Budding Pine Cone, Missoula, Montana

I’m not sure if this little budding pine cone is correctly called by a different name, but I do know I’ve never looked closely before at such a one emerging. It’s lovely how the lower layers wrap around the needles; this version appears so much more delicate than its final sturdy self.

Crocus Chorus, Missoula, Montana

“…Spring

hastens in on gossamer wings.
Armed with yellow crocuses that sing….”From
Gossamer Wings By Anita Griffith

Crocus Welcome, Missoula, Montana

A perfect Montana spring evening: The sun shines. The wind blows alternately gusty and gently. Young K. and her middle-school league team ardently practice softball skills. J. and I walk about the park and neighborhood environs.

“Look! What are those?”, says J.

“Crocuses”, says I, “and the first I've seen in this glorious gold!”
“Take a picture!” says J, “Nobody’s home….”.
So I did. Actually, I took several.
And we didn’t get caught and stammer awkward apologies for crossing the driveway and sidewalk of strangers and crouching cozily at their front doorstep. Nor did we (as would be more likely) initiate chatty conversation to compliment their stunning flora (that pretty much hollered across the yard, "Hey! Over here! Yah, that's right, I'm talkin' to you....")

We just checked for a clear coast and walked on into the buffering breeze.

Riverbank, Corvallis, Montana

"...I want nothing more than to speak simply, to be granted that grace.

Because we’ve loaded even our song with so much music that it’s slowly sinking

and we’ve decorated our art so much that its features have been eaten away by gold

and it’s time to say our few words because tomorrow our soul sets sail.

If pain is human we are not human beings merely to suffer pain;

that’s why I think so much these days about the great river,

this meaning that moves forward among herbs and greenery

and beasts that graze and drink, men who sow and harvest,

great tombs even and small habitations of the dead.

This current that goes its way and that is not so different from the blood of men,

from the eyes of men when they look straight ahead without fear in their hearts,

without the daily tremor for trivialities or even for important things;

when they look straight ahead like the traveller who is used to gauging his way by the stars,

not like us, the other day, gazing at the enclosed garden..."

From "An Old Man on the River Bank" by George Seferis (1900-1971)
Read the entire museful text here.

Knothole View, Downing Mountain, Hamilton, Montana

Never fear, gentle reader, this photographer was not in danger of trespass charges during the taking of this picture. 

This knothole view of Downing Mountain across the Bitterroot River bottom park is through a friend’s new fence at the back of their town lot in Hamilton, Montana. 
All the gracious benefits of nature, within walking distance to the public library and other necessities.

Liquid Sunshine At Rest, Hamilton, Montana

Liquid sunshine - before today, I don’t think I’d heard rain so aptly described.

For those of us who hope for rainbows and silver linings on any rainy day, this says it perfectly.

Driftwood Mirrored, Missoula, Montana

Slowly, but surely, winter’s remnants fade, making way for the greening spring to take us by surprise.

April Showers Hope, Hamilton, Montana

Ah, the hope of April showers!

These classic lines from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “The Rainy Day” phrase it well:

“…Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.”