Lingering last days of sneezeweed in bloom

“The days may not be so bright and balmy—yet the quiet and melancholy that linger around them is fraught with glory. Over everything connected with autumn there lingers some golden spell—some unseen influence that penetrates the soul with its mysterious power.”
Northern Advocate

You can see in the many colors of the sneezeweed beds the gradual letting go, the change from summer splendor to the dimming of winter.

Sneezeweed in October

Sneezeweed in its final days of glory

Watercolor sketch of sneezeweed

And another watercolor sketch of sneezeweed

 

 

 

Forsythia: Golden Stars

March 19, 2012

“Tomorrow the twigs of forsythia will be sprinkled all over with golden stars . . .”
— Karel Capek, The Gardener’s Year

Forsythia in bloom

Sprightly branches of forsythia

Detail of forsythia branches

Early blossoms, forsythia

“Forsythia is pure joy.  There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia.  Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.”
— Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Watercolor sketch of forsythia

Another watercolor sketch of forsythia

 

Gathering Golden Moments

January 21, 2010

“Winter, a lingering season, is a time to gather golden moments, embark upon a sentimental journey, and enjoy every idle hour.”
     — John Boswell

Yesterday’s sunrise was a welcome rush of golden, if fleeting, moments.

Enjoying the sunrise at Green Lake

Empty diving platform in winter

Yesterday's sunrise

Wheat Harvest

September 18, 2009

Wheat in the fields

Wheat in the fields

Harvested wheat field in Eastern Washington

Harvested wheat field in Eastern Washington

I just returned from a drive to Eastern Washington with a friend.  We enjoyed seeing the fruits of a successful growing season.  The wheat fields have been harvested, but they still looked majestic framed by the blue Cascade Mountains.

A Farmer’s Prayer
by Timothy Murphy

Spirit of the wheat
brush every beard
turning green flaxen
with a wave of your wand.
The wind is your oven,
the hills your loaves.
Dry husks rustle,
flag leaves furl,
heads curl earthward
as kernels harden.
Your garden is golden,
your larder laden.
Feed a hungry world.