Poppy

I am growing two different types of poppies. My friend Caitlin Rose gave me some pods for Christmas two years ago. This is the first bloom of what I believe to be Papaver Rhoeas, or a Flanders Poppies. The other variety bloomed the day before. This little one was all splayed open this morning when I walked down to my plot a delirious little gift left from last nights' moon. I felt such a connection to this particular poppy plant when it was coming up. It is tall and thin, and less sturdy, but more whimsical looking than the others. And here it is! The first to bloom! I feel so fortunate. Here is some information on this poppy from a favorite site of mine https://www.alchemy-works.com/papaver_rhoeas.html . I've actually purchased California poppies from him a few years ago, because they are native to America and Native Americans from that area have a history with them. 

Black Tea Top

I made this top out of another blousey shirt that I had dyed with black tea dye. I just love the soft faun color it produces. I used an Isabelle Schultz tutorial for her Crocodile Top. I spent an evening using her free pattern that can be downloaded and the above was the result. The pattern she gives you is an extra small, her size, so it is definitely on the small side for me. But I like the top itself, and want to make another one with an old black stretchy shirt I have. I actually wrote to her on instagram and included a picture of the top, and she responded! She was so friendly, and it makes me want to try more of her tutorials. 

Randomly Selected Photo

I intended to upload another photo, but there was some glitch and I couldn't see what I was doing. I randomly clicked this file, and it uploaded, and this is what I saw. It somehow feels better fitting. 

Feverfew/Feverdream

My feverfew plants started to bloom for the first time this week. Also called "maid's weed," "midsummer Daisy," and "devil's daisy," I tried growing feverfew a few years ago for my migraines but it never took. Last year I planted them but they didn't bloom. I guess this was the magic week. Associated with the planet Venus, they have a medicinal history as treatments for menstrual problems and headaches as a blood thinner. They are used in mojo bags for protection, and during plagues people planted them around their houses for protection. (They probably kept vermin from entering the home due to the leaves smell.) It also was tied around ones' wrists to draw out pain in medieval Europe. A delicate ally for profound times. When I was picking the flowers, and when I look at these pictures I am playing "Cinder and Smoke" by Iron and Wine in my head.https://youtu.be/F_b-v45Zcsk

Lie With Me

"...I allow my gaze to wander to the people walking across the lobby. I watch their comings and goings, and invent the lives of these people in my mind. I try to imagine where they are coming from and where they are headed. I've always loved to do that, to invent the lives of strangers in passing. It could almost be considered an obsession. I believe it started when I was a child. I remember its worrying my mother. "Stop with your lies! She would say. She used the word "lies" instead of "stories," but nevertheless, it continued, and all these years later, I still find myself doing it." - Prologue, Lie with Me by Philippe Besson, translated from the French by Molly Ringwald. 

Black Lives Matter

Caged Bird

BY MAYA ANGELOU

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou, “Caged Bird” from Shaker, Why Don't You Sing? Copyright © 1983 by Maya Angelou. Used by permission of Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. found via the Poetry Foundation   https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48989/caged-bird