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"Quando l’ultimo albero sarà stato abbattuto,
l’ultimo fiume avvelenato,
l’ultimo pesce pescato,
vi accorgerete che non si può mangiare il denaro."
Profezia degli Indiani Cree
"Only when the last tree has been cut down,
Only when the last river has been poisoned,
Only when the last fish has been caught,
Then only will you see that money cannot be eaten."
Cree Indian Prophecy
...se volete guardarvela Large! :-)
2020-28
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A Macro of red-ants in my garden, just when i pulled a concrete slab up.
5pointz in Queens may not be with us much longer, but there is still hope. Every day it is tied up in court is a good day.
The irony of 5 pointz... it created the very culture and neighborhood that the developers want to exploit. If not for 5pointz it is doubtful that MoMA and others would have ever ventured out into the wilds of Queens.
www.facebook.com/pages/5-Pointz/158365877546904
I personally feel like it should be granted landmark status and will do whatever I can to lend support to the cause. Hope others also let their voices be heard.
The fox squirrels love the large crabapples from the tree in our backyard. I enjoyed watching this squirrel decide where to hide his snack!
Lobster buoys arranged as a small tree to catch your eye and not miss the sign. Photographed on the Schoodic Pennisula in Maine.
Developed with Darktable 3.6.0
Elusyve threatened to send her cats to the tub if they did not sell! Being a cat lover, of course Wilmur had to protest!
Ring-a-ring-Opposes, a pocketful-Forecloses©
What advancement has been spelled out this morning?
Or any other morning for the matter with us is not yet found,
Still somehow uncolonized is the space within our heart
Overrun as it may be by so much as the duty bound
Ways radiating the loss of our own habitat that now sets us apart
From the roads we build atop the past trampled underfoot
Cobbles give way to the gobbles of hungry economic pressure
Drink your coffee quick so you may be full of beans in readiness
For the trek that gives a heck for seizing a rightful expressure
Over distinctive burials of hurt and all of life's bloodiness
Emotion rather resembles archaeology with origin unknown
It's a treasure worth having yet it's value cannot be easily told
We may hold such an artifact in our hand yet flinch in someone else's
And crack as we might it is only time that can find out before we're sold
By which time living memory has been and gone where history convulses
When we're done and dusted our image of ourselves speaks of tribal beliefs
Those narrow-minded policies handed-down from government to bleeder
Oh! and what stories shall we tell when our rich soil becomes political?
My childhood garden now a by-word for by-pass, a ruddy road's northern feeder
For no truth is harder to bear than next year's road map, ahead lies, lies, lies so hypocritical
Motions passed in my backyard by persons who'll have been and gone
Before my oats are cold...I jest, of course,
For the planners I never see live far, faraway from the likes of you or me
They have job descriptions that even google doesn't yet know, how coarse!
Yet real their decisions are, for their administrative cocoon may leave me a solitary tree
As swathes of childhood memory are churned-up why must we build over
Areas of greatest worth? leaving but a dust bowl to live out of
Only queried when the going gets tough and the tough have long gone
I speak of the Wensum valley and Norwich's soon to be northern ring of cupboard love
The atlas speaks what councils forgot to tell us...now preservation has been foregone.
by anglia24
10h30: 21/11/2008
©2008anglia24
A little inspiration from Rita - thank you: www.flickr.com/photos/ritavitafinzi/
If you love guitar: www.youtube.com/watch?v=9cadbYIzhqQ&feature=related