Showing posts with label greenlake. Show all posts
Showing posts with label greenlake. Show all posts

Monday, February 7, 2011

Monday in Seattle. Picture and Quote for the Week, Violets First Bloom


first bloom of our violets just beginning, our garden at Greenlake, Seattle, Feb 7, 2011

I smelt the violets in her hand and asked, half in words,
half in signs, a question which meant
"Is love the sweetness of flowers?"
~Helen Keller

Monday, November 22, 2010

Monday in Seattle. Picture and Quote for the Week, First Snowfall


first snow, Nov 22, 2010, our garden at Greenlake, Seattle

Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go;
it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow.”
~Alice M. Swaim

Monday, November 15, 2010

Monday in Seattle. Picture and Quote for the Week, Leo's Dahlia

Leo's dahlia, our garden at Greenlake, Seattle

Should I pluck it,
My hands
Would defile the flower;
I offer it, as it stands,
To the Buddhas of the Three Worlds.
- Empress Komyo, Japan

Monday, November 8, 2010

Monday in Seattle. Picture and Quote for the Week, Wild Purple Flowers


wild flowers, our garden, Greenlake, Seattle

Flowers... are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Monday, November 1, 2010

Monday in Seattle. Picture and Quote for the Week, Rainy Fall Color Inspiration



rainy day fall color inspiration, the alley behind our house at Greenlake, Seattle

The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain.  This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency.
~Susan Allen Toth

Monday, October 18, 2010

Monday in Seattle. Picture and Quote for the Week. Yellow Leaves, Greenlake, Seattle


yellow maple leaves, Greenlake, Seattle

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
~William Shakespeare

Wednesday, March 24, 2010