Emkaydub

Moonlit above bed. For hours the moon and her captivating glances has poured her gaze towards me with allure. I feel touched and felt and seen. I know she knows others, too, as intimately and probably even more than I can know. Do I need to hold her selfishly or can I love her as she loves?

Clouded window moonlight. It sprung a leak and all the fancy argon leaked out and has been in a state of fog for many a year. The house is older and firmer and more solid than the fragile additional upgrades. Isn’t that so so?

Sh’room Underside. From my yard to your eyes. The fins, so rich and soft and cool. That ain’t chocolate and you’d be in need of repair if you consumed it as such. Not all beautifully, rich chocolatey things are actually such things and should be respected as such. Feast with your eyes.

Not a monster. It crept like the things that will this time of year, Though the moon was nowhere even near, Across the ground up to the window sill, Then across to see my face’s frosty chill. It’s just a worm, be not a frighted, Spooky things prefer the dimly lighted.

Green Pumpkin Growing from the country stone wall holding the road up, it’s now two yards into the field. Will it rise up and visit all the children on Halloween? Is this the one?

Malo is bueno. The close possibility with all their parts visible and protruding into our space, inviting us in - inward to view more of their possibility, leaving behind the conceivedless. And… isn’t this the richness?

Blue light. From the second floor this moon keeps speaking. Shall we listen? Is that our strength? That’s an active word: listening.

Second light. After extinguishing the electrical light I waited as the half moon gave her beams and laid her beams across my floor from the windows. I thought it was time to slumber but it was more time to see as there’s always more to consider. My down comforter was the revelation.

Before worship. Walking, preparing ourselves but then suddenly captivated by the leaf colors and the rays of light, directly at first and then filtered, made me think of our roads and the purifying light which blinds that we might need be led and see more clearly, changing our life’s work.

Star guides. What might we find if we lean towards an otherworldly and uncomfortable search? What are we WILLING to find? How much of our old science might we let be the building block for the metaphysical sciences?

Beeing. It’s what they know. It’s who they are, on and in the midst of the flowers.

Face upon the flower. “You know, nobody is perfect.” “Alone in his principles.” Though I don’t expect perfection from anyone, coming up well short of that myself, isn’t it worth trying for? Are principles worth striving for even if we end up alone, or should we live in avoidable discomfort?

Timed light. As we traverse roads, clocks matter a lot less in what we see and experience than we thought, and we find by looking out into this sad and beautiful world it frees us of their encumbrance, even as so many wires are fucked up we can still find something real, something good, some hope.

Black Swallowtail. From the sage at the back door herb garden this little beaut was taking a stroll. It’s funny, because most of the big butterflies have taken flight and started their long journey southward. There’s a risk at not being like everyone else… and such a splendor, too.

Unknown treasure. How I became such a flower person, I have no idea. As I was out yesterday, I saw this gourd flowering, whose vine is making a run onto an opened opportunity. Each day new blossoms grow and the arm reaches further into the wide open shorn grass with abundant sun. Shouldn’t we?

Big love. In the midst of the remnants of a hurricane, this mighty flower blooms. What other choices does it have? No filter, no nothing - just her persistence in the midst of so much rain.

Movement in beach grass. The breeze blew but softly. The people, they moved and slowly. The sun, it came, it rose slowly. My heart, it melted, we thawed slowly. Each day, our birth is unfurling slowly.

Profile. The garden… it evolved. It’s dirty. It’s overgrown. There are more wilts than perfect blossoms. This is life, and why would anyone ever try to change it? Blooms are the culmination. Shriveled flowers are success not in a rest home.

Personal. Circle of life. Softness. Layers of light. Shapely curves. The sixties-green center pushes. The halo of the yellow stamen marks and honors the sacred beauty. Yet, they lean, sometimes precariously, with their male and female parts. Does that change something in your heart?

Shade. What’s more difficult than to block out the power of light? This sliver poked through the slat in the blind and upon my sleeping face. We can move but the light follows us that we may see the way, even if we’ve stopped looking. Light won’t be halted - even in slumber.

Uncomplicated. Sometimes just getting up and meeting the day is enough. It’s enough of a challenge. It’s enough of a goal. It’s enough to attain. The reward is before us, as we leave the slumber of sleep into the awakened state and let the sun shine upon our faces.

Upon purple mountain majesty. The slant of the afternoon light picks up the shadow and tone of leaves changing - the amalgamation of the colors of yellow and blue and green and red and orange and brown and we get that color for which these mountains are sung.

Unknown blossom. It could be something from a good science fiction movie, a random find, or in our backyard. One such thing has already left the flower, but not revealed itself. To follow a life unknown is perhaps unusual but isn’t it more telling when we realize it’s ourselves?

Measuring stick. Through love. There are some days when it’s all work, and we FEEL that burden. There are other days when while it’s in practice it’s all good. And then, there’s when we just are doing the ever-living shit out of it and feel the universe working the way we think it ought to.

Imperfect rose. A slight wilt won’t deter, nor will the likely Japanese beetles who chomp upon the leaves for doth not her shapely color with her seductive curves outshine anything that might veer your appreciation from seeing the beauty set forth before your eyes? We hope, grand and small.

In Her light. Though my thoughts, actions and pulse lead me like a lost child, when I hear Her and listen to Her, and let Her light shine the way, my path seems clear, with Her radiance beckoning me to just listen and see and be in Her love. This path isn’t easier, but it is better with Love.

Power behind the station. With perhaps a dozen, (maybe lucky thirteen) photos on the way to unfinished work we can see the true power beyond humanity’s toilsome attempts. In all that we do we’re limited: in vision, in follow through, by our own selves. We’re not ready for unlimited.

Love-ly. The lines, the luminosity, Her beauty. Beauty, graced with soft, muted light gets revealed at her apex. Apex needn’t be associated with a predator, but the maximum, our highest, a culmination of the life we have built - the substance we know, and are, and exhibit.

Moonbeam light. Still a little groggy from being in slumber when I finally heard my alarm, only part of a handful of times this year I’ve been in bed during its gentle prodding to come back to this world, I shuffled looking for my glasses - how apropos. Still without them, I see all I need to see.

The slow, delicate dance. There’s nothing magical here, except the magic itself: no filters. No Artificial unIntelligence, just slow motion. It’s not necessary to ruin everything to show something which is flitting and valueless.

An abundance. There’s no reason to be alarmed. These daffodils come twice a year, if not thrice. In the spring, they’re early inspiration. In autumn, their colors bring the warm tones so fitting. May their light shine upon our faces and bring happiness to the darkened corners of our souls.

Rare evening color. From where I live, the sun sets over the mountain and out of sight. Rarely I’m able to see some clouds whose hues are set about with the sun’s final rays. Rarely doesn’t mean never and the possibilities are a delight when seen after months of seeking. Hope has power.

Blue dot. I don’t love it. The moonscape was amazing and I thought I’d avoided capturing the dot, standing in the cool night air, holding steady for several seconds. I was wrong. Could I “remove it?” Yes, but I don’t like that idea. You see what I see. I’ll focus on what is actually there.

Small window. At the gables of both ends are these nice, simple windows with but four panes. They do a wonderful job of letting in the air and both the sun and moonlights. Windows are our glimpse inside and out of our homes and selves.

In a basket. I picked these pawpaws yesterday during a light rain. I had neglected the Grove the previous day and lost a couple. The weather turned and autumn has spoken. These fruits are late and though they’re dwindling, they’re a gift for the giving until they’re gone. Sharing abundance.

Crunchy. The light turned yellow before a wide intersection. I debated because it was raining but decided to stop. Then the crunch happened. I was fine. She, too. I invited her to an embrace. An onlooker said “well that’s a first.” I said “there’s room for more love.” Be the love.

Zinnia happiness. As I slinked through the garden with the tall, wet grass brushing against my feet, I took large steps to avoid getting too much on me. I spent too much time there seeing all of her continuous wonders because the wildflowers, sunflowers and morning glories seduced my needful soul.

Lighten up. The sun can’t be seen this morning, so I needed a reminder from this shot I took last Wednesday when it shone through this window, casting light beyond the metaphor - Her rays shooting onto my face. Feel her power. Her light is beyond luminosity, warmth, inspiration: illumination.

Pawpaw heaven. I processed a dozen yesterday because I can only eat so many and it would be a shame were they to go bad. With the consistency of a thick custard and flavors of pineapple, mango and banana, they grow from Florida to Maine. Look at the nutritional information and you’ll be amazed.

This: Bright blue sky burning the cool morning as I climbed out of town and passed this last minute, insurance fraud corn field, which won’t produce corn at this point, as the farmer knew. You could bet they voted stupidly, because birds of a feather… But further up the road I’ve seen growth…

Favorite power pole. Of course it’s not just what’s right before our eyes, it’s ALL of what’s there - beyond the foreground, the backdrop of Life eternal and incomprehensible. Starlight, night lights, and the silhouettes that make the values contrast.

Dual Luminosity. Leaned in on one another, not just near, these siblings find strength in connection, not a crutch, which, even if ’twer so, so what - why would that make a difference to you? Isn’t life to be shared? Independent resilience is a lonelier existence… and I’d know.

Preparation in pamper. She’s not sad just because she’s not upfacing and beaming. She’s gathering strength, for the time when she can shine her light into this world. Is it today? Maybe she’s taller, more open, “more herself,” as if not at her peak isn’t enough for this time - it is. She is.

Rising Figdom. With the way the world is warming, I can now grow a fig, and so I do and in growth quadramultiplicity, popping out a plethora of figgies! Her shelterous leaves prepare the shade but the season has more rain than usual. How will she adapt? Stay tuned.

Biggest pawpaw. It’s a monster that could bear the weight no more. It was unreachable from wherever it came. Success must eventually purge itself, being too much of a good thing, falling to the ground with a heavy thud, splitting open and disgorging its massive, creamy flesh.

Golden, magical sunflower dust! Brimming, you see, so much as to leave this dusting as pollinators visit and take some that we all might live. Her rain reigns supreme, and with more power than we’re capable of ever knowing.

Looky, Lou. The clarity, the shapely lines, the shade, the shadow, the light and color… Beyond the incredible detail of the flower, what else does that clarity show us? It’ll show how much we’re willing to look to see. And as such, what’s important in this now for these steps. Do you see it?

Dappled clouds. Into the work, with a cooler, drier day for good unfolding, and restoration. The silo, just out of view, could hold the winter’s feed for the herd, but the field and the barn are long empty, as is the silo. But the possibility remains - options.

Questions beyond. “The Feels” plays most regularly each morning as I set my mind into a peaceful presence, as much as I can, today specifically considers the recovery of the previous week, with the bad batches stirred into the mix with the struggle which must come with said stirring. It’s a lot.

Healing worlds. My poor, sad, abused, scarred, beaten and battered heart is healing. I took in a new lover. Our connection, a surprise to us both, is exactly what my last lover said to me with distain in her voice: “you’re too intense.” And our intensity in our connection… it’s what matters.