VT (for all of my design-obsessed peeps)

imagecourtesyflickrfallingstar viaemmasblog.se Peeps, Spring is officially here, and it's a glorious event.  Daffodils, snow-drops and crocuses proclaim victory against the trials of the past winter by unfurling colorful banners of yellow and white and mauve, which delight the eye and invigorate sagging spirits.  Another season past and a new year in sight; the garden beckons and with it comes the opportunity to replace, to refurbish, to regenerate and to reveal the wonder of nature;  luckily for the fortunate among us, we are presented with the possibility of hope.  Why hope?  For in the garden, the elements dictate, luck occasionally intervenes, dedication and commitment certainly helps, and the rest is out of our hands.  A swarm of locusts/an invasion of white-flies/prolonged rains and flooding/persistent heat-wave/a prolonged drought/a debilitating accident/the death of a loved one:  all these can effect both how we look at our garden, and ...

CHAC/Mayan God of Rain imagesourceunknown Peeps, I have always been drawn to them; they seem to pull me in, and then hold me captive as my mind and imagination runs endlessly through vast areas of unchecked possibilities--some sensual and some not, perhaps heart pumping erotic but I will never tell--and then back again to the image upon which I dare not lay my head for fear of nirvana. It may have been an earlier copy of National Geographic, or the mid-day Sunday bouts held on Bird's Isle where shirt-less pugilists performed in front of a rowdy, blood-thirsty crowd of sport-fans and gamblers.  Dare say it could have been a younger Henry Rollins, taunting, sweaty, fierce; he is forever locked in my memory, an image of an alpha, the face and voice of a past persistently present.  Yes, yes, I remember him now, that easily conjured image--alone in the spotlight, he (is) with arms akimbo.  In the French quarter, they appeared like ghosts, or dreams, from out o...