Sherry Chandler

First

These little daffodils are not the loveliest ones in our yard/garden. They’re small and unassuming, but they are always first to bring yellow into the dead land and for that they’re honored:

The kale over-wintered:

And the rhubarb has me almost tasting pie (not to mention I think I see a little dandelion greens in there):

Who is this?

Thanks to T.R. for the photography that shows that even on this drizzly day, spring is busting out all over.

On matters of varying importance

I don’t know about the groundhogs but the raccoons around here are certainly seeing their shadows. Here are a couple of shots TR got of the daylight raid on the supplementary sunflower seed feeders. The birds are many at the feeders this year.

Some people call this Candlemas Day and Your Daily Poem has posted “A Song for Candlemas” by Lizette Woodworth Reese (1856 – 1935)

Issue 2 of Still is up and it includes literature by some of my favorite writers. I draw your attention especially to Matthew Haughton, Bobbi Buchanan, and Elaine Fowler Palencia. Let me tell you that Elaine is one of the masters of the short story. Her collection, Small Caucasian Woman, remains one of the best examples of Appalachian literature and of the American short story. Matthew is circulating a fine poetry manuscript. And Bobbi edits New Southerner.

I want also to share with you this video add for Darlene Campbell’s new fantasy novel, Dragon’s Heir. The artwork in this video is Darlene’s own and I am thoroughly charmed by the notion of using YouTube to do a form of cover blurb. Darlene is also a fine poet who posts at Raven’s Shadowl

And just as a follow up, the other day I did a search on Melverina Elverina Peppercorn and found, in addition to my own post, not much except this musing on names at Vast Public Indifference, where I find that there was more than one man in the 19^th century south named Alexander The Great.

Oh, and Fringe Magazine has an interesting interview with the founder of Bookslut, Jessa Crispin: The Accidental Tastemaker

Cat in January

After many overcast days, Possum finds a place to take a little sun. Photo by TR Williams.

January

A snow may come as quietly
as cats can walk across a floor.
It hangs its curtains in the air,
and piles its weight against the door.
it fills old nests with whiter down
than any swan has ever known,
and then, as silent as it came,
you find the pale snow bird has flown.

But snow can come quite otherwise,
with windy uproar and commotion,
with shaken trees and banging blinds,
still salty from the touch of ocean.
Such storms will wrestle with strong boys,
and set the girls’ skirts wildly blowing,
until it throws its cap in air,
and shouts, “Well, goodbye now! I’m going!”
~ Elizabeth Coatsworth

I am resolved to be resolved

Photo by TR Williams

Winter blows in from the west

Yikes! I misspelled “revenant” but I’m not going to re-do the whole thing now.

A country autumn

Black cat on Friday the 13