Azalea
After two days of rain, rain and more rain, the forest canopy sagged and dripped. The thick piles of leaf litter were sodden and silent, the air cold and heavy, the sky overcast with gray. But the song of the wood thrush drew me into his hushed world, to a stage so reverent and tranquil that I became transfixed for the duration of an hour. 
My lens is not nearly strong enough to capture a good photo at that distance, nor was the gray light of much help, but I do love my photos. They bring even more intimacy to the moment and will give me later reference for when, before the summer’s end, I sit down to paint this star's portrait.
Ruby-throated Hummingbird (juvenile)
A lizard, known as a skink, slipped around the corner of the wall and started looking at me. Taking that to mean, hi, I had to stop what I was doing to pay him some attention. He allowed me to come so close, I was astounded. With each shift closer (I’m sitting on the ground at this point and he’s on the wall) I expected him to sprint away. But he didn’t. He just posed. And so after a little while and lots of photos, I thanked him and went back to my chair to resume writing.
Ten minutes passed, before I caught movement in the corner of my vision. I turned my head and there he came, sauntering across the patio, not sprinting, not break-neck speed, not avoiding me, but swaggering straight up to me, stopping within three inches of my toes. I mean, this was giggle stuff. 
I later did some sleuthing. This is a five-lined skink but from there the puzzle gets confusing. This skink was about eight inches long including that gorgeous tail. But only juveniles are said to have that brilliant blue tail. With a flex of a muscle they are able to release a section of tail to free themselves from a predator and save their life. Males have the brighter orange head which is an indicator of sexual maturity. His legs were a beautiful pale pink underneath the gray pattern. Nesting occurs in April and May with broods hatching June to August. I take that to mean there shouldn’t be any juveniles hanging around, right?
You may wonder how these birds survive with such vulnerable habits. The secret is camouflage. You would be more likely to have heart-stopping fright as this bird flushes from beneath your step, then to ever see one at roost among the leaves.
Trillium
A woman said to me, “I need to get away, go somewhere and figure out who I am.” And I thought, that could be a nice break, but what I hear in those words is ‘more of the same’. We do not discover who we are by thinking or even going someplace new to think. We take whoever we are with us and repeat what we know in our minds.
Amazingly, this is one of the hardest things to teach and to learn—kindness to ourselves. Kindness is not the same as self-indulgence or determination. It is the act of treating ourselves in kind ways, with kind thoughts and kind words no matter what mistakes we make or what fears we face. It is not self-improvement or self-image. It is relationship. It is the ability to value intent and to regard with understanding. And it’s the ability to try again when something is important and approach it with encouragement.
Tiger Swallowtail--I loved the way she dove into that blossom.
Witch Hobble is a common name for this variety of viburnum, a native shrub that grows mostly in the northeast but extends as far south as east Tennessee. Each intriguing blossom is like a factory producing a whole village of tiny flowerettes, all of which, are encircled by graceful, snowy white petals. 
Witch Hobble? Don't you just wonder about the story behind this name?
When I passed the young redbud yesterday, the one that lives a short walk from my driveway and introduced me to the snail, I noticed that all its blooms were gone. It was sprouting those beautiful little heart shaped leaves that become voluminous as the tree matures. So I paid it another visit. And then I wandered. 
Quaker Ladies
That's me on the right clinging to my sister and my Dad feeding the orphan piglets.
My two early best friends. Me (left) and my sister on our pony, Cutie. I learned to ride at age five on this pony. When I fell off, my feelings were hurt and I didn't want to ride anymore. Knowing I was okay, my dad just laughed and said, "get back on" and I did, but only after he agreed he wouldn't make her trot this time. 
Me on the right with my sister. The tomboy in us is smiling through the frills.
viburnumMy priority today and until it is complete, is finishing my novel. This commitment, that the time is now, has given me a new kind of respect and admiration for published writers. It is enough to choose this priority over and over again midst the trials that life throws your way and among other daily demands. But then there is the eye strain and the aching joints from too much stillness and the mind-numbing reading and re-reading.
I've always loved reading and writing, but this experience has given me an even deeper appreciation for those who have gone before me. And so I continue, repeating this phrase in my head over and over again--"every single day, choose the same thing, choose your novel."
“Fear is a universal experience. Even the smallest insect feels it. We wade in the tidal pools and put our finger near the soft, open bodies of sea anemones and they close up. Everything spontaneously does that. It’s not a terrible thing that we feel fear when faced with the unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share....
Lots of cool, drippy gray to show off this blushing beauty.
Shovel-tusked elephant depicted in Gray Fossil Site Museum mural. 
Red Panda skull (left) compared to today's Red Panda (right) on display through the window of the paleontology lab. Constructed with wrap around windows, visitors can see the newest discoveries being processed and pieced together. 
“Generally speaking, we regard discomfort in any form as bad news. But for practitioners or spiritual warriors—people who have a certain hunger to know what is true—feelings like disappointment, embarrassment, irritation, resentment, anger, jealousy, and fear, instead of being bad news, are actually very clear moments that teach us where it is that we’re holding back. They teach us to perk up and lean in when we feel we’d rather collapse and back away. They’re like messengers that show us with terrifying clarity, exactly where we’re stuck. This very moment is the perfect teacher, and, lucky for us, it’s with us wherever we are.” 
I’ve been writing morning pages for ten years. You don’t have to be a writer. It’s a tool for everyone.
I found these dainty Quaker Ladies nodding with rain droplets on a sparsely wooded slope among mosses and leaves. Kin to the woodland Bluet, these exquisite little flowers dot meadows and wooded clearings from April to May with a happy sprinkling of blue sky. 
The name of this painting is “Pink”. It began as a wash of pigment brushed on wet paper with nothing in particular in mind, except to see what a bit of rock salt sprinkled here and there would create. The next step was to define something, a shape, a form, a suggestion. The first time I tried this, I struggled. My mind was blank. I saw nothing. Nothing came to me, except frustration and the feeling, maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I hate this. 
