Prairie Lily Arts

Carving Day

If you had dropped by today...

This was us... unedited.

A Fall Day on the Farm

 A breathtaking, easy, fall day on the farm...

Brothers being silly....

Monstrous Dreams

 
Tomorrow, just in the nick of time, we will visit our local Kinsey Family Farm to select just the right pumpkins for this year's jack-o'-lanterns.  It's a little early for sugar plums, so my boys are dreaming of pumpkin bread and hay rides and apple cannons.  (Ok, so is their mama.)

Halloween at our house is much less about monsters and all things gruesome as it is about dreams.  Sure, the boys love to put on the goulish masks in the costume aisles.  Dozens of times over I hear, "Hey, Mama, look at this!" as they see who can gross out the girl.  But when crisp breezes first begin to rustle the treetops, my boys start dreaming.  What hero do they most want to be?  If they could do anything, be anything, what and who would it be?

Safe Harbor

 

What is your instinctive reaction to this fellow?   Jaws outstretched?  A few yards away?

Well, in this shot he's bored with me... yawning, actually.  I thought he was beautiful and delightful in his easy lingering as I played paparazzi.  Yet, I remained cautious... uncertain of our respect for one another.

So it is sometimes in our relationships with others.  We have misperceptions.  What we instinctively respond to as a threat, is sometimes no threat at all.  We misjudge.  Conversely, sometimes we misplace our trust, falling in harm's way.  Still other times we become wary of others and wary of ourselves and avoid a connection at all.  Yet, a part of each of us reminds us of our deep need for safe harbor.

Fall Reflections

 

Fall called this afternoon from our back door. 

So my little guy and I headed down to the creek. 

We discovered the world along the way. 

Just a Little Girl

 
Tonight I pulled out a simple, white cotton handkerchief worn soft.  It was my dad's.  More than twenty years ago when I was part woman and part girl, wandering my way through my first broken heart, he handed it to me to dry my tears.  I sat tucked up under his arm in his big, black pick-up truck like a little girl.  When he pulled away that night, I kept his handkerchief clasped in the palm of my hand.

Since then, I've experienced so much on this crazy ride of life.  And on days like today, when I've learned life's lessons the hard way, I've opened my dresser drawer more than a time or two and held this handkerchief.  Recently someone described me as a little girl.  I've thought about that a lot tonight.  I suppose I am.

Are You Ready?

May your dreams

Be your compass.

 

Mama's Bed

I hear his breath beside me, this little man of mine, with a long, quiet, slumbering rhythm.  His tender cheeks grow rosy, pressing against silky white cotton. Wisps of still baby-fine hair cling to the warmth of his face.  The night air has grown cool, but he burrows deep into quilts and blankets and feather pillows piled plush and welcoming.  The old milkglass lamp with its knobby hobnail texture glows softly in the dark. 

There are nights when I hear the call of a little-boy voice, closely followed by the muffled padding of feet running across the carpeted floor.  Tiny toes grip the edge of the old bed as his legs stretch their maximum span to climb up into a waiting respite... comforting and secure. This is one of those nights. When the world seems less certain, even to a little boy in Superman jammies, mama's bed chases away the worries... and dreams come sweetly.

Mama's bed.  New to me.  Old to the world.  Oh, that it could whisper this night. 

Strong Enough To Love

 
 
West Point graduate... by sheer grit.

Recipient of more promotions in the Mexican War than any other officer.

Tactical mastermind.

Lieutenant General.

Stone wall.

Strength.

 

I Will Be Here

It was decided. 

There would be a wedding. 

It would be a beautiful spring wedding in a chapel which once knew the footsteps of Daniel Boone.  There would be fresh lavender.  Brothers and sisters would join them at the altar.  My little man would wear his first tuxedo.  A treasured cousin would read 1 Corinthians 13.  The steeple bells would be sounded by a lifelong friend. I would fan her train and set her veil just before I took the arm of her soon-to-be brother-in-law and walk down the aisle.  The double doors would open to the sunshine, and Daddy would give her away.  For months my sister and I shared late night talks and plans and hopes for that day.  Dresses. Shoes. Cake. Flowers.  Music....

For the ceremony, she chose the love song Steven Curtis Chapman wrote for his own bride,  "I Will Be Here".  I listened to it for the first time and fell in love.  I sang the words over and over again.  I still remember the bride and groom exchanging glances.  "I will be here... to watch you grow in beauty and tell you all the things you are to me.  I will be here."