The photographs of N.P. Thompson



In memory of P.J.S. on her fifty-ninth birthday.



open, to Spring

hydrangeas, just beginning

hydrangeas just beginning




the secret lives of azaleas

the secret lives of azaleas

not a blossom, not a bee

not a blossom, not a bee


I would tell you about the spring if I thought it might persuade you even now to return, but every bud and bird would only afflict you and make you sad where you are, so not one word of the robins, and not one word of the bloom, lest it make the city darker, and your own home more dear.

But nothing forgets you, Emily, not a blossom, not a bee; for in the merriest flower there is a pensive air, and in the bonniest bee a sorrow—they know that you are gone, they know how well you loved them, and in their little faces is sadness, and in their mild eyes, tears. But another spring, dear friend, you must and shall be here, and nobody can take you away, for I will hide you and keep you—and who would think of taking you if I hold you tight in my arms?


porch paintings

porch paintings




“Make it your motto day and night.” — Cole Porter

And: Flamenco dancer.



under glass


out of focus

deeper into azaleas

creamy vein peacock

purple, take two

purple, take three

“Human beings die many times, and the more original they are the more true this is.”

— Edward Dahlberg

purple, take five

summer indiscretions

portal bleu

science fiction greenhouse

petals light orange

petals light orange


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