the bee-loud glade

The bees have come alive here this week - they are everywhere, buzzing by day and doing whatever it is that carpenter bees do in between layers of wood at night. All I know is you can *hear* it.

Serendipitously, while writing yesterday, I happened to reach a scene in my novel-in-progress referencing William Butler Yeats' poem, the Lake Isle of Innisfree. What wonderful words for these days, here in the bee-loud glade.


I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

night writing

This is the first night of the year I've opened the window in my little writing room to let the cool air of evening float in.

The delightful buzz of insects makes a chorus, rising, falling, and sometimes stopping completely. The sudden quiet is eerie, a signal I don't understand. Across the gravel road, the high sweet voices of a neighbors' children fade as they go inside.

Years ago, this was my writing habit - in the evening, windows open, letting the lullaby of night fuel the stories. Almost always I had candles, and sometimes a glass of wine, but tonight I'll just write to the night noises and see what comes.

No photo, but if you close your eyes, vision this: a dim Japanese paper-screened lamp by the black rectangle rimmed in white, the buzz of the universe pouring through.


Morning's addendum: I can't help but add that the black rectangle is now blazing with light and buzzing still - the superhighway of bees passes right by my garret. Five different birdsongs mingle with the morning, and while not quite as compelling as the night for writing, there is thankfully a certain creative charm to this time of day.

one morning in march, chiaroscuro

A painted pony naps in the early morning sun.

two more stripes in the rainbow of spring

On the front porch, yellow.



And in the front field, pink.



A quick glance at Biedermann and Cooper yields this on rainbows:

the manifestation of divine benevolence, transfiguration, heavenly glory, different states of consciousness, the bridge between the world and Paradise, and an omen of future wealth and the finding of treasure.

If you look around, I bet you can find a rainbow too.

halfway, and a birthday

Today is the spring equinox, and we're halfway between midwinter and midsummer, a wonderful time to start new projects, leap into a new phase, or simply celebrate the growing light of the sun each day that passes.

It is also a pretty special day here on our farm. Cody, fancy name Riskless Asset, is four years old!

Cody, affectionately known as Coden Locomoden, is our youngest horse and also our sweetest. He is a teddy bear, but also quite brave, the least likely in the herd to act silly over plastic bags blowing in the wind, fireworks on the fourth of July, or imaginary monsters in the forest by the arena.



Now that he's four, he will begin a new phase in training - jumping. We had a preview of this last week when he jumped the dressage markers in the arena in a private, rainy-day steeplechase instigated by Keil Bay.



Happy birthday, Cody - I wish I could have seen you four years ago on those long wobbly legs as you heralded spring.