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1 " paint the pony I will ridesoft hues that gather childhoodand thrust forward, to nowhereback again, we turnto plunking calliope tuneloud, round notes, we lift higherhollowed ponies with painted ribbonsbetween our thighs,laughter in her eyes-- from 'Paint the Dancing Pony' (a poem) "
― Christina M. Ward , organic
2 " Butterflies and mothsto the flame --- and we are the flame "
3 " I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.A place where they only existin oil on canvas or silver trinkets on a chain,in language, legends we pass to the nextgeneration of memory-keepers,a place where tiny ghosts have painted wings. "
4 " Ready, the boy climbs the ladder,makes his way to the edgeand full of faith-- he leaps--expecting flight,finding hot tearsin a red capethat doesn't work. "
5 " Nestled... In the dappled Spring sunlightpeeking through oaks, maples, and Tulip poplaris a country house with pale-yellow siding.Across a corner of the weathered,wooden-slatted front porch, a vine lazilystretches to find a spot in the sun. "
6 " Arising there, a china cabinet, its gifts enclosed in a hug.Atop a pedestal table, hand-sanded and love-stained,Mom's Christmas cactus trails and cascades in forest greensawaiting pink-winged petals alighting in season, a crescendo of bloom framed an autumn-light meandering through remembrance like a dream. "
7 " Mamaw's spirit lingers there, her high-bubbled laughcarrying on like a song, her quiet dignity still holdingtogether the air that holds up this house. "
8 " I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.Without the intricate eyes and velvety wings,graceful splashes of color dancing on the breeze.Airy, delicate keepers of hope.Metamorphic symbols of change, growth, maturation.... I do not want this world without the butterflies.I could not bear the wailingof flowers.--from 'A World Without Butterflies' (a poem) "
9 " The memories of some pass by, pale shadowswith laughter-- songs I remember.-- Letter-Back Chairs (a poem) "
10 " Golden framed and heavy, the painting.Ocean waves curled in suspended time,white-lipped and silent beneath brush-stroked bluesof sky. Gulls are captured there, mid-flight, fishing moments stolen in time, they soar without moving. "