Forget Me Not

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I have always found beauty in a waterfall. I do not know anyone that would fail me for that thought, dispute these words, and, I have yet to figure out why these powerful bodies of water are viewed as hypnotic or in some cases, calming.

I can hear these falls, thundering down, crashing onto the next level now, and I am sure, well into the night, the flow slightly changing from time to time. Over time, it wears down the softer rocks. The wonder of nature has invaded my soul. The sight, the sound, how it makes me feel, the power behind it.


The area is layered in fiddleheads and ferns, the moist air sticking to you. Have you ever eaten fiddleheads? I think they taste a little bit like fresh asparagus. Not all are edible, so it is good to know what your plants before you go foraging.

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Look around you. Ferns are such an interesting part of the forest. So much of what I see is alive in its density, thick with floral and fauna is arresting in its beauty. Are you forest or beach, or both? I freely admit to loving both equally.


There is #alwaysaflower to color my world. Forget-me-not, I beg of you! :))

When in the morning’s misty hour,
When the sun beams gently o’er each flower;
When thou dost cease to smile benign,
And think each heart responds with thine,
When seeking rest among divine,
Forget me not.

When the last rays of twilight fall,
And thou art pacing yonder hall;
When mists are gathering on the hill,
Nor sound is heard save mountain rill,
When all around bids peace be still,
Forget me not.

Ann Plato

All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.

It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.





There is no Frigate like a book


There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.
Emily Dickenson

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