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daniel: fine arts

Celtic harp, vocals, piano, music composition, performer at weddings, restaurants, wineries and parties

PHOTOGRAPH OF STAN & ANNIKA BY DANIEL WEIL IMAGES

THE HOME OF JAMES DRONENBURG, MUSICIAN AND PLANTSMAN, & DANIEL WEIL, PAINTER, PHOTOGRAPHER AND ARCHITECT

james:  plantsman

PHOTOGRAPH OF JAMES BY DANIEL WEIL IMAGES

PHOTOGRAPH OF WINTERSWEET BUSH BY DANIEL WEIL IMAGES

Studio and location portrait photography, events and weddings

PHOTOGRAPH OF JAMES BY DANIEL WEIL IMAGES

PAINTING OF ANNIKA BY DANIEL WEIL

Portrait painting and drawing on commission, genre paintings


James:   musician

Wintersweet Bush, known botanically as Chimonanthus praecox, blooms around New Year's Day and fills the air with a delicate and beautiful scent for several weeks.

Gardener, lecturer on plants, writer of gardening articles and book reviews, coordinator for a garden club and member of others

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The Wild Geese
By Jim Dronenburg


We bought our house, on a hill, for the view
Of the river and the hills on the other side;
But buying in summer, we did not know
What sights and sounds would come to us
When the wild geese fly over.
Slowly, small at first, in twos, threes, fives,
The lines begin at summer’s end,
Growing, through the fall,
To great, sprawling V’s of calling birds,
Coming from the river in the morning,
Going back to the river at night.
The sound of their cries is a joy to me, dawn and dusk;
It means Fall is coming, or is come;
The leaves are turning, the air is wine
And the year is going,
In the clear, thin sunlight and the chilly wind
That blows from the low, rounded hills.
A wing’s ghostly calls in the night are a joy to me,
Echoing, lonely,
A reminder that outside, there is the dark and the moonlight
And a world that exists outside human concerns,
Journeys to be made
And destinations to reach,
That I shall never know or be part of.
Their cries in the Spring are a joy again,
Along with the first sound of the peepers
And the first tiny pink flash of the Spring-beauties;
I know the cold is in retreat,
And the winter will soon be finished and gone,
When the wild geese fly over.
All year- summer, winter, fall or spring,
You will occasionally hear them;
I stop in my work, straighten up, and look,
Hoping to see even a single bird in the sky above me;
And I have prayed
That God will never let me grow used to the sight or the sound of it,
When the wild geese fly over.