Mrs Marys

 Nearer to Mrs Mary

Since I sat in the wooden high chair Emory Rudd made for me so I could sit at the table and eat Mrs Mary’s bread pudding, I’ve gone through life unable to find anyone who made it like hers. Nevertheless, I gave Melanie the recipe for it from the old Sopchoppy cookbook that Lottie Roddenberry, who lived up the street from the Rudds, and was my first Sunday School teacher used. It had to be close since it was so near the source. 

I asked Melanie to maybe add an extra egg since we lost Loretta, the other chickens eggs are much smaller.

It was close. This is the last piece.

I look forward to the next batch.

Content to be

 Always I’ll remain a CAT

Seems ever since I placed the Giant Swallowtail caterpillar in the protected cage, yet released it back to the Meyers lemon tree, it seems in no hurry to go into the cocoon stage. Days it just basks upon the leaves and limbs. It’s almost like it enjoys immensely where he’s at and trusts this is how it shall always be.

Life after Lanvil

 Life after Lenvil

Johnclarestokes 

I tell you

It's just a warning

But all day we'll be hearing

It wasn't like last year

Or when Lenvil shot them

down o'er DeSoto

As we sat in duck muck

Walking in endless circles

For all to see your scrawny butt

My it takes a grand display

To satisfy this crowd lately

Let the Moose lodge crowd alone

They got it going on

What harm lighting up for the gators

America was founded just so 

we could shoot the sh@$ unregulated....

And complain til Levil

Came back from Georgia totin'

some fireworks that made even the

catfish come up a floating.

Angels Ocean

 Angel's Ocean

Once we found the Ocean of the Angel's

But for a moment in an October tide

Ever since hidden beneath a blue swell

Bidding us under in a longing to abide.

If we could but dip beneath once again

To know the enveloping of her hidden sway 

Upon this barren beach we wade in vain

To find the stars lying beneath these waves.

Break

I’m not going to post to FB for the month of July. I’m am tired of the little to no response. Same people. It’s the wrong content for FB. At least my friends. I’ll continue here as I don’t have a clue who you are or how you see these posts.

 

Wet tree

 Wet Tree

We parked beneath

The watery tree

For there was

No other space

For us

The dry spots

Beneath the dry trees

Preferred

All taken

Even the handicapped 

Spaces full

And so we waded

From the wet spot

Past the dry taken

Tiny pony

 Had I a horse

Of course 

He would be

Three feet tall

Had I a monkey

Of a surety 

He would be

My jockey

And we would

Travel to

Kentucky

And enter the

Little Derby

Forever

 Only words?

Trifle not

With the poets heart

They take things there

And keep them

Believe them

Hope in them

And when you walk away

From I shall always love you

From this day on

They don’t

And will die upon the hope

Of your return to them.

Corn crib

 Falling Creek Corn Crib

This was simply trying to post something beyond the usual colorful and trying to elicit a wow or a beautiful. It didn't work. But, I like that corn crib out at the Falling Creek Park just the same.

I don’t get it

 Perceived as poor

Inwardly he soared

Taken as low

He dwelt in sky

Above the din of

Mendacity 

Grown so, so weary

Of the juvenile 

Immaturity

About him daily 

The cloud

The water

The very air

 was a

Comforting covering

From the 

Incessant

I don't get its.

Teebow

 I miss my friend....the morning walks....playing run and toss...your growing began...the swing abandoned...the boy now grown....each morning I come....to miss my friend....

The joy of melding

 The joy of melding

The melding of the old Nikon 80-200 manual focus with the D850 DSLR. It’s a joy to be able

to yet use the lens that got me through thousands of negatives and slides.