"A Tuft of Flowers" Kind of Day...

Had to share this shot! It's not mine...probably Pinterest, but I found it wandering on Facebook! I would love to do this for a teacher brunch... Or for some kind of sewing party.. Or house building? I dunno. Maybe I'm just hungry for long johns. Not my usual "poison" but, hey... Maybe that's how many inches one of them adds to the hips... Ugh.

I really didn't have much to add... Much on my to-do list... Little on my done... Isn't it funny how some days are sooo productive... And I can't really imagine how (or why) I got so much done. Others are... Less. I really, really work, write, think, feel better at night. Maybe even alone. I was an only child in the country. Mom and Dad were busy, happy, doer-type parents. I got left to my own resources... And I then evolved to a single mom with a house full of happy boys...(only one of them mine, but having good times...). I'm super annoying (especially to myself) when I overthink and analyze. It is what it is.

So, today was the first local day of classes... I missed it fiercely.... Missed the excitement, the new clothes... The orientation of new beginnings... Six little classes...groups to be a bonded entity, for better or for worse through all the days of the year... About a hundred spirits touching mine daily. Such loneliness I don't like.

So I leave you with my kitty... And a favorite Robert Frost poem... About working alone... Or in conjunction with the brotherhood of man... Good old Robert....

A Tuft of Flowers

By Robert Frost

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,--alone,
`As all must be,' I said within my heart,
`Whether they work together or apart.'
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
`Men work together,' I told him from the heart,
`Whether they work together or apart.'

Hugs and Whimsy!