Saturday, August 29, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Yesterday was a glorious summer day, so I kept my camera close at hand.
The flowers on the deck are a constant pleasure. I planted mixed seeds so I wasn't sure what I was going to get. I love the old-fashioned look of my flower pots. They look like a celebration...
I don't know whether it is the fine weather we've had this summer or the volcanic dust that fell this spring, but the fireweed have grown spectacularly this year. I have never seen them so tall.
These "weeds" can challenge the beauty of the cultivated blooms...
We needed to run an errand out to the Russian Old Believers' Village near Anchor Point. From the crest of the North Fork Road, lower Cook Inlet lay spread out beneath us. Mount Iliamna is the snow-capped peak on the far side of the Inlet.
The village is a bit of the Old World nestled in Alaskan wilderness...
The peaks on the far side of Kachemak Bay peek over the hills as we head home.
The deck is an inviting place to take one's ease on a pleasant summer day.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
The smoke from the massive fires in the interior has drifted down to our neighborhood. On our road trip to Kenai and back today, most of the scenery was veiled in smoke and low clouds. I took this from a high point south of Ninilchik heading toward Homer.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Monday, August 03, 2009
I love these little flowers and have encouraged them to grow in our yard. Despite their rather inelegant name, their bright white star-shaped blossoms enliven the undergrowth with a touch of delicate beauty.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
This morning, it hit me.
I walked into the living room, looked at the cat beds in front of the glass door and it hit me. Punkin is gone.
In a visceral moment, I felt her loss all the way through to my heart.
All those years.
How much she loved me.
All the nights she slept on my pillow, her paws touching my head.
What will stay with me the most is how she would light up when I said her name. The bond of love was so strong between us that nothing else mattered.
I watched over her last days, tended her dying and wrapped her for burial in a fog of insensitivity. Not a failure to feel so much as a refusal to feel.
Or just a delay.
Somehow, I knew I would have the rest of my life to mourn her loss.