I named my daughter River her eyes are bright and shine and sometimes when I look at her I can't believe she's mine. But she's an angel I'm only borrowing her love's not just for me and someday too soon I know I'll have to set her free. For now I'll hold her in my arms and sing her lullabies until she's ready for the world and spreads her wings and flies. ~Becky Robbins Photo: "Spring Stream", South Bridgton, Maine, by Becky Robbins.
Under the Wolf Moon the forest was too bitterly cold for shivering chickadees. I found one this morning beneath the pines frozen and lifeless in blue shadowed snow. I’m sure there were more that succumbed. And yet all around me the chickadees sang. They didn’t rebel against a cruel and unfair world by refusing to sing until conditions became more favorable. And they didn’t feel so sorry for themselves that they withdrew from the flock and forgot they had music to share. No. Chickadees sing in the morning. So they sang. ~Becky Robbins Photo: "Wolf Moon", Harrison, Maine by Becky Robbins