Giving Thanks


We, in America, are getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving. It is tomorrow but I have company coming in for the feast. So I will not be blogging tomorrow. Every person on Mother Earth will be on my mind and in my heart.




I would like to wish all of my American readers a very joyful and happy holiday.

To my readers around the world, I would like to wish you a safe, healthy and happy weekend. May all put aside differences and focus on gratitude and the miracle of being alive. I wish to thank all of my readers for your loyalty and your wisdom as you leave your comments. You have all blessed me greatly.


We give-away our thanks to the earth

which gives us our home.

We give-away our thanks to the rivers and lakes

which give-away their water.

We give-away our thanks to the trees

which give-away fruit and nuts.

We give-away our thanks to the wind

which brings rain to water the plants.

We give-away our thanks to the sun

who gives-away warmth and light.

All beings on earth: the trees, the animals, the wind

and the rivers give-away to one another

so all is in balance.

We give-away our promise to begin to learn

how to stay in balance with all the earth.

—Dolores La Chapelle


The joy of color. Photograph and copyright by Barbara Mattio 2015

The joy of color. Photograph and copyright by Barbara Mattio 2015

A Trip Up the East Coast of America


It has been a very long week here. Not bad, just full of hassles and things not going quite the way I had hoped.  I found this video and a friend of mine has made the trip several times. I have been to different sections of the Intracoastal Waterway. So I have included two of my own photographs. It is very pretty and some day I would love to make the entire trip.


So in honor of all of us who need a minute of relaxation and to see the beauty of Mother Earth, may I present…










   Intracoastal waterway, the Carolinas. Photograph and

                             copyright by Barbara Mattio 2013




DSC_0711                               Intracoastal waterway Carolinas. Photograph and copyright by 

                               Barbara Mattio 2013





    “Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain,

                                spirit of the garden,

                                 Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood

                                 Teach us to care and not to care

                                  Teach us to sit still

                                   Even among these rocks

                                   Sister, mother,

                                   And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,

                                   Suffer me not to be separated

                                   And let me cry come unto Thee.”

                                                                     —T. S. Eliot



















Happy Hallowe’en

Happy Hallowe’en to all my readers and friends.


I’ve decided to be totally not serious, and not deal with reality in honor of it being Hallowe’en.


Some of you may remember these songs; for some of you they may be new.  But they’re some of my favorite “monster” songs, from when I was young.

The first is Vincent Price doing a wonderful cover of the Monster Mash.  For those of you who are too young to know the wonderful Mr. Price, he ruled the Horror films in the 50’s and 60’s, and did the ghoulish rap at end of Michael Jackson’s Thriller.


Flying Purple Eater is what was called a “novelty song” from the 60’s and it’s always been one of my favorites, never failing to make me laugh!


I have to go now, to chase the Zombies on the River!


Have a ghoulishly good day!


Monsterously yours,





Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe


It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea

That a maiden thre lived who you may know

By the name of ANNABLE LEE;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.


I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea:

But we loved with a love that more than love —


With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.


And this was the reason that, lonb ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

So that her high-born kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.


The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me —

Yes!–That was the reason (as all men known,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

CHilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.


But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we —

Of many far wiser than we —

And neither the angels in heaven above,

NOr the demons down under the sea,

Can ever disserver my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE,


For the moon never beams, without bringing my dreams

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.









The woman who has nodded to me from her porch

for weeks, still nodes now, bobs her head

leading me inside to see

21 grandchildren posed on a shelf,

sills full of colored glass.


Twice, I heard, she left her husband

and then returned


He stays outside with the dogs,

hollering them away from the barn.


Chickens flutter and squall,

leaving patches of brown feathers.


She says she’s been nodding 26 years.

The doctor calls it ‘the trembles’

but she knows something sharper

is pecking her brain.


Twice his fists have hit,

knocked her against the wall.

Twice she’s returned


to faces of grandchildren

perfectly still in the tilt

of their frames, glass

shining on every sill,


to hens squawking themselves into trees

whenever a dog comes near.

She sweeps up the puddles

of brown and white feathers

that fear send flying,


pours them into ticking

to cushion her relentless,

affirming head.

–Betsy Sholl






Arden, North Carolina. Photograph and copyright by Barbara Mattio 2015

Arden, North Carolina. Photograph and copyright by Barbara Mattio 2015

Kahlil Gibran

Khalil Gibran is the author of The Prophet and is known through the world as the immortal Prophet of Lebanon and the Savant of the time. He wrote in Arabic and his works have been translated into English and other languages. I hope you enjoy what I have selected.

Song of the Rain

“I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven

by the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn

Her fields and valleys.

I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the

Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn

To embellish the gardens.

When I cry the hills laugh;

When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;

When I bow, all things are elated.

The field and the cloud are lovers

And between them I am a messenger of mercy.

I quench the thirst of the one;

I cure the ailment of the other.

The voice of thunder declares my arrival;

The rainbow announces my departure,

I am like earthly life, which begins at

The feet of the mad elements and ends

Under the upraised wings of death.

I emerge from the heart of the sea and

Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in

Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and

The trees in a million little ways.

I touch gently as the windows with my

Soft fingers, and my announcement is a

Welcome song. All can hear, but only

The sensitive can understand.

The heat in the air gives birth to me,

But in turn I kill it,

As woman overcomes man with

The strength she takes from him.

I am the sigh of the sea;

The laughter of the field;

The tears of heaven.

So with love—

Sighs from the deep sea of affliction;

Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit;

Tears from the endless heaven of memories.”


wpid-img_20150217_101759.jpg                                    Photograph and copyright by Barbara Mattio 2014

My Soul

My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life. He who does not befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance within himself will perish desperately. Life emerges from within, and derives not from environs.

I came to say a word and I shall say it now. But if death prevents its uttering, it will be said by Tomorrow, for Tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of Eternity.

I came to live in the glory of Love and the light of Beauty, which are the reflections of God. I am here living, and the people are unable to exile me from the domain of life for they know I will live in death. If they pluck my eyes I will hearken to the murmurs of Love and the songs of Beauty.

If they close my ears I will enjoy the touch of the breeze mixed with the incense of Love and the fragrance of Beauty.

If they place me in vacuum, I will live together with my soul, the child of Love and Beauty.

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed by Tomorrow to the people.

What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts.

—khalil Gibran




Zen400swprodshutterstock_168559829 copy


Sunday thoughts

” Are you looking for Me?

I am in the next seat.

My shoulder is against yours.

You will not find Me in stupas,

not in Indian shrine rooms,

nor synagogues, nor in cathedrals,

not in masses, nor kirtans,

not in legs winding around your own neck,

nor in eating nothing but vegetables.

When you really look for Me,

you will see Me instantly—

You will find Me in the tiniest house of time.”

—Khabir, a thirteenth century Eastern poet






Holden Beach, NC Photographed and copyright by Barbara Mattio 2015

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Paul Laurence Dunbar was a true American son. He was born in 1872. He was the son of freed Kentucky slaves. He became a published poet at fourteen. His first book was, Oak and Ivy. He sold it to riders on his elevator as they rode with them.


He moved to Chicago and became friends with Frederick Douglas. He was an internationally recognized poet.


“Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;

I look far out into the pregnant night,

Where I can hear a soleman booming gun

And catch the gleaming of a random light,

That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.


My tearful eyes my soul’s deep hurt are glassing;

For I would hail and check that ship of ships.

I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,

My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,

And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing


O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,

O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!

Is there no hope for me? Is there no way

That I may sight and check that speeding bark

Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?


—Paul Laurence Dunbar, Ships That Pass in the Night



Justice will bring peace

Justice will bring peace