Spring is coming

When the wind blows through the bowers,

The north wind rattles and rakes the flowers.

The sun is hot but the wind blows cold.

The green is new.

The earth is old.

Fog and self censorship 


A foggy morning,

The trees budding out,

The flowers coming.

The rain on the Tin Roof

Kept me tossing and turning.

The bed was little,

The husband snoring.

To wake to this wonderland

Is never boring.

We went to a really special event for David’s cousin last night.  Some of his trophies were shipped from Africa and he displayed them along with a painting he purchased.

I started to show pictures.  After 4 deleted posts, I decided against it.  His hunting helps support villages in Africa, his foundation builds wells and maintains them for crops.  He loves Africa.  Africa loves him.  Unfortunately intolerant Americans hate him.

So I censor myself, and I won’t share the magnificent sites I got to see last night.  I won’t reply to any nasty comments about hunters, gun rights, or the behavior modification Nazis who think they are the only ones who have a clue about global economics.  

I find myself in a fog.  I’ve gotten so many encouraging comments to be myself, and yet I’m holding back.  This really kinda sucks.