A beaten path winds its way through the dense forest, beckoning the adventurous to explore the unknown. As it disappears into the horizon, the promise of new discoveries and breathtaking scenery entices all who dare to follow it. With each step, the crunch of leaves and the rustle of branches create a symphony of nature, inviting us to immerse ourselves in the beauty of the wilderness. Come and explore, for the wonders of the forest await you.

Taken @ Strays And Misfits

How silent is this place

The brilliant sunshine filters through the trees

The leaves are rustled by a gentle breeze

A wild and open space

By shrubs pink-tipped, mauve blossomed o’ergrown

A hush enfolds me, deep as I have known

Unbroken save by distant insects’ drone

A jungle clearing, a track, through which we bear our load to Him

It is our Paradise Road

…

(English follow)

La sagesse des herbes sauvages

Ici, il y a le bruit des démocraties modernes, dont le vernis craque.

Là-bas, celui des Empires anciens et autoritaires qui cherchent à renaître de leurs cendres.

Klaxons ou canons

Même illusion…

Nous vivons dans un monde qui cherche un nouveau récit de l’avenir.

Souvent, en ces temps désespérants et incertains,

Je m’en vais aux champs

Cueillir des baies rouges ou bleues,

Photographier les brins d’avoine sauvage

Entendre leur bruissement dans le vent,

Et refaire alliance avec l’essence de la vie, celle de nos origines…

Assis, par terre, calmement, comme l’un des milliards de brins d’herbes sauvages qui m’entourent.

Et dont le nombre, la mémoire et la longévité surpassent ceux de tous les Empires humains.

En revenant des champs, je me dis souvent qu’un autre monde n’est pas seulement possible, mais qu’il est en route, silenceux et déterminé.

Et qu’il relèguera aux oubliettes de l’histoire,

Le bruit des klaxons et des canons.

Patrice Photographiste : Chroniques du Monde de Poësia

_________________________

The wisdom of Wild grasses

Here, there is the noise of modern democracies, whose veneer cracks.

Over there, that of the old and authoritarian Empires which seek to be reborn from their ashes.

Horns or cannons

Same delusion...

We live in a world that seeks a new narrative of the future.

Often, in these desperate and uncertain times,

I'm going to the fields

Pick red or blue berries,

Photograph the strands of wild oats,

Hear their rustle in the wind,

And re-establish an alliance with the essence of life, that of our origins…

Sitting, on the ground, calmly, like one of the billions of blades of wild grass that surround me.

And whose number, memory and longevity surpass those of all human Empires.

Coming back from the fields, I often tell myself that another world is not only possible, but that it is on the way, silent and determined.

And that it will exile to the dungeon of history,

The sound of horns and cannons.

Patrice Photographer: Chronicles of the Lands of Poësia

A writing on Trees by Hermann Hesse follows.

Herman Hesse was a contemporary of Adolph Hitler (more or less - a few years older). They had some shared experiences in the tumult of WWI (more or less - Hitler was a soldier, Hesse was in the medical corps). They came out of WWI with polar opposing views - Hitler raging with the Nationalist ferver that started WWI and led us into WWII, Hesse calling for tolerance and understanding. I guess we know whose voice was louder...

(Hats off to anyone who makes it to the end...)

"Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness."

“O sweet September, thy first breezes bring

The dry leaf’s rustle and the squirrel’s laughter,

The cool fresh air whence health and vigor spring

And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.”

— George Arnold

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Haraiki%20Bay/198/232/23

I saw it again this evening

Black sail in a pale yellow sky

And just as before in a moment

It was gone where the grey gulls fly.

If it happens again I shall worry

That only a strange ship could fly

And my sanity scans the horizon

In the light of the darkening sky.

That night as I walked in my slumber

I waded into the sea strand

And I swam with the moon and her lover

Until I lost sight of the land

I swam till the night became morning

Black sail in a reddening sky

Found myself on the deck of a rolling ship

So far where no grey gulls fly

All around me was silence

As if mocking my frail human hopes

And a question mark hung in the canvas

For the wind that had died in the ropes

I may have slept for an hour

I may have slept for a day

For I woke in a bed of white linen

And the sky was the colour of clay.

At first just a rustle of canvas

And the gentlest breath on my face

But a galloping line of white horses

Said that soon we were in for a race

The gentle sigh turned to a howling

And the grey sky she angered to black

And my anxious eyes searched the horizon

With the gathering sea at my back

Did I see the shade of a sailor

On the bridge through the wheelhouse pane

Held fast to the wheel of the rocking ship

As I squinted my eyes in the rain

For the ship had turned into the wind

Against the storm to brace

And underneath the sailor's hat

I saw my father's face

If a prayer today is spoken

Please offer it for me

When the bridge to heaven is broken

And you're lost on the wild wild sea

Lost on the wild wild sea...

-Sting.

Загадка дня:-что это за летняя ягодка? Кто отгадает, тому и будет принадлежать ягодка...!......Ягодное лето снова на пороге,

Раннею порою в лес ведут дороги,

Где шумят дубравы и поют ветра,

Где приятна даже летняя жара...

Солнышком согретых,ягод ароматных,

Наберу в лукошко,в лепестках нарядных

К солнцу повернулись,спинками игриво,

Словно шепчут каждая:"-Я ли не красива?!"

Сочных, спелых ягод лето припасло,

На лесной поляне много наросло,

Чтобы зарядить нас, бодростью своей,

Засверкали ярко, тысячи огней................................Riddle of the day: -what is this summer berry? Whoever guesses, the berry will belong to him...! Berry summer is on the doorstep again,

Roads sometimes lead to the forest in the early morning,

Where the oak forests rustle and the winds sing,

Where even the summer heat is pleasant...

The sun warmed, fragrant berries,

I will type in a basket, in elegant petals

Turned to the sun, backs playfully,

It's like everyone is whispering:""Am I not beautiful?!"

Summer has saved juicy, ripe berries,

There is a lot of growth in the forest clearing,

To charge us with your cheerfulness,

Thousands of lights shone brightly...

For my beautiful friend Unni who keeps Summer in her heart <3

“Au milieu de l'hiver, j'apprenais enfin qu'il y avait en moi un été invincible.”

― Albert Camus

"In the midst of winter, I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer."

- Albert Camus

Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LZAEMUg2eQ

LOVE IN OUR HEARTS (NEW SUMMER TUNE) – JIMMY BRINE

SUMMER IN MY HEART FOR YOU

It was raining in my heart last night

I was looking for the sun

but wherever it was it was out of sight

and I felt that Summer had gone

then came a breath of fresh air in the words you wrote

and I saw the rain had stopped

You told me to keep the Summer in our hearts

you were right and I was not

I will still look forward to Autumn though

because I love to run through the leaves

to hear their rustle and to feel alive

with the coolness of the Autumn breeze

Every season has it's smell

every minute can do too

If you don't believe me then try this thing

and it will bring a smile to you

stand outside on a Summer's day

sniff the air; note the way it feels

then in the evening do the same again

do you see what I'm talking about now

this “secret” is my gift to you

I discovered it as a child

I can hear the tide turn as well you know

and find harmony in the wild

it's no secret; I dance to my own tune

I am like Poppy Pan,

Peter's long lost little sister

I've been here since the world began

I may never grow old

not in the way we know

to be the fate of everything

but I will always keep Summer in my heart for you

throughout the Winter and ensuing Spring

when the primroses bloom

and the wild bells grow

and the woods are full of blue

I will look to the sky

have the Spring in my step

and the Summer in my heart for you.

- AP – Copyright remains with the author

'copyright image please do not reproduce without permission'

Saw this small snake cruisin' along & wanted to try to get a shot head on, so I walked ahead of him as he slithered under some nearby branches & leaves. I crouched down waiting for him. Wasn't sure when or exactly where he was going to emerge until I heard some rustling around. He cautiously rose up from out of the leaves nearby to take a look around ! Haha, this little one was so cute! Didn't expect him to be upright.

My daughter calls him "Rustle"

Antonine wall

Tamfourhill

This morning with her rustle tunnels and feather wands.

For the "Happy Caturday" group.

Dushara Cathal Caithlin (Somali), 14.05.2016.

Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera

Bastian lurking in the tunnel with Caithlin watching. More from this shoot over the following days...

Bastian (mixed breed) & Dushara Cathal Caithlin (Somali), 17.01.2017.

Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera

Caithlin waiting for Bastian to walk by the play tunnel, so she can punch him from inside.

Dushara Cathal Caithlin (Somali cat), 14.07.2018

Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera

Common Blackbird. Up at dawn and rummaging for food

Das ist der die Musik der Autobahn. Sie rauscht bei Tag und Nacht.

This is the music of the Highway. It rustles day and night.

youtu.be/FLoqr70JvVU

Bastian waits for Lene to put the camera away, so playing can begin.

Bastian (mixed breed), 16.12.2016.

Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera. Photo by Lene Raarup.

taken @ Winter's Hollow

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Auron/89/88/24

I sit here alone, gazing into the distance forlorn

My heart beats faintly: it is battered, bruised, foreworn

I close my eyes and think of you, the subject of my dreams

As I do I feel the ripples, as my heart begins to tear at the seams.

The wind rustles through the leaves, capturing my attention for a while....

But as I close my eyes, I see the form of your smile.

I then begin to wish that you were here, that I could hold your hand...

But I did hold you yet things didn't work out as I had planned

At this point my mind is now clouded with thoughts of only you

I look up to the sky and perhaps there is hope, it is so impossibly blue...

But then in a twist of fate the orange and yellow embers start streaming through: a touch of sunset on a distant hill

And here I led myself to believe that the gravity of my emotions could make time stand still…

A stroll along the beach at Just Another Tequila Sunrise brings the fresh scent of the salt air, a soft sea breeze that rustles the hair. The quiet beauty of this place greets the eyes at every turn with natural vistas and peaceful sanctuary from the busy outside world.

Пони — это чудо крошки.

Их погладить бы ладошкой,

Прикоснуться к длинной чёлке,

Провести по гриве холки.

Этих лошадей малышек

Нет милей для ребятишек,

Пони — это только пони.

Пони — не большие кони,

Пони — малые коняшки,

Но зато они милашки!..............A pony is a miracle of crumbs.

I would like to stroke them with my palm,

Touch the long bangs,

Hold on to the mane at the withers.

These little horses

For children, there are no

ponies better than those that are sweeter - they are just ponies.

Ponies are not big horses,

ponies are small horses,

but they are cute!...

A moment captured, frozen in time

A bridge of old, a city sublime

A river flows beneath its span

A skyline rises, a modern plan

Amidst the hustle and the bustle

A moment of peace, a moment to rustle

The leaves that cling to branches high

A glimpse of nature, a serene sky

The bridge a symbol of days gone by

A testament to what we can supply

But nature remains, a steadfast force

Reminding us of a different course

So take a breath, enjoy the view

Take in the old, embrace the new

For in this moment, all can agree

Beauty surrounds, for all to see.

youtu.be/FSGcZU96wRM

Refrain from an old song performed by Mathé Altéry (soprano singer born in 1927) :

Frou-frou, frou-frou

By her petticoat the woman

Frou-frou, frou-frou

Of man disturbs the soul

Frou-frou, frou-frou

Definitely the woman

Especially seduced

By her pretty rustle

Refrain d'une vieille chanson interprétée par Mathé Altéry (chanteuse soprano née en 1927) :

Frou-frou, frou-frou

Par son jupon la femme

Frou-frou, frou-frou

De l'homme trouble l'âme

Frou-frou, frou-frou

Certainement la femme

Séduit surtout

Par son gentil frou-frou

A rustle in the wind reminds us a fairy is near.

after twilight

when nightbirds return

to roost along boulevards

slick with rain and downtown

bars fill with emptiness

the whine of distant sirens

calls for someone

to swim out past the tidewater

to deep blackness

to passersby who glance

in the window and keep

moving and maybe those

restless shadows linger

on the wall as winds rustle

overhead or underfoot:

oh, how passions rise

in the sweet chambers

of imagination, a dark-haired

beauty on a moonlit beach,

say Florida and the sand

carries the salts of the bay

in and out, delirious for want

of the moment to never end

waves erasing the sand

out and in and though she

may be the trick memory

plays or desire or loneliness

maybe what might have been

was real enough

--Miguel deO

A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.

-- Eric Sloane

__________________________

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

-- William Wordsworth

A crisp cold Novermber day where warmth can be found in the glow of the sun - when the senses seem clearer and contemplating life's hurdles begin to appear possible. A thousand thoughts of everything and nothing feel like a pleasant waking dream in the hypnotic rustle of the leaves and the playful whistling of the wind.

Nature! Meditation! Mindfulness!

stonesworksblog.wordpress.com/2019/06/05/outside-the-window/

“I can sit alone by an open window for hours if I like, and hear only bird songs, and the rustle of leaves. ”

― Virginia Woolf

Yes, the world may aspire to vacuousness, lost souls mourn beauty, insignificance surrounds us. Then let us drink a cup of tea. Silence descends, one hears the wind outside, autumn leaves rustle and take flight, the cat sleeps in a warm pool of light. And, with each swallow, time is sublimed.

— Muriel Barbery

Tilheyra

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Tilheyra/152/180/26

*Eichholzmaar @ Morning sun and fog*

This morning, during the fog release on a very small maar in the volcanic Eifel, a lake of volcanic origin. And as befits the "Eichholzmaar" an oak tree of the image design serves.

It's a dream to take pictures in the Eifel in the early morning...no competition, silence, just the cry of a heron or the rustle of leaves...pure relaxation....

Heute Morgen während der Nebelauflösung an einem sehr kleinen Maar in der Vulkaneifel, ein See vulkanischen Ursprungs. Und wie es sich für das Eichholzmaar geziemt dient eine Eiche der Bildgestaltung.

Es ist ein Traum, am frühen Morgen in der Eifel zu fotografieren...keine Konkurrenz, Stille, nur der Schrei eines Reihers oder das Rauschen der Blätter...Entspannung pur...

Danke für deinen Besuch! Thanks for visiting!

bitte beachte/ please respect Copyright © All rights reserved.

I was wandering around a rather nice (though autumnally sleepy) garden yesterday trying to take interesting pictures of leaves using my Flektogon vintage lens for a change. Of pictures I took quite a few. Interesting, not so many.

This is my attempt at the Crazy Tuesday group’s theme of Leaves today. It’s a wobbly image of an Acer. I often feel wobblies of leaves like this look like wind, and there is nothing quite like wind in leaves (my favourite is the sound of wind in bamboo).

In processing I had to warm up the colours quite a bit (though clearly I shouldn’t admit to that lol). It’s nice to be able to take part in the group though because it’s so friendly.

I also sharpened the image quite a bit to bring out the painterly textures, though you probably need a big screen to see that.

Have a great week folks, and may your leaves rustle…

Thanks for taking the time to look. I hope you enjoy the image. Happy Crazy Tuesday and 100x :)

[Handheld in overcast light (it was about to drizzle), using a twist movement.

Developed and processed using Affinity Photo on an iPad.]

Step into this serene meadow, where golden fields stretch endlessly and the world feels gentle for a moment. Here, the only news is the rustle of the breeze. a quiet reminder that beauty still flourishes, even when the headlines fail to say so. Let this peaceful view be your escape, your pause, your proof that hope always resides somewhere on the horizon...

Thank you so much for stopping by! Your views, faves, and kind words truly brighten my day. If you enjoyed this moment of peace, I’d love to share more with you. Feel free to fave and leave a little love anytime.

I was in the woods at sunset yesterday and a beam of light suddenly lit this patch of fern deep within the darkness of the pines. Although there seemed to be no wind, the fronds rustled like feathers and I got the impression of a phoenix rising. All too quickly the sunlight disappeared and there was only darkness.

🎵【Yᵒᵘ 'ᵛᵉ ᴳᵒᵗ ᵀʰᵉ ᴸᵒᵛᵉ】🎧

Soft

Delicate

Small

Fragrant

Pink and white

Flutter to the ground

To form a gentle blanket

That gently rustle

In the cool spring breeze

I watch in awe

At your beauty

As I leave this world

My mind will fall to you

Oh magestic

And delicate one

Whose name is

"......................"

“A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.”

― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

fashionmusicmahem.wordpress.com/2020/08/12/out-the-window/

“I can sit alone by an open window for hours if I like, and hear only bird songs, and the rustle of leaves. The trees are pure gold and orange,”

― Virginia Woolf

-Rabindranath Tagore

Ojibwa Indian Burial Grounds.

This was a very peaceful site. I felt a serenity fall over me the second I entered this sacred place. I guess some would not feel it, nor care but I was open, ready to listen to whatever message I was to receive. Sometimes all it takes is a soft breeze, a sun ray, the rustle of leaves in a tall tree to light a spark in our hearts. We simply have to open ourselves to hear the word.

- Pablo Neruda, "Ode to Bird Watching"

The woods shine in the most beautiful colors, the leaves rustle with every step. Autumn seduces the senses like no other season. With his warm light he shows the treasures of nature in a special intensity. Be enchanted by the magic of Swiss Autumn.

Autumn is the spring of winter.

There is a silence of the autumn until to the colors.

I wish you the tender impatience of spring the mild growth of the summer, the quiet maturity of autumn and the wisdom of the sublime winter. ( Irish blessing )

Thank you all my friends here for your interest in my little work of love. Thank you so much for your beautiful words you gave me. I appreciate every single one from them. Please listen with me this relaxing music and dream from a world full of beauty and wonders.

Dire Straits-Why Worry

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_03uXQiz6eY

Beautiful views on start of walk @ Llandanwg Beach. The grasses

sound in the wind and rustle genlty.

He sits beside the creek, pondering to himself. The sounds of nature are all around him: the ducks quacking contently; the light breeze that rustles through the trees. A calm and content life lived side by side with the natural world.

Taken at the breathtaking -Netherwood-

As I gaze upon the digital watercolor painting I created based on one of my travel photographs, I am transported back to the enchanting scene that captivated me during my visit to the magnificent Château d'Amboise, nestled on the banks of the Loire River. The vibrant hues and delicate brushstrokes bring to life the grandeur and opulence of the French monarchs, who graciously welcomed even Leonardo da Vinci within the walls of this splendid palace.

The sun casts its warm glow upon the façade of the Château, illuminating the intricate architectural details. The soft, creamy tones of the limestone walls contrast elegantly with the azure sky, creating a harmonious palette that evokes a sense of serenity. Towering turrets and ornate balconies adorned with intricate carvings reach towards the heavens, testaments to the regal power that once resided within these walls.

As I shift my gaze, the vivid greenery of the surrounding gardens comes into view. Manicured hedges and blooming flower beds weave a tapestry of colors, complementing the majestic palace. The gentle breeze carries the scent of blossoms, adding a touch of tranquility to the scene. In the distance, the Loire River meanders gracefully, its waters reflecting the dreamy ambiance of the surroundings.

Within the painting, I can almost hear the echoes of history whispering through the air. I imagine the bustling courtyard, once filled with courtiers and artists, their conversations intertwining with the rustle of silk garments. It was here, within these very walls, that Leonardo da Vinci found solace and inspiration during the final years of his life. His brilliance and creativity infused the palace with an undeniable aura of intellectual fervor.

As I observe the digital watercolor rendition of the Château d'Amboise, I am reminded of the intricate connection between art and history. The painting encapsulates the allure of this extraordinary place, where the splendor of the French monarchy and the genius of Leonardo da Vinci converged. It serves as a visual testament to the enduring legacy of the Château d'Amboise and its pivotal role in shaping the cultural heritage of France.

20220420_RX_07650_TOURS

when this owl heard a rustle near the photographers, it didn't hesitate and flew right over to the crowd.

Model: Skye McLeod Fairywren

Bento Mesh Head: Catwa Lilly

Bento Mesh Body: Maitreya Lara

Face/Body Applier: DeeTaleZ

Hair: Eyes on Me by Exile Hair

Una Dress now by -AZUL- @ Sense event (in 8 beautiful colors)

Josephine Shoes: RealEvil Industries

Luxy Rings: RealEvil Industries

Compatible Nails System: Astralia

Rose Heart Earrings & Necklace: Maxi Gossamer

POSE: Princess 04 by Stardust Poses

Peace Dove: JubJub's Stuff

SIM: Luane's Magical World @ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Morning%20Glow/47/156/21

The Earth was silent apart from the rustle of leaves, carefully rearranged by the Autumn breeze, being put in order before the coming of the Winter freeze.

"We're super spooky, I promise!"

---

Well, I may have only gotten around to it actually on the day but I finally managed to rustle up Halloween costume photos for this year! I think Ayela really smashed it out of the park, and went for a much more classic demon than me!

I have discovered though that it's kinda' difficult to create lighting etc' that works for two very different looking avatars, but I think the end result was still cool none the less!

Model: Moi & Ayela

Location: Backdrop City

Pose: Foxcity

Caithlin lurking in one tunnel, Bastian in the other...

Dushara Cathal Caithlin (Somali) & Bastian (mixed breed) , 17.01.2017.

Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera

. . .in the city

after twilight

when nightbirds return

to roost along boulevards

slick with rain and shuttered

cafes fill with emptiness

the whine of distant sirens

calls for someone

to swim out from the quay

to deeper blackness

to passersby who glance

at themselves

in the windows and keep

moving and maybe those

restless shadows linger

on the wall as winds rustle

overhead or underfoot:

oh, how passions rise

in the sweet chambers

of imagination, a dark-haired

beauty on a moonlit beach,

say St-Tropez and the sand

carries the salts of the bay

in and out, delirious for want

of the moment to never end

waves erasing the sand

out and in and though

she may be the trick

memory plays or desire

or loneliness maybe

what might have been

was real enough

--Miguel de O

On a walk down the wooded lane to the pond late morning I heard a rustle and then saw a doe scamper away......not uncommon in the area, but less so precisely there. I continued on to the pond, drew it all in. After a while, returned down the path and heard another stir - much quieter. The spots stood out on this lovely little fawn far enough away as it teetered on its little spindly legs for a few steps and then it settled back down. Quickly took the picture from a distance (hence not so great of an image) and got out as quickly as possible. The mother no doubt was watching it all from her safe distance, and also no doubt returned to her fawn shortly thereafter.

Please note this is heavily cropped and I was around 15 feet away - which was the distance of where I was on the path and where it was off it.

"Proprio la cosa più piccola, più sommessa, più lieve, il fruscio di una lucertola, un soffio, un guizzo di una farfalla, uno sbattito di ciglia. Di poco è fatta la migliore felicità".

Friedrich Nietzsche

_____

Happy night, good rest, see you tomorrow. Hi...!

"Just the smallest, most subdued, slightest thing, the rustle of a lizard, a puff, a flicker of a butterfly, a blink of an eye. The best happiness is made of little".

Friedrich Nietzsche

www.youtube.com/watch?v=SazaEwYl5iE

Norden, Rochdale - UK