and quiet.
Depending on how you walk through the gardens, you walk to Japanese first, then Chinese, then back to the Japanese Gardens. This and the following few photos are the Chinese Gardens.
The Chinese Garden is filled with various sizes of limestone that looks like sculptures but is natural. The next time I go, I am going to learn what is written on many of the pieces of limestone.
After five times, I have seen most of the gardens–next post will be some photos of the Australian area–and the two art galleries. Never made it to the library yet.
The Huntington–Gardens, Part One
Where have I been? Entertaining my son whom I had not seen in more than two years. One of the things he wanted to do was visit The Huntington in Pasadena after seeing some photos I took on a visit in January. Unless you get there as soon as they open and stay all day, it is impossible to see everything in one day. I have been there four times and only seen the gardens. The library and art gallery await for another time. Here are the photos from the first excursion with my son, Erik.
In many place in the gardens you can see the San Gabriel Mountains in the background.
Winter Afternoon
No wind, stringy high clouds block a bit of blue.
Someone bounces a ball next door,
I hear the intermittent sound.
Suddenly several dogs bark across the golf course green,
Suddenly stop.
Across the turquoise pool water burnt orange leaves waft downward,
some land on the pale gold rocks,
some float at the pool’s terracotta edge,
others lay across the dark green rosemary bushes.
Bird song I cannot identify fills the background.
Two men, voices loud, banter –they’re neighbors, friends.
One of their small children cries, stops, cries again.
A late day golfer strides a ball, shouts.
Breeze arises, quits, more leaves fall,
the pool and birdbath water slightly ripple.
The lemons glow against the dark green leaves,
a painting emerald and bright yellow.
I sit beside the African multi-colored granite table my son made,
admire the colors:
-succulents called fire sticks match the falling leaves.
shades of orange, red, and green.
-the pots that house them match the dark blue of the pool’s old fashioned
Mexican tile.
-roses still display a few blossoms, dark red, pale pink, peach.
Tomorrow the gardener will trim them back to help them bloom lushly n spring.
-the oleander, still green, quit blooming weeks ago.
-rosemary loves this time of year, covers itself with tiny, fragrant, grey-blue flowers.
-in the distance mountains arise, a purple haze.
Now, no sounds, only silence.
I sit in the quiet beauty, write, drink green tea, feel grateful.
Winter Evening
Orange pink shadows ripple across the turquoise pool water.
Pumpkin colored and purple leaves drift across the rosemary,
land, bright little boats floating across the turquoise water.
A phoebe, dressed in his grey tuxedo coat and white tie,
flits along the red tile at water’s edge.
Green, minuscule, a hummingbird hovers among the scarlet salvia.
Fuschia, peach, deep red roses glow in the setting sun.
Suddenly, howls break the evening silence.
Coyotes, joyful, sing to each other,
preparing for the nightly hunt.
Fuerte
An “exercise” to write a poem about ones origins with the words I am from… inspired me to write this poem.
I am from the dark side of the moon, blood born, secretly shining.
Fuerte
I am from puma, stalking your memories, invading your minds,.
Fuerte
I am from Gottlieb, who left Swiss mountains 150 years ago at 18 to avoid
becoming a mercenary, moved to Missouri, created a farm. His cultivator
sets in my front garden.
Fuerte
I am from persons Gujarati, Bengali, Punjabi, who sailed seas, met strangers, loved.
Fuerte
I am from Esan, a Nigerian tribe about which I knew nothing until a DNA test revealed,
ancient, black, beautiful.
Fuerte
I am from Latin America, Colombian, Peruvian, Puerto Rican–wanderers, explorers.
Fuerte
I am from Slavic peoples. Byzantine, Macedonian, Alexander the Great.
Fuerte
I am from brave wandering ancestors–Asian, Latin, Toscani Italian, French, German, Swiss, Slavic, Iberian.
Fuerte
I am from J haploid group, people who left the northern Middle East 7000 years ago,
wandered, explored, populated Western Europe.
Fuerte
I am from farmers, Doyle and Barbara, who grew corn, wheat, soybeans, Hereford and Charolaise cattle
to whom I carried salt blocks as a child.
Fuerte
I am from Sacred Corn, the nourisher, singing on hot summers, growing.
Fuerte
I am from the sweet smell of Jasmine, Roses, Honeysuckle, winding up walls, overgrowing gardens,
giving people hope.
Fuerte
I am from lemons, figs, dates, pomegranates, golden, dark, red, tropical, lingering.
Fuerte
I am from Stars, universal child, born on sacred ground, singing infinite songs.
Fuerte
In Memory of Mother’s Roses
Mother’s rose garden
flowers for the family table
all my childhood summers.
Red, pinks, snowy.
No roses for decades
except those given, bouquets,
mostly red.
Now, I look out every window, roses
Pinks, reds, orange, lavender, yellow, snowy.
I love them, cut them,
And remember my mother.
Moving–6, The End
Finally settled in my new home in San Dimas, CA. I finished hanging all but one piece of art and family photos this morning. In addition I discovered a new rose bush I had previously not noticed since it is among the constantly blooming oleanders. This makes rose bush no. 25 I think. What I thought was a lime tree is a lemon–now that some are turning the color of lemons. What others said was an apple tree is a pear tree. One tree is pomegranate and full. As to when to harvest, I remain clueless. Supposedly, another tree is mandarin orange but not sure yet. Flowers in bloom everywhere make my heart sing.
Because this area is not right next to the mountains, I thought probably no pumas or bears around. While we walked around the large lake in Bonelli Regional Park on Thursday, my neighbor informed me that both are here and related a story about a bear on the golf course–the back of my house adjoins a golf course, and someone watching a puma chase a bunch of coyotes. I have heard the coyotes sing more here than where I lived out in the country in Texas. The weather has been such that I have not used the heat or the AC yet. Next task is to learn the names of the birds I see here all the time. I know the raptors I have seen but not the little ones rapidly consuming something in the grass nearly every morning. Another change from the Panhandle of Texas is the absolute lack of wind. Right now no wind at all and when it is windy, it is like ten miles an hour or so basically a nice little breeze.
I Dream of Spring
I live where weather extremes prevail. Yesterday it was nearly 70, today 60, and in a few days it will drop to 9, yes, 9, with a windchill way below zero. In the meantime, I dream of spring flowers, renewal, transformation. I scrolled through old flower photos and decided to share a few. Drink a glass of wine, dream spring dreams, dance.
Wandering the World–Recent Road Trip
My family and I took a quick road trip to California and back over the Thanksgiving break. Why now in the time of Covid? Grandson is applying to colleges in CA and needed to see what he could. We did stay in hotels, picked them carefully, did not use any services–most are currently not available anyway. You put used towels, etc. in the hall, go to the main desk to pick up more yourself, etc. It was fine. For meals we did takeout and ate at the hotel. Twice we did eat at a restaurant outside where there was no one near. It was possible because it was not cold. I took a few photos which follow.
Near the UPS store in San Luis Obispo.
At the University of San Francisco, one of the few places where we were able to get out of the car and walk around.
This and the following several photos were taken among the redwoods at Muir Woods. This is how we spent Thanksgiving Day.
On the way out or in, depending on which way you go, you can see the Painted Desert. Guess I caught my own shadow in this one.
writingontherim 