Photo (and Poetry) Blog

Nature Knows Its Math



the year

into seasons,



the snow then


some more


a bud,

a breeze,

a whispering


the trees,

and here

beneath the



orange poppies


by Joan Bransfield Graham

Haiku Tuesday: The Bleak Wind


The raging bleak wind died away,

Till it remained as the sound of the sea.

by Gonsui (1649 - 1722)

Translation by Asataro Miyamori

Although The Wind ...

I have Promises To Keep

Although the wind

blows terribly here,

the moonlight also leaks

between the roof planks

of this ruined house.

by Izumi Shikibu (974–1034)

Translation by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani

I'm Still Here Because Of You

Orange Bakgrund - Version6

It’s Friyay again! Here are a few things I’m loving at the momet.

Favorite Song: Signals by Freya Ridings, an English  singer-songwriter. I get goosebumps listening to Freya. The title of this blog post is a line from her song.


Favorite Quote: Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. - Mary Oliver


Favorite Illustrator: APAK Studio, lovely illustrations by Ayumi Kajikawa and Aaron Piland. You can buy them on their Etsy shop

Favorite TV SeriesStringer Things seasons 3 premiering on July 4th. Only four weeks to go!

Pillar of Dreams

Favorite Piece of Public ArtPillars of Dreams by Marc Fornes and his New York-based studio THEVERYMANYThe artwork is standing on a building campus in North Carolina. So lovely!

Ossuary For Acacia by Ryan Dyar on

Favorite Photo: Ossuary For Acacia by Ryan Dyar.

Have a great Friday and week-end, y’all!

Country Summer


Now the rich cherry, whose sleek wood,

And top with silver petals traced

Like a strict box its gems encased,

Has spilt from out that cunning lid,

All in an innocent green round,

Those melting rubies which it hid;

With moss ripe-strawberry-encrusted,

So birds get half, and minds lapse merry

To taste that deep-red, lark’s-bite berry,

And blackcap bloom is yellow-dusted.

The wren that thieved it in the eaves

A trailer of the rose could catch

To her poor droopy sloven thatch,

And side by side with the wren’s brood—

O lovely time of beggar’s luck—

Opens the quaint and hairy bud;

And full and golden is the yield

Of cows that never have to house,

But all night nibble under boughs,

Or cool their sides in the moist field.

Into the rooms flow meadow airs,

The warm farm baking smell’s blown round.

Inside and out, and sky and ground

Are much the same; the wishing star,

Hesperus, kind and early born,

Is risen only finger-far;

All stars stand close in summer air,

And tremble, and look mild as amber;

When wicks are lighted in the chamber,

They are like stars which settled there.

Now straightening from the flowery hay,

Down the still light the mowers look,

Or turn, because their dreaming shook,

And they waked half to other days,

When left alone in the yellow stubble

The rusty-coated mare would graze.

Yet thick the lazy dreams are born,

Another thought can come to mind,

But like the shivering of the wind,

Morning and evening in the corn.

by Léonie Adams (1899–1988)

Haiku Tuesday: Tonight’s Moon

IMG 5874

Some villages have no sea-breams, no flowers;

But tonight’s moon is seen in all villages.

by Saikaku

Translation by Asataro Miyamori


IMG 2668

And it grows, the vain


even for us with our

bright green sins:

behold the dry guest,

the wind,

as it stirs up quarrels

among magnolia boughs

and plays its serene

tune on

the prows of all the leaves—

and then is gone,

leaving the leaves

still there,

the tree still green, but breaking

the heart of the air.

by Carlo Betocchi (1899–1986)

Translation by Geoffrey Brock

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