for Ella




The heavy purple leaves
Of the maple tree
And the fragile green
Of the locust
Are tangled
In an embrace.
Elbows of light
Their silent spaces. -J. Hamilton


2014-05-19 10.06.20

The summer wind

moves through

the heavy

midnight black


I want to lay

down in the hammock

that hangs beneath

the magestic


and listen

to its bells

rustling with the wind.

If I close my eyes

I will think of

exuberant voices

– late mornings,

and warmth.

The kind of warmth

that settles deep inside you

every time

the bells chime-

an act of never forgetting

and relishing

in the unforgotten. -J. Hamilton









fallen petals

CameraZOOM-20140608164522591The pale petals

Have fallen on the stone steps.

I have walked down this path a hundred times


And never noticed

How fast they fall

How soon they fade.

I might put them

In the empty jam jar

Whose glass surface

Has been painted with

Acrylic purple violets.

Or I may

Slip them between

The lonely pages

Of a book instead.

A reminder that all beautiful things which die too soon

Will be born again.

-Julie Hamilton








In Solitude we are least alone. -Lord Byron

Today I spent some precious moments alone with my thoughts, in my garden. I cut the grass, pulled weeds and examined all the plants and flowers that are ecstatically growing and budding. These moments of solitude are sacred. I am alone and not alone at the same time. My garden is awake and thriving and I am surrounded by birds, squirrels and rabbits. A lone bumble bee circled me today because it didn’t like me working near its flowers. I admired its boldness and carried on with other garden work, while listening to the song of birds, smelling the perfume of lilies of the valley, and taking in all the colours, shapes and shadows around me. Solitude creates a special connection to our inner thoughts and to the immediate world around us.



The soul cannot…

the soul of the garden

the soul of the garden

The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden.

Thomas Moore

I feel at peace, puttering in my garden. Dead heading petunias and pulling weeds from the earth. So far, everything is lush and green. The rain has been good for the day lilies and hostas, and the leafing dogwoods, and maple trees. Even the herb garden is coming back to life and when I stir the soil I can smell fresh mint leaves. When we first moved into our home, this garden was mostly bare except for straggly weeds and  a small collection of lilies of the valley, ferns and a dying strawberry patch. Over the years this garden has evolved and has become a bit of fairyland with its huge hostas and tall green ferns and large groupings of lilies. I even love the ivy carpeting the back garden where the maple tree stands and the sand cherry trees are beginning to flower. A pretty pergola, built by my husband;stands in the middle, with purple blooms growing along the wood pillars, and behind it stands our side garden, with its large locust and cedar trees. A dogwood we found on the side of a highway, sits with its red limbs outstretched, circling our stone birth bath. Often birds will hop from a thin branch right into the birdbath, feeling safe surrounded by its coverage. The garden is a healing place, especially when it wakes up in the spring and we can witness the miracle of all things born again. It somehow feels like an extension of our own soul.