Bestselling Author - Mentor - Historian
Photo by Richard Fogg
Buzz! buzz! buzz!
This is the song of the bee.
His legs are of yellow;
A jolly, good fellow,
And yet a great worker is he.
Buzz! buzz! buzz!
From morning’s first light
Till the coming of night,
He’s singing and toiling
The summer day through.
Oh! we may get weary,
And think work is dreary;
‘Tis harder by far
To have nothing to do.
~ Marian Douglas.
Photo by Richard Fogg
Come and marvel at the sunset!
Lo—a storm is brooding near,—
All the thirsty world imploring,
In a mood akin to fear…
See the weirdly golden essence
Lurk along, the shades between,
‘Till it drowns and rolls above them
In triumphant glare of sheen.
~ Ruby Archer
Photo by Richard Fogg
My eyes dim for the skyline
Where purple peaks aspire,
And the forges of the sunset
Flare up in golden fire…
I cry for night-blue shadows
On plain and hill and dome—
The spell of old enchantments,
The sorcery of home.
~ Bliss Carman
Photo by Richard Fogg
sunflower heart
the chiffchaff sings
its name
~ Alan Summers.
Look, a butterfly. Did you make a wish?
You don’t wish on butterflies.
You do so. Did you make one?
Yes.
~ Louise Gluck
Photo by Richard Fogg
Love may be wind-tossed as a blue flax flower,
Or hold its fragile petals but an hour,
Vanish with frost; still, roots that drink the rain,
Eternal as ours, will live…and bloom again.
~ Mary L. Kienholz.
Photo by Richard Fogg
Photo by Richard Fogg
Downy came and dwelt with me,
Taught me hermit lore;
Drilled his cell in oaken tree
Near my cabin door.
Carved it deep and shaped it true
With his little bill;
Took no thought about the view,
Whether dale or hill.
Shook the chips upon the ground,
Careless who might see,
Hark! his hatchet’s muffled sound
Hewing in the tree.
Round his door as compass-mark,
True and smooth his wall;
Just a shadow on the bark
Points you to his hall.
~ John Burroughs
Paint Mines Interpretive Park photo by Richard Fogg
Earth-colors drape
over edges of Summer,
hot as desert sands
rippling malt hues.
~ Jennifer Cahill
Doves of the fir-wood walling high our red roof
Through the long noon coo, crooning through the coo.
Loose droop the leaves, and down the sleepy road-way
Sometimes pipes a chaffinch; loose droops the blue.
Cows flap a slow tail knee-deep in the river,
Breathless, given up to sun and gnat and fly.
Nowhere is she seen; and if I see her nowhere,
Lightning may come, straight rains and tiger sky.
~ George Meredith.
Photo by Richard Fogg
