Entries by Roxanne Claire

La Belle et La Bete

Son the older and I are watching Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et La Bete. A perfect activity for a rainy morning. On screen, disembodied arms hold lighted candelabras down a long, dark corridor. Soot covered faces, embedded on either side of the roaring fireplace, turn to follow movements in the room. The Bete’s waist is […]

On the Mountain

Two weeks on a mountain top, surrounded by trees and the rumor of bears. Two weeks of writing. Two weeks of no housework. No phones. No internet. I took a walk down the road, to the place where blacktop became gravel. I stood, listening. The buzzing of the many bees at my feet nearly drowned […]

Cream-colored, with a Hint of Lime

Yesterday I decided to pay some attention to my much neglected garden. My gardenia bushes have been looking a little peaked. A trip to the garden shop, some greensand, some pine mulch. Once home, the garden hose and lots of water. I took my spade and loosened the drought-packed earth. Water helped soften the soil […]

A Garden Grown Wild

This weekend I borrowed a room in which to write. I brought fruit and yogurt, which I placed in the frig. I plugged in a clock. I put a candle on the desk. I looked around the room and then I went downstairs. I’d smelled jasmine on my way in. I found the vine climbing […]

The Opening of Tight Buds

This morning I look in the mirror as I brush my hair. It has grown long these past three years. I twist it high on my head. It looks odd to me, this ballerina bun I haven’t worn since high school. The unframed face, the knot of hair visible only when I turn my head. […]

Port de Bras

Back from a week in DC, where there is still a nip in the air, I am driving down a main thoroughfare when I notice a cluster of blue bonnets. They are huddled at the base of a street light as if it were only within the amber of its light that they felt safe […]

Perennial

Earlier this week, as I was driving son the younger to school, I passed a bank of Texas blue bonnets. Sure sign of early spring. Their bright blue the color of the sky in deep June. I spent that day at the hospital, working with breast cancer patients on “self-portraits,” humorous images made up of […]

The Hawthorn Beside My Doorway Blooms

The air is beginning to smell of spring. The buds come slowly at first, shy, like a young girl at her first day of dance class. Then with a rush of enthusiasm trees burst forth with pink, lavender, and green. The hawthorn beside my doorway has small white flowers with a dark pink center. They […]

The Warming Air

This week a guest brought ice cream to share. “Get out the bowls from the dining room,” said husband, his pleasure in using them evident. We bought the bowls in Japan. They are small – just the right size for my fist to fit snugly. The exterior is a milky white, a white with a […]