shatter the frail shell of your broken home
I awoke to the clatter of ice pellets on the roof this morning and the soft moan of rain accompanying it. The wind is starting to kick up. Our back yard is mostly an island of snow with scattered muddy slush ponds on the edges and occasionally breaking through the field of white. Our house is on a hill, neighboring yards are mostly muck with matted grasses. It is a gloomy Monday. This week's I Heart Macro includes photos of what I believe is an insect home clinging to a branch and a poem about death and rebirth… appropriate for "spring" and every moment of our lives as we are continuously dying to one thing and being born into something new.
|I think this is some kind of insect house.|