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Marian Blue
Goodreads Author
Born
in The United States
Member Since
November 2017
More books by Marian Blue…
What is Your Web of Life?
You can’t escape the web of life
Maintaining and protecting your web results in a bounty for all. Photo by Cherie Ude. Previously published in Interpretative Guide to Western Northwest Weather Forecasts.
(See Natural Resources, the environment and eco-systems)
If you could separate yourself, you’d destroy your connections to life itself. The Web of Life confirms that, contrary to what we might think,
Read more of this blog post »
“Hating the Rain
She hates the ever-falling winter rain,
the gray and endless humidity
that bites to the bone and stings
even after the hot bath and stiff
struggle into bed and under the quilts,
but the winter ferns, and the way they
wave in a slight breeze as though happy
like grandmother’s lace curtains
can’t be abandoned or lived without.
She hates the endless dripping
like a clock ticking away life
and the heavy fog that swallows light
as though life itself were vanishing,
but the tree frogs with their songs
and their clinging to matching green
like family holding together
stitch her thoughts back to July picnics.
She hates her complaining voice
that discourages her children’s calls
and encourages their urgings that she
move, maybe to Florida citrus sun,
but gray day softness steeps her
patience and quiets her fear of loss
into something like gratitude
clinging like green to summer moss
and this she knows: she loves the rain.”
― How Many Words for Rain
She hates the ever-falling winter rain,
the gray and endless humidity
that bites to the bone and stings
even after the hot bath and stiff
struggle into bed and under the quilts,
but the winter ferns, and the way they
wave in a slight breeze as though happy
like grandmother’s lace curtains
can’t be abandoned or lived without.
She hates the endless dripping
like a clock ticking away life
and the heavy fog that swallows light
as though life itself were vanishing,
but the tree frogs with their songs
and their clinging to matching green
like family holding together
stitch her thoughts back to July picnics.
She hates her complaining voice
that discourages her children’s calls
and encourages their urgings that she
move, maybe to Florida citrus sun,
but gray day softness steeps her
patience and quiets her fear of loss
into something like gratitude
clinging like green to summer moss
and this she knows: she loves the rain.”
― How Many Words for Rain
“Hating the Rain
She hates the ever-falling winter rain,
the gray and endless humidity
that bites to the bone and stings
even after the hot bath and stiff
struggle into bed and under the quilts,
but the winter ferns, and the way they
wave in a slight breeze as though happy
like grandmother’s lace curtains
can’t be abandoned or lived without.
She hates the endless dripping
like a clock ticking away life
and the heavy fog that swallows light
as though life itself were vanishing,
but the tree frogs with their songs
and their clinging to matching green
like family holding together
stitch her thoughts back to July picnics.
She hates her complaining voice
that discourages her children’s calls
and encourages their urgings that she
move, maybe to Florida citrus sun,
but gray day softness steeps her
patience and quiets her fear of loss
into something like gratitude
clinging like green to summer moss
and this she knows: she loves the rain.”
― How Many Words for Rain
She hates the ever-falling winter rain,
the gray and endless humidity
that bites to the bone and stings
even after the hot bath and stiff
struggle into bed and under the quilts,
but the winter ferns, and the way they
wave in a slight breeze as though happy
like grandmother’s lace curtains
can’t be abandoned or lived without.
She hates the endless dripping
like a clock ticking away life
and the heavy fog that swallows light
as though life itself were vanishing,
but the tree frogs with their songs
and their clinging to matching green
like family holding together
stitch her thoughts back to July picnics.
She hates her complaining voice
that discourages her children’s calls
and encourages their urgings that she
move, maybe to Florida citrus sun,
but gray day softness steeps her
patience and quiets her fear of loss
into something like gratitude
clinging like green to summer moss
and this she knows: she loves the rain.”
― How Many Words for Rain
