nature

The Right to Daydream

/ still a dreamer / 8 Comments

Is it okay to just stare out the window and do nothing for a while?

It’s Memorial Day weekend. Sadly, for all the barbecues, parades, and outdoor activities planned, it’s going to be a complete washout. It’s been raising all day and it will continue through till Tuesday. For myself, I have a couple smaller get-togethers planned, both indoors with friends, and which include coffee.

When I came back home from brunch earlier, I realized I had no desire to do anything. Truly, nothing. I brought my book, a sketchbook, and my phone over to the sofa by the front windows, invited Charlie to come and curl up, and looked out at the rain.

And despite a little scrolling and reading a few pages, that’s what I did — stared out at the rain. I watched the patterns it made in the big puddle at the edge of the sidewalk. I watched a squirrel pop up on my porch railing and eat a walnut he had unearthed from somewhere. I watched the trees swaying in the dark and cloudless sky. It felt good.

With all the things we always have to do or feel compelled to do, are we not entitled to spend some time “doing nothing”? Can we not just let go of all the `shoulds’ that so tightly bind us?

Do we not have the right to daydream?

Here’s hoping, whatever the weekend weather is bringing to you, that you take the time to curl up and look out your window and watch the world go by. Even if only for a little while.

Tree Hugger

/ still a dreamer / 5 Comments

There was a time that “tree hugger” was a dirty word. If you were accused of being a tree hugger, that was an insult. It meant you were a softie, perhaps a bit tetched in the head because you loved trees.

“Tree hugger” was also the catchall name – a slur – for an environmentalist, someone who loved and respected the rich and diverse life on this planet. And there were, and still are, too many people that view the environment as something to be used and abused.

But to others of us, “tree hugger” is a mighty fine compliment, thank you. I will happily accept your calling me a tree hugger. And if you’re still here reading, and looking at photos, I feel pretty confident that you are a tree hugger, too.

Nice to meet you.

The photographs here are selected from those I’ve taken over the last 10 years or so with my phone or digital camera. I have many others taken with SLRs, but they are stored in other formats, not available on my computer.

Some of these are taken around my own town, others in Frenchtown and Clinton, NJ, Tinicum, PA, and a couple at Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton, NJ.

They all say one thing – trees are magnificent beings. We can be grateful that they share their beauty with us, season after season, clean our air, offer us shade, and provide homes for so many forms of wildlife.

Have you hugged a tree lately? You might feel a little too embarrassed to brazenly wrap your arms around a tree and hug, but I’m sure a little pat and a quiet `thank you’ would be appreciated.

Poetry – Day 30

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Today is the last day of National Poetry Month. We leave quietly with a poem by Mary Oliver.

Photo: Leeloo The First/Pexels

Today

Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.

But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m traveling
a terrific distance.

Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.

Mary Oliver, 2012

Noticing in Times of Abuse

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A gun held to the head of another, albeit lowered, the trigger not pulled, is no less of an abuse, whether to a country or an individual.

However, we can still choose to notice beauty around us, and hope together for a more loving and harmonious world.

The Symbol of the Butterfly

/ still a dreamer / 5 Comments

What is the meaning of a butterfly? Often, the butterfly symbolizes change, due to its dramatic transformation from a caterpillar to a magnificent winged creature. In Japanese, Burmese, and many other cultures the butterfly is seen as a symbol for the soul.

Was symbolism intended when I wrote my picture book, Where Do Butterflies Go at Night?

If you had asked me when I first wrote it in 2009, I would have said `no’, but I now question if I didn’t have more in mind than even I knew. I submitted “Butterflies” to agents and traditional publishers for many years. Although I often got positive feedback, it was ultimate;y rejected because it was in rhyme, and rhyme is hard to sell.

A small, independent publisher saw the beauty in my story of the magical imaginings of a child who wondered where the butterflies went at night. It was published with the lovely art of Stella Maris Mongodi, who brought the sweet simplicity of the cabbage white butterfly to life in a whole new and charming way.

When the original publisher closed its doors, I self-published this, my debut picture book, now identifying it as “2nd Edition.” In 2025, it won a first place award in the poetry category from a prestigious reviewer of children’s books. And in my most recent picture book school presentation, I decided to do something a little differently.

In emphasizing the concept of change from caterpillar to butterfly, I talked with 1st and 2nd graders about the importance of embracing change; being brave in the face of change; and understanding that all change is ultimately working in our favor. One might think little ones wouldn’t get that, but they did. Sometimes wiser than we adults, they did.

And so, the butterfly has become a symbol of transformation for me, as well. I’ve gone through many changes with these butterflies and their story. They continue to light my path, and I am still unfolding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where Do Butterflies Go at Night, 2nd Edition is available on Amazon and in also my Etsy shop, if you would like your copy signed.

Photo credits:
BW butterfly: pexels/6th Era Photography; @stories_by_sixthera
Blue butterfly: pexels/aarngiri; @aarn_giri
Cabbage white butterfly: pexels/mali maeder
Butterfly illustration: Stella Maris Mongodi