Thought for the Day: I Remember

The look you get from a child should remind you when you tell him, 

"Wait until tomorrow."

Thought for the Day: What Are You Thinking?

It doesn't matter near as much what others think of you as what you think of yourself. I mean respect not pride. In the long run you teach people how to treat you.

Herb Ratliff

Thought for the Day: Father's Day

Dad's Life Work on his 70th Birthday

I was thinking about Father's Day.

For everyone there is a relationship with someone that completes the circle. It's pretty much the same with fathers. Not everyone has a father to grow up with and that's OK because someone comes in to fill that void. As a matter of fact, it may not be someone. It may be some several.

My father was imperfect. Imagine that! But, he was what he could be. When I look back at the life he led, it was, in most part all done for the benefit of the family. That is not true for every day he took breath but from my perspective, it's true most of the time. The parts you can pick out and refer to as exceptions to that are just that, exceptions.

There are men who came in to fill the vacancies left by my dad. Dad worked  two full time jobs. If you have two eight hour jobs and sleep for eight, you have just used up a full day. Add into that travel to and from work, eating, personal hygiene and so on, it cuts into the sleep part. Playing catch in the back yard, while it might be fun, doesn't factor into that very well. So, what's the point?

The point is: each of us does what we consider to be the best use of our skills and time. There are some who may not and usually do not agree with our choices. We could even agree with them but not have the confidence, skill or courage to do it another way. But there are many who do not have the confidence, skill or courage to do it at all.

It's taken all of my life for me to gain a small understanding of what kind of courage it takes to be who you are, to try to be better, to keep trying after failing, to admit my own mistakes and to forego criticism of others who are doing the best they can.

So on Fathers Day what I want to say is: "Thank you, Dad. You are an amazing man."

Herbert B. Ratliff, Jr.

Thought for the Day: Love

Love is not given to careful evaluations of practical matters.

It revs up its engine and races til it splatters or solidifies.

©Herb Ratliff

Thought for the Day

Have you ever marveled at the disappointment

you feel when people don't do what you didn't

ask them to do, but expected?

Herb Ratliff

Why Not Dance?

If we’re kept within a prison

there’s no lock can make us stay.

Lest our hapless, weary posture

simply let’s us waste away.

And if songs are sung around us

in the Winter or the Spring

But our voice is deathly silent

It’s not the fault of quieting.

When the wren darts to the sill plate

of the window we look out

And the song bursts from his small heart

lauding life and love, no doubt.

Dare we not release the handcuffs

which lock us down each day

And find somewhere within us

Something good or kind to say?

Reach out farther, oh my brother,

give your heart and mind a chance

Lift your spirit and your heels

It is your life, so why not dance?

Herb Ratliff, January 4, 2013, All Rights Reserved

Part III - This is Your Captain Speaking - Camelot, Richard Burton and...

Part III

 Conclusion of: This is Your Captain Speaking

For unexpected behavior nothing rivals people. I have always been an avid observer of animals. I have also read a number of books about animal behavior. Desmond Morris wrote a fascinating book called The Human Zoo. In the book he describes characteristics of chimps in a social grouping. It presents a very convincing case for their behavior mirroring our own or more likely the other way round.

I could scarcely believe what had just happened between the Australian woman and her friends.  I could find no reason why she would start an altercation among her friends without provocation. However, there was a chapter in Morris’s book that did just that. Whatever the reason, it had no bearing on my plans for the evening. I certainly couldn’t do anything about it and as it turned out I had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and get ready for the theater.

There is a great little restaurant downstairs from the lobby of the hotel called Vienna Coffee House. It’s a great place for any meal but I found myself there for breakfast and dinner on a pretty regular schedule. The wait staff was very well schooled in the service ethic. They made you feel at home and were quick without hurrying.  There was a predictable clientele that frequented the rooms and we all showed up about the same time for our evening meal. It was one of those natural harmonies that formed without being planned.

When I arrived on most occasions there was a man with snow white hair and a navy blue uniform of some kind that implied sailing. I later learned that his wife lived in Hong Kong and he resided here as the Executive Director of the Pacific-Union Club. At the time of the event I am recalling I did not know his name or his calling. That would come later. Another man, quite elderly would also be present and seated along with his Scottish terrier. I had met him and his companion. He lived at the hotel in a penthouse apartment, the only apartment. His name was I. Magnin. Yep, that’s the one.

If the schedule was in its natural flow the next arrival would be a woman with long dark hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She was then and has remained a complete mystery even though we nodded to each other many times over the course of my stays at the hotel. She only attended for dinner.

Finally, always in quick step with perfect posture, impeccable dress and a courteous yet clipped pattern of speech Mr. David Thorn, General Manager of the hotel would arrive. He would sit at the very end of the coffee counter and order claret in a bulbous stemmed glass. That would be followed with his order for a New York Strip Steak, medium rare and baked potato. The salad required no comment from him. That must have been memorized.

Not this particular evening but once while in that harmonic pattern I had been waiting without the usual quick and courteous service from the wait staff. When Mr. Thorn made his entrance and sat down, but before he ordered, I interrupted the silence with, “Now that Mr. Thorn has arrived perhaps we can begin.” The comment was followed by a remarkably loud silence that seemed to extend beyond reason. Everyone was looking straight at me with a look of utter despair except Mr. Thorn. His eyes were trained upon mine but he was completely unruffled. Then, he broke easily into an unrestrained belly laugh. “My apologies for being tardy,” he said and the entire room joined in a chorus of laughter. From that moment on we all had a connection that was quite unique.

But, I digress, back to the night of the story at hand. I had a quick and simple meal, returned to my room and dressed for the theater. It would be the Orpheum tonight, a beautiful venue for one of my favorite plays, Camelot. I asked the doorman to order a cab and went to the theater.

The theater was clearly sold out. The magic of a gifted concierge is not to be trifled with. I looked at my tickets for the first time. I had not been in the theater before so I ask for assistance. My seat was in the orchestra section, fourth row and dead center, beautiful. This was Burton's last performance in Camelot. And, for my money, he was the only actor who could do justice to the role. It was time for things to change for the better. I was a bit early so people were still finding their seats but my location caused no impedance to anyone. I simply sat back and enjoyed a little people watching. I had the best seat in town.

It took only a short while to fill the seats. It was nearly time for the curtains to open when I noticed the empty seat on my right. That’s odd, I thought. That must be the only empty seat in the house, one seat?  Oh well, doesn’t matter. The lights began to dim when I heard a disturbance. From back by the doorways to the auditorium a latecomer was making a fuss about something. They were coming down toward the Orchestra section. I turned to see what was happening and there at the intersection of the aisle and the fourth row, just as the lights went down and the curtain was drawing open stood the woman from Australia. I was reduced to a state of complete emptiness and utter consternation.

There is a feeling that goes with realizing you are inextricably conjoined to your fate and it is not a good one. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted her to evaporate and leave me alone. Then I started thinking of disguises. Logic disappears in the face of abject terror. Short of putting my overcoat on my head I could come up with nothing. Ignore her. Yes, I would ignore her.

She did not display even the tiniest amount of grace as she stumbled into the center of the fourth row. The overture was playing and the stage was set for the opening scene. She nudged me. I ignored her. She pushed me and began to apologize loudly. With as much distance as I could muster I assured her that her apology was unnecessary. I remained fixed on the stage. She remained fixed on me and her apology. I finally turned to her and looked directly into her eyes. I told her that I accepted her apology, thanked her and reminded her of the play that had begun. I explained that I wanted to focus on the stage and urged her to do the same. She continued to talk to me. I turned the temperature of my right shoulder down to its lowest setting and refused to allow her to see that I was disturbed. She began to cry. She didn’t just whimper and sniffle, she cried out loud with large gasps, snorts and moans. I remained in a state of frozen stoicism. I tried desperately to ignore the woman and engage with the play. It wasn’t working. The assault on my mind, my spirit and my body continued until intermission.

When the lights came up I turned away from the woman and headed in the opposite direction I expected her to travel. When I got to the lobby I discovered that she had either stayed in her seat or gone the other way. She was no where to be seen. I went outside and smoked four cigarettes all at once. OK, that’s not quite true but you get my meaning. As the nicotine began to calm my body and mind I was able to relax a bit and gather myself. That was not good because then I started worrying about the second half of the program. Should I just bag the whole thing and go back to the hotel? Why should I be the one punished? No, I would go back but if she so much as looked at me I would report her to security. So, it was settled. The lobby lights flashed signaling us to return to our seats. I took a deep breath and began walking toward my seat.

My heart was beating slightly faster than normal as I contemplated my fate. When I got to my row the Australian woman was no where in sight. There was still a little time before opening curtain so I settled into my seat. There was an unnatural interest in me by the patrons surrounding my seat. At first I nodded and smiled. Then, realizing they were not acknowledging me because of my wit and charm, but because they too were worried about the remainder of the play, I pulled within myself and pretended to be very interested in my program. The lights dimmed, the curtain opened and the music began. It was time to lose myself in the play and so I did.

She didn’t return to her seat. And while I did suffer some angst waiting for her to show up, I gradually forgot about her. And that’s what simple folks do, so they say.

By the time the play ended and Richard Burton made his multiple curtain calls I had all but forgotten about the strange woman from Australia. I walked back to the Hotel. I needed it. It had been a very long day. I was very, very tired. When I placed my head on the down pillow all my troubles went away and I fell asleep like a new born baby. I had no idea this ridiculous vaudeville act was anything but over.

What’s left of the story can be told in just a few words. There was one more encounter with the woman from Australia and it happened in the Lobby Bar at the Mark Hopkins. It was essentially a replay of the first encounter. I was sitting at the bar after work a couple of days later. She came over when she saw me to apologize for the previous encounters. She began with apologies, they turned into tears, her friends came to rescue her, she fought with them and they took her away. And that was it! I never saw her again.

There was however one more piece that tied it all together. The last day I was there, after I checked out, I stopped by the concierge, Dan Sotelo’s desk to thank him for the ticket for Camelot.  He wasn’t busy and I wasn’t in a hurry so I asked him if he had a minute to hear about the crazy tale of the Australian woman. He said he did.

When I finished telling him he actually blushed. It seems the woman had been to see him before me and ordered two tickets for the play. When I came and picked up my ticket he gave me one of those seats. That, of course, explained why we were sitting together. He thought we were together surreptitiously. The reason he thought we were together is because we had adjoining rooms with a common door.

I had no idea. I had never seen her on the floor. As a matter of fact I had never seen her other than the times I mentioned in my recollection. And I have never seen her since.

What is kind of strange is that for as much as I remember the events of that day I wouldn’t recognize her if she stood next to me at the registration desk at the Mark Hopkins. But, I’d be willing to bet Dan Sotelo would, he’s still the concierge there.

©Herb Ratliff, August 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

We Had Some Chickens

Thought For The Day

My grandpa Johnson was a farmer. When he was alive I was too young to know much about farming or life on a farm. But, it was sufficiently different enough from my normal lifestyle to be pretty interesting.

Living on a farm is a classroom for self sufficiency. Attica, Arkansas is in the northeastern corner of the state. It is quite flat but, there are plenty of rivers, springs and lakes. There was a small creek near my grandpa's farm and a spring which provided refrigeration for the Johnson family perishable goods. The Spring House was where fruit, meat, butter, milk, and eggs were kept. 

The largest quantity of meat was kept in the smokehouse. The meat was salt cured and didn't smoke very much at all, only a couple of weeks a year. That confused me. I don't think I was ever there when the smoke house smoked.

There were animals to support life on the farm: milk cows, pigs, chickens and assorted horses, mules and dogs. Each of them had something to offer. Dogs were sentry's, guardians and hunters. Milk cows need no further explanation. Pigs ate a lot, rolled in the mud, ate slop and then became residents in the smoke house. The horses, mules and dogs performed services that seemed too difficult for grandpa to explain satisfactorily. And the chickens? Now there is a useful animal.

Chickens provided eggs, of course, feathers, their entire bodies and often provided a bit of entertainment. They were also self sustaining. A chicken gestates for 22 days on average. They can live for 7 -  8 years, 14 is the record life span. It only takes three to four months before they mature and they begin laying eggs in 4 - 6 months. This does not mirror the lifestyle of the chicken you eat. I am going to spare you that detail. They are a product controlled by profit motives. You know what that does to anything.

On a farm with chickens you can eat eggs indefinitely, chicken occasionally, with sensible management of resources, make a mattress or pillow and sit in a rocking chair while you enjoy the scratching, clucking and pecking of the barnyard denizens. But watching peaceful chickens clucking around the yard was not my idea of fun. I liked to throw rocks at them.

Right alongside the chicken yard was a stand of sweet corn. Once in a while the chickens would wander off into the cornfield. The rooster considered this behavior unsafe since he was unable to keep a wary eye on them and any predator that might have designs on a chicken dinner. So when the chickens would wander into the field, he would go find them and chase them back into the yard. I thought he was a bit of a bully and saw no danger anyway. So, when he chased them back into the yard, I would pick up a stone and throw it at the rooster. I wasn't that good with my aim so the rooster was not in any great danger of bodily injury. Nonetheless, the rooster would, on occasion, look at me with a jaundiced eye when the pebble came too close to him.

Now chickens, roosters too, have bad days and good days. And, all things considered, the country fowl don't have a bad life, albeit a short one, and so most days little irritations just don't cause them any aggravation. But, every now and then, they just seem to get up on the wrong side of the nest, so to speak, and just come a spoiling for a fight at the least provocation.

It was a dry, dusty afternoon and I had grown tired of whatever my cousins were doing. I decided that I would go "play with the chickens" for a while. I made my way around the smoke house, behind the corn crib and into the sweet corn plot. Once in, I moved slowly and quietly through the rows, (they were two feet over my head) until I caught sight of the rooster. I had a pocket full of pebbles from the creek where I had been playing. I reached into my pocket and tossed a stone at the rooster. It was so dry that it looked like an explosion when the pebble hit the ground beside him and continued on a rebound into his side. At that moment, he jumped like he had been shot and I felt like I had just shot my first elk in the Wind River Range of Wyoming.

I continued to throw pebbles and for some unknown reason, kept hitting the rooster. What happened next happened in ultra slow motion. 

The rooster raised his head and looked at me with reddish-yellow eyes filled with fire, the hackle on his neck looked like razor sharp mini blades of death. His comb was erect, his head held high and his chest was blown into an exhibition of raw power and fury. He put down his head and began advancing toward me with a menacing walk that increased in speed as he got closer and closer.

I was paralyzed. My feet refused to move. I had forgotten to breathe and so I was gasping for air. It was then he hit me with his full fury and began pecking and wing flapping around my head and shoulders. I found my legs and my lungs and began running and screaming back into the barnyard. The hens then joined in the fray. I was near death until my grandpa stepped in and shooed off the birds and saved me from an untimely demise. 

He looked into my tear streaked face and told me to calm down, the chickens were gone. I was still sobbing when my mother came running out of the house. Before she reached me he quietly said, "This won't be the last time you'll get henpecked." I didn't really understand what he meant then, but I do now.

©Herb Ratliff, July 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved

What I Did The Summer of 1959

Thought For The Day

In the summer of 1959 I was seriously in need of a job. I was beginning to panic. There seemed to be nothing available and from out of the blue I got an offer I couldn't refuse.

If you remember 1959 you'll recall that was the year our President, Dwight D Eisenhower made the first phone call to Canadian Prime Minister, John Diefenbaker by bouncing a radio signal off the moon. Now, we use satellites as bouncers. The US launched half a dozen satellites that year and sent a couple of monkeys into space which returned unharmed.

Jack Kilby of Texas Instruments filed a patent for the Integrated Circuit.

It was also the summer of the "Kitchen Debates". Richard Nixon, then Vice President and Nikita Krushchev, Russia's top man exchanged barbs. Nixon proclaimed that our technological advancements in kitchen appliances would make kitchen duties for  women easier and Krushchev retorted, "Russian women aren't confined to the stove." (I know, you were wondering when that started.)

One of the more notable enterprises of 1959 was the introduction of the Xerox 914. There had been "wet" process copiers for a while but the Xerox was the first dry technology system. Hence, Xeros, Greek for dry and 914 which alluded to the capability of reproducing a 9" by 14" document.

My job? I was in church discussing the serious lack of work opportunities with a friend within ear shot of my mother. A gentleman from the congregation overheard us and approached, he said he had a rather large field of sugar beets that needed to be hoed and would pay us .75 cents an hour to do it. My mother accepted the offer almost before he completed the sentence. I had been thinking of an executive position. Welcome to humility. Mother said something about "living by the sweat of your brow" and I mumbled something inappropriate that was thankfully lost in the exchange.

"Thank you?" It took all my strength to say it. Fortunately my friend accepted the job too and so my summer was spent in the fields hoeing sugar beets for seventy five cents an hour. 

Sometime, if your job really seems like the pits. Go out into an agricultural area and find a field of low lying crops. Walk out into the field and stand at the edge of the field. Turn and look the full length of the row and imagine making certain that no weeds are in that row after you have walked the entire length and removed them. Your reward is to turn and walk back on the next row all day long. 

Just for the record, seventy five cents wasn't that much in 1959 either. But, after a full day I would accrue $6.00 and $30.00 for the week. I didn't date much that summer.

©Herb Ratliff, July 9, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Feeling Good

Thought For The Day

Zoe and Charley

I'm not sure you ever really understand how much giving is about satisfying your own need for acceptance and appreciation until you have a dog. Where I have written dog you may substitute, cat or horse. Children also may be used there, but only if you have figured out how to have a predictable relationship with them. I'm about to lose control of this and I've only just started.

Charley is my part this and part that "rescue" dog. He enjoys being brushed. For him, that is like a day at the spa, I suppose. I have never been to a spa. Anyway, he sheds, big time. I am constantly aware of his unwanted contribution to my untidy house. It just goes with the territory. It occurred to me once while I was bathing him  and using a brush to make sure the shampoo got down to the skin, that if I had done that before the bath I might avoid dealing with all of that wet dog hair. And so, I began brushing him regularly. At first he was not interested. Gradually he became more and more appreciative of the activity and now when I offer to "brush" him, he is at the ready the moment I offer.

For my part, I began the process because it helped reduce the amount of ambient fur in the house. OK, not much but it gave me illusion of being helpful. Then, I noticed how much he had gotten into the process. His whole demeanor would change when I offered to brush him. He would run for the door and wait for the fun to begin. 

As I brushed him I could almost hear him making grateful groans and saying "a little to the left" as we proceeded. After I decided that enough of this had happened he would start running in circles and jumping about. That is his method of saying thank you or I'm very happy. But what really surprised me was how good I felt. And all I had done was brush him. 

I've learned a lot from Charley. He has been responsible for teaching me a number of things. And, a reminder that being attentive and thoughtful to those around you is a very good thing, even if you get some pleasure from it too.

©Herb Ratliff, June 18, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Thanks Dad

Thought For The Day

I was more inclined to complain about the limitations of my father than to praise him. He knew that he was not the object of adulation, but went right on working anyway.

I grew up with five sisters, a stay at home mom and an absentee father. Not really absent, but he was gone most of the time. Gone because he worked an eight hour shift, unless he could get overtime, at Saginaw Steering Gear, a division of GM. He also was the proprietor of a small shoe repair shop, Economy Shoe Rebuilders where he spent another eight hours or more. He was not given to sports or other activities with friends, save an occasional get together with some musical pals with whom he could exercise his musical talent. And, his talent was considerable. Whatever else occupied his time, spending it with his family was not where he shined.

He and my mother had a tenuous relationship at best. This is not the place for that discussion, but suffice it to say, they needed each other, and that seemed to be the driving force in their relationship. What that need was is between them and that's where it belongs.

Dad began each week day by going into the Shoe Shop. He stayed there until about 3:00PM, then came home to a hamburger and canned peaches. There was no variety here, that was the daily fare. After eating he would either drive or have mom drive him to the Steering Gear where he worked until midnight. Quite often mom would go over and have "lunch" with him at work, then go and pick him up after work was completed.

On Saturdays he worked full time in the Shoe Shop unless overtime work was available which he would very often take. Sunday was a church day and dad would participate most of the time but not always. Church was not his preferred venue.

Sunday dinner was the weekly reward for going to church. We normally had quite a nice dinner and we all ate together. Sometimes we would go on picnics. When that happened it usually involved cousins and lots of good food that was punctuated with musical renderings by talented aunts, uncles and cousins along with my parents and sisters.

Dad was never offered the Pulitzer Prize or a position on the president's cabinet. He never ran for office. He wasn't a great hunter or fisherman. He didn't graduate from high school or college. What he did along with mother was provide a home, food and an education for six children. He taught us that not all that you do is reflected in what you personally have, but has a way of showing up like a vein of gold through hard rock and scrabble in the people you touch.

I do not believe I ever said so much as thank you to him for all the years he gave to make my life better than his. I even had the audacity to think he should have done more.

I was sitting in the funeral home alone one afternoon before his interment and a friend from high school came by to visit. It was a surprise to see him. He told me some stories about dad and visits he had with him. It was good to hear a friend talk about the man I barely knew in a warm and friendly way.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad. I wish I had gotten to know you better. And, thank you dad, thank you ever so much for all you did for me.

©Herb Ratliff, June 15, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Communication

Thought For The Day

Communication in a nutshell:

I can explain it to you, but I cannot understand it for you.

Herb Ratliff, June 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved

I'm going to......

Thought For The Day

One of the more difficult concepts to integrate into daily life is how important it is to manage your thoughts.

What you believe is not nearly as powerful as what you think. I know, you don't agree with that on the surface but let's take a look at the bottom line. Let's look at what you do and what precedes what you do. Yep, what you think.

Let's take a walk together. As we walk down the street or path or sidewalk lot's of things start rolling past the monitor between our ears. Maybe what happened last night, that could be a good thing or a bad thing and that will influence how you feel and if it's good you may start skipping. OK, you'd have to feel exceptionally good to skip but you get the idea. If you did something bad or hurtful then your steps might be heavy or slow and you might plod along the way.

Whatever mood prevails gets to pick the things you think about. So, if you're happy and skipping you might fancy yourself a ballet dancer, or a decathlete in competition for the Olympic gold metal. You will be focused, alert, positive and you will believe that your actions will be beautiful, winning and inspirational. And, guess what? They will be, in a relative sense.

If you watch Tiger Woods play golf and frankly, this is why so many people do, you can almost see his belief in his skill and his intent. So when he makes the sixty foot put to win the Masters, you find yourself captured in the moment because you believed it too.

This is a dangerous skill. It works no matter what you think.

I know you can't help what you think every moment of every day, we are human. But here is what you can do. You can believe that you own your thoughts and that they answer to you. So if they get out of line, you have a short meeting with them and explain that you prefer looking at the bright side and pulling for the good in life. It doesn't always work, but it does a lot of the time and as I practice I have noted that I don't have to stay in a bad place. I can think my way out of it the same way I thought myself into it.

Finally, look at it this way. You are going to think yourself into the next thing you do. Why not make it a force for good. It is for you

©Herb Ratliff, June 4, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Searching For Raisins

Thought For The Day

I was two, maybe three, but whatever the age, it was pure focus that led to this little tale
We had arrived the night before at my grandparents house in Pocahontas, Arkansas. The house was simple in design with two or three bedrooms, a dining room and a kitchen. The year was 1944 or 45 so plumbing for interior conveniences had not yet reached this particular house. I was in the care of my mother who was discussing something with my grandmother. Grandpa was at work in his smithy, a card he played quite effectively when company came.

I wanted some "razers", raisins to those of you who do not speak early childhood English. As politely, then as forcefully as I could the request was made only to fall on deaf ears. This, of course, resulted in an unaccompanied adventure into the kitchen in search of treasure. It was not far and the conversation was engaging enough that I was able to quietly slip away.

I was appropriately sized for a two year old, short basically and therefore everything I could see or reach was pretty much at ground level. This was useful for frequently used staples which were building blocks for baking primarily. So I began where I could and pulled out a container which turned out to be sugar. Since I pulled from the top it became unstable and softly fell forward and my little hands accidentally removed the top which resulted in a rather nice sized pile of sugar on the kitchen floor. Undaunted, I sought another container, even larger which I unfortunately handled in much the same way with the same result. Now I had two merged piles of white stuff and containers which were in the way of my quest and so I managed to crawl into them as I searched for the elusive "razers".

Before mother and grandma found me I had combined a month's supply of baking supplies into a pile in the middle of the kitchen floor and found not a single raisin. When you are young desires are not complicated but the desire is intense, good stuff to remember.

Herb Ratliff, April 20, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Differences

Thought For The Day

When friends and family gather 

it's rather like a late Spring field 

filling with wild flowers, 

many and various colors, 

tall and short,

full and sparse 

but 

splendid in their variations.

The perfect bouquet.

Herb Ratliff, April 19, 2012, All Rights Reserved