Monday, July 19, 2021


 JULY 8TH 2021 Randy and I took off ton a drive to the coast, heading first to Lincoln City and then leisurely driving to Newport. Here are a few photographs I took on the way.

Yaquina Bay lighthouse.

We stopped at Georgie's in Newport to have clam chowder as they make THE BEST!!!!
Hydrangeas grow so well at the coast.
My Randy taking a photo.
It was nice to have a breather.
Nice to get away.

Tuesday, June 29, 2021



COMPARISONS   By Rose Lefebvre©



in my garden,

each placed here,

one by one,

with my own hands.

A few stand

amidst the plantings

like miniature ruins, silent sentinels,

guarding the growth.

Others line the pathways,


directing movement,

forming barriers.

Some are large,

standing prominent

among the rest.

Many have rough texture,

others smooth and slick.

A multitude of colors,

blending together


adding beauty.

They vary

in size, shape, color, texture.

These stones

are like people

in my life.

Sunday, May 30, 2021

LONE FIR: An Ekphrastic poem


Ekphrastic poetry is a poem written about a work of art, be it painting or photograph.
I wrote this one based on a painting I have that is pictured above.
I hope you enjoy it.

LONE FIR   by Rose Lefebvre ©


Anchored to the miniature rocky island,

a solitary fir stands, solo and solemnly sacred,

yet no sadness or desolation is sensed;

Rather reverence, supremacy and authority rule,

as if this is a hopeful, inspiring site.


Alone, yet not alone.


The sky is brilliance, vivid colors radiate

within it.  It is replete with

life, hope, promise, and splendor,

almost as if a heaven,

if one believes.

Wednesday, May 12, 2021



Bucolic Beauty

Dappled light dances upon water

and ribbons spill through the trees.

Lilacs lend sweetness to the air,

as horsetail clouds wander overhead

adding a whimsical mystery.

Mist moves across the field

like spirits floating.


The lake is brushed by the breeze as

a swan, neck echoing graceful curves

of a willow bough draping from sky to water,

is wayward nonchalance.


Her mother-of-pearl breast a courtliness

of buoyancy, is slow-motion dignity

as she takes a slow ethereal ride,

her balance poised elegance,

an illusion of peace and perfection.


Stones huddle at the edge of the water

as the reed-thin echo of bird song

plays in the air.

Treasured butterfly moments.


I swim out of myself.


Rose Lefebvre ©

Tuesday, May 4, 2021



I AM             by Rose Lefebvre ©                                                                                                                         

I choose a path, walking

where my spirit will lead.

My human heart wakes

as I survey firs robed

in green gray moss, murmuring

pines, mossy hemlocks, and gnarled

elms with grumpy silhouettes.

Beneath bending boughs I inhale

inspiration and follow

my imagination. 

The sunset beams a smoldering

smile upon the horizon as loons circle

in the moth-spattered radiance.

Light pirouettes off the opposite shore,

a mystic dance of shadows twining

and twisting as if alive.  

Shadows of clouds on a rivulet change,

minute by minute, and I visualize

my Muse whispering

inspirational words into the wind.  

My soul is reflected in Nature, a mere splinter

of light in a river that undulates through life. 

Like a single delicate snowflake,

I am different from everyone.

Phrases uncoil like smoke

emerging from a smothered fire, 

rising leisurely from me.  I write

of pain and joy, embroider

expressions. Words rain down

on me, run through me,

and I hear lyrics within their flow. 

Verses grow within me, slowly, shyly.

Paper is crisp, smooth, a virgin

beneath my expectant hands. 

I am a weaver of words, dreams, and ideas;

they quiver as my fingers shift through them

like fine sands.   

During a light rainfall a few days ago I captured a double rainbow. Second one is so pale.
Golden flowers
Gold-crowned sparrow
I hope you enjoy the photos and the poem!

Friday, April 30, 2021


 Here is another poem to share. Enjoy.

Forest Walk  by Rose Lefebvre

Ferns bob

their heads in assent

to the cipher of the rain

tapped out upon each frond.

A jeweled web glistens

in a skeletal tree, droplets


its silky threads. 

Calla lilies bow and spit,

flapping yellow tongues,

divulging rumors. 


Sinuous hair drapes

down my back tickling

icy skin

as I travel along the path.

Murky bubbles surface

In muddy puddles, burst silently.

I scream.

The pulsating downpour

mutes my voice. 

I reach out,

hands cupped,

to seize

nature’s crystal blood.

Tuesday, April 27, 2021


 Here is a poem I wrote. I hope you enjoy it.


Mother’s voice lapped like gentle waves

against my ears as I closed my eyes

and immersed myself in the stories

of idyllic worlds, allowed them 

to flow through my imagination,

wash away nightmares, fears,

and monsters under the bed.


I floated through enchanted landscapes

as she guided me down a mossy path, 

alongside a whispering stream

to a charming cottage

where butterflies pirouette

on a rainbow of wildflowers.


The world of reality was forgotten

and I could drift into dreams

float on her words,

ease into slumber,

unafraid of demons

and things that go bump

in the night.


Rose Lefebvre ©

Saturday, April 24, 2021


 We are receiving regular visits from White-crowned sparrows!
They are cute and curious and love suet and seed.
We are also now seeing American goldfinches at the feeders. They are going through first molt.
I think these are purple finch but may be house finch.
Scrub jay sure is a suet lover!

Things are blooming in my garden. It is always so lovely when all is growing in spring.

Soon there will be lots of color and bees and butterflies and birds!

Friday, April 9, 2021




by Rose Lefebvre ©


I stand alone on the precipice

viewing the infinite panorama

displayed before me.

My beseeching words echo

across the canyon span,

unheard by anyone.

Defeated, they diminish,

dropping into the chasm,

syllabic rain falling unseen.

Overlooking this massive expanse

I experience a sense of freedom

and my heart releases

a vow:

“I will be heard.”

Monday, March 29, 2021


 Here is another poem I have written recalling memories of long ago vacations.

THOSE SUMMERS                                                                        

I remember sultry, sweaty summers

visiting relatives in Missouri, traveling

like gypsies from one home to another,

we ‘city kids’ always eager

for the once-a-year farm adventures--


Riding bareback astride a coarse horse blanket, 

feeling the bristly coat of the steed chafe

against our calves; The fun and fear of feeding hogs,

mom adamant we enter the pen barefoot, we not realizing 

the composition of the ooze beneath our feet;


Haphazard attempts to pluck eggs from feisty chickens 

reluctant to give up the treasure hidden within feathery nests;

Milking cows as cats begged for spurts of cream 

from sagging teats, feeding more to felines than to the bucket;


Harvesting bounty from generous vegetable gardens, me 

consuming more tomatoes than I gathered;

Digging up potatoes, carrots, and onions

from muddy soil, almost tasting the stew

we would feast upon that evening;


The delight we had playing ‘scarecrow’ in the cornfield, 

swaying in the temperate breeze, wailing 

to frighten off ravenous crows; Acquiring patience 

as we ‘drowned worms’ eager to hook the colossal catfish

grandpa alleged inhabited his reedy pond.


The laughable screams from my sister and me as we beheld 

a headless chicken dash around, later fleeing brothers armed 

with severed chicken claws; Rescuing wriggling kittens 

being dropped through the pipe in the root cellar roof

by the same mischievous brothers.

Pursuing fireflies, always just one blink behind,

but able to capture a few each evening,

watching their glow within a jelly jar.

Our brothers smeared the insect goo upon

their scrawny arms to glow in the dark.


Sometimes I yearn to once again be that lighthearted little girl

visiting kin in Missouri during the sultry,



Wednesday, March 24, 2021


 When we lose loved ones, it is difficult. Seems as though we did not have enough time and want to share so much more. I know when I lost my husband I felt that way. My dearest friend, Sue, just lost her father last Friday. He was 91.  There is always the wish for a little more time. Here is a poem I wrote when my husband passed on.


 I am not ready to say goodbye,

with many more memories to share



                    and talks

                             and laughter.

Shells to gather

                   vistas to behold.

I want birthdays and anniversaries,

holidays and vacations,

more to fill my heart.

I yearn to share skies

          freckled with waltzing stars,

vibrant sunrises

          peeking over hilltops,

lofty firs

          silhouetted in a stalking fog,

spherical raindrops

          jewelling emerald leaves,

vibrant butterflies

          dancing in a field of flowers,

and tranquil sunsets

          settling to sleep.

It is all more significant,

          more memorable when shared.


I cannot bid adieu

                             to you.   


I am not ready to say



Rose Lefebvre ©

Saturday, March 13, 2021


 The bird watching continues!

Here is a song sparrow.  

A female yellow rumped warbler

Female Townsend warbler
Two hummingbirds
Varied thrush
I also worked on using the Adobe Lightroom effects on a few photographs.
Here is a mix of paint daubs and watercolor on a Townsend warbler.

A forest scene made to look like a sketch.
These of leaves were both posterized.

For this one I used a drybrush effect.
This one is dark strokes.

This dahlia is colored pencil effect
That is the latest from me!