Tag Archives: stories about living on the Concord River

It’s my birthday!

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Yup. Today, December 9th, is my birthday. All day! Actually, I celebrate the entire week before the 9th and a day or two after, but hey, it is all about me, you know? The festive mood on the river isn’t … Continue reading

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Get your collective butts in gear!

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It’s November. Okay, yes, I know. In my last post, I pretended October was, in fact, August. Just call me the Queen of Denial. Thanks to Pam Tillis, I’ve seen the light. Actually, I’ve seen the dark. The turning back … Continue reading

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Denial

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I refuse to accept the truth. Therefore, I will live in a state of denial. Care to join me? It’s hard to believe summer is ending. How did Labor Day get here so quickly? Wasn’t it yesterday that I posted … Continue reading

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Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.

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Hey Henry, Happy Belated Birthday. July marked the two hundredth birthday for Thoreau; July 12, to be exact. And since he loved meandering along the Concord River, I thought I’d start this post with a nod his way. Plus, the … Continue reading

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I know in my heart it is June.

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A Summer’s Day Black bees on the clover-heads drowsily clinging, Where tall, feathered grasses and buttercups sway; And all through the fields a white sprinkle of daisies, Open-eyes at the setting of day. Oh the heaps of sweet roses, sweet … Continue reading

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The Merry Month of May

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Ever wonder where the time goes? It was just March and now it’s May. What happened to April? It flew by like a bunch of swallows before a storm. Oh, speaking of swallows (nice segway, right? wink, wink) I put … Continue reading

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Wake up Persephone, it’s time!

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Is it just me or has this winter felt like its gone on forever? (Those of you in the southern hemisphere can just settle down; I’ll get to you in June. By the way, happy first day of Autumn.) Back … Continue reading

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Imbolc 2017, Brigid’s Day.

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Imbolc, (EM-bowlk) is a Gaelic term meaning ‘in the belly’. This is the time of year when Mother Earth celebrates life by nudging awake the frozen seeds slumbering within her belly under the barren soil. She whispers softly to them … Continue reading

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Ode to Ovaries

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Warning: Strong language ahead. Lift your voices loud and clear, oh daughters of the sky; let us sing in unison, as our ovaries wither and die. Yup, here on the Concord River, the ovaries are disappearing faster than the ducks … Continue reading

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The brighter side of life.

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The Concord River woke this week to a world of white–a little snow and birds. Actually, a lot of snow and one bird. But they were both white. A swan visited, taking my breath away and giving the ducks something … Continue reading

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