Butterfly perched above me on an arbor built by an Eagle Scout, I decide to snap and leave the Queen Owl with cream inside her wings. She is quit beautiful. The natural wood of the arbor sets contrast for her. She rests, she hangs, she waits for evening.
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Flower
Flower of Marjorie, and Laurel, the youth of bloom, and fair middle motherhood, giving all to the girl we call our offspring, our daughter, and thinking about two cells, the daughter cells of dividing single cell animals and plants, I was always absorbed with the euglina, part plant, part animal, thew hybrid of the common world, the kingdom joined form two directions, and somehow different than a yeast or a mold. Peach, specific in the flower, more of beauty the Wunder Hybiscus.
This child and father are a place I ruled out of my past, a belief, an ever visible meaning beyond fatherhood, for the child is a boy, and I was father to a girl. Laurel came into our home almost 21 years ago, and on March 27th she will be fully adult, and so funny that drinking alcohol and gambeling with hard cash marks the beginning of adulthood.