Tag Archives: weeds

If the flowers are daisies. . . .


. . . there must be you, Pauline.

My friend who paints, enchants

me with glittering danglers,

surprises me with pretty 

wide-eyed, eyelashed 

young women and

rainbow colored 

dream catchers,




high among

the stars and 

into the galaxy!

Her recent daisy painting,

has multiple trademark 

pastels in mint green, 

turquoise, purple 

and light lavender.

The white petals are wispy

at tips and  her yellow centers

become defined by brown, 

golden-edged shadows.

Please feel Pauline’s touch

upon your soul, as you

check out her art

and recent 




~~~~ * ° * ~~~~

Oh, and please don’t eat the daisies!

(a bow to essayist Jean Kerr, 1957 book)

Weeds, 4. Roadside rest


Weary of the numerous cars, 

traveling both directions.

Wishing for a stream,

cool and shady from

the day’s hot, sticky

weather and bustle.

Leaning on the rail of

fencing to prevent snow 

in other seasons from drifting.

Listening to birds in far off woods, 

their familiar calls and songs.

Swooping from tall trees,

from branches to limbs

sending peaceful vibes.

Breathing the aroma of

fields, flowers, weeds.

Singing a message to all.

Slow your pace and 

follow the way

back to simple


in time.


Country road thoughts by Robin,

Serene photograph also by her.


Additional words for a Sunday

given by Frederick Buechner:

“Faith is better understood as a verb

than as a noun, as a process than as

a possession. It is an on-again-

off-again rather than 


Faith is not being sure 

where you’re going, 

but going anyway.

A journey without maps.

As theologian Paul Tillich said,

” ‘Doubt isn’t the opposite of faith;

It is an element of faith.’ “

Weeds, 3.  Flower love story


It was the squiggly way the plant grew.

The way he scrunched his eyebrows

together to try and focus on what

she pointed out in the grass.

His glasses slid down his nose.

Beads of sweat appeared on his 

forehead, along his hairline.

She showed him little tight

buds, the light purple

ones she called, “babies.”

He wondered at his ability to

focus and listen to the words.

It was her quiet, insistent

but gentle excitement.

This group of weeds

were leading him

into falling for her,

this wildflower lover. 


Photo by Robin,

Words written by Robin

In my parents collection of

musicals on albums there was,

“Flower Drum Song.”

The 1961 film is in the

National Film Registry,

in the Library of Congress.

I liked the following songs,

“I enjoy being a girl,”
“Love look away,” and 

“Hundred million miracles.”

More wildflowers and weeds to come.

Weeds, 2.  Rusty wire fairy tale


There are three or four

different patterns of green leaves,

one has spikes and prickers.

Rusty barbed wire contrasts

from gentle ladies in waiting.

Miniature daisies are called

something else, as the 

yellow-gold weeds 

most likely aren’t


Seems like a fairy tale 

about ready to unfold.

Pretty princess sisters,

unable to suppress their giggles

and affectionate responses.

White daisy princes with

feathery petal crowns

look askance and

amused to see such 

a vivid collection of sisters!

How ever will they choose a wife

and royal partner, here among

the weeds, so fine and dandy?

Plump bee enjoys dandelion



Busy bee,

How do you be?

You are so cute, I see.

Bumblebee humble part of Thee,

Helping pollinate and feeding me.


We are all part of a plan,

try not to kill your dandelions,

maybe use natural way

to eliminate or

include them.

“Thank you,”

Bumblebee says,

My grandies express,

The world cries out saying:

Thousands of “thank you’s.”