“Up high, the flies are playing,
And frolicking, and swaying.
The frog thinks: Dance! I know
You’ll end up here below.”
Wilhelm Busch- (1832-1908)
“The soul that sees beauty, may sometimes walk alone.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“I walked beside the evening sea and dreamed a dream that could not be; the waves that plunged along the shore said only: “Dreamer, dream no more!”
George William Curtis
Well, not quite the sea but an image of the Long Island sound at dusk had to do for this week’s challenge. There is something about the shoreline that has always instilled in me, a certain tranquility. This recent photo reflected that sort of ambience I always feel when near a body of water.
The resilient daffodil
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty…
William Shakespeare, “The Winter’s Tale”
Daffodils in the snow, Weston CT April 3, 2016
“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is most adaptable to change.” Charles Darwin
A pair of iguanas atop a third mate, mugging for my camera at the pet store.
“Winter is here, best time of year, come on along sing a skating song…”
One of my fondest childhood memories was ice-skating on a small rink my best friend’s dad built for us in her backyard. Round and round we would soar feeling the chill of the air on our cheeks. Not an iPhone or computer in sight. This year, to kick off the holiday season, I took my two sons to an ice rink near to us which overlooks the Long Island sound. They enjoyed two hours of skating until they could stand no more. Finally in physical defeat rather than want, they staggered off the ice with tired smiles and wobbly legs proclaiming “That was SO much fun…”
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day!
Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Fluttering from the autumn tree…
“There is no place like home.”
L Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
“I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify by their own lonesome familiarity to this feeling.”