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"Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun;
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light".
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When the doctor suggested surgery
and a brace for all my youngest years,
my parents scrambled to take me
to massage therapy, deep tissue work,
osteopathy, and soon my crooked spine
unspooled a bit, I could breathe again,
and move more in a body unclouded
by pain. My mom would tell me to sing
songs to her the whole forty-five minute
drive to Middle Two Rock Road and forty-
five minutes back from physical therapy.
She’d say, even my voice sounded unfettered
by my spine afterward. So I sang and sang,
because I thought she liked it. I never
asked her what she gave up to drive me,
or how her day was before this chore. Today,
at her age, I was driving myself home from yet
another spine appointment, singing along
to some maudlin but solid song on the radio,
and I saw a mom take her raincoat off
and give it to her young daughter when
a storm took over the afternoon. My god,
I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her
raincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel
that I never got wet.
Ada Limón
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Im Frühling fährt die Natur bekanntlich alles an frischen Farben auf, was sie zu bieten hat. So auch am 05.05.2022 entlang der Vogelfluglinie wie hier bei Beschendorf. Während zwei Reihen weiß blühender Büsche für die strahlend rote 218 402 mit dem IC 2413 von Fehmarn-Burg nach Hamburg Hbf Spalier standen, dienten darüber hinaus ein paar leuchtend gelbe Rapsfelder und ein Getreidefeld in sattem Grün als weitere Zutaten für die Komposition dieses farbenfrohen Bildes - abgerundet durch einen weiß-blauen Himmel, der allerdings beim Fotografen für viel nervenzehrende Spannung hinsichtlich der gewünschten ungetrübten Sonneneinstrahlung sorgte (Aufnahme vom Hochstativ).
Everything's so colorful here
In spring, as is well known, nature brings out all the fresh colors that it has to offer. This was also the case on May 5th, 2022 along the Vogelfluglinie as here near Beschendorf. While two rows of white blossoming bushes stood guard for the bright red 218 402 with the IC 2413 from Fehmarn-Burg to Hamburg Hbf, a few bright yellow rapeseed fields and a corn field in lush green served as further ingredients for the composition of this colorful picture - rounded off by a white-blue sky, which, however, caused a lot of nerve-wracking tension for the photographer in terms of the desired unclouded sunshine (photo from a high tripod).
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©www.pookaphotography.com
SOOC...
Child of pure, unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet and
I and thouAre half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy tale.
Lewis Carroll
Better on black press L..
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The Art of Gullibility
Just came on to vent out a little !
There is now an empty bottle of merlot at my shoulder, its vestiges a silent symbolic testimony to my mood, for it was a newly full bottle not 45 minutes ago!
But it has given me one thing, and that is the steam to write out this diatribe!
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I had been out with the girls on our usual monthly run out last night, Saturday .
Two of us had been at a fancy tea that afternoon that my friend’s Auntie likes to put on, and since I really like dressing it up, I do so for her teas .
She does these about 6 times a year, always on Saturday’s noon , which usually coincide with our girl’s nights . So I usually stay dressed up those nights when we go out!
Why? Because I rather like dressing up proper, and I do like the extra attention I get from the lads, especially when it’s a rather flattery outfit!
This one is a knocker.. The kind of outfit that feels as good wearing it as it makes one Pretty!
Long sleeved ultra-shiny satin plum blouse with a dangly bow, long taffeta skirt, black heels, and my usual overkill in the jewellery area
So that outfit yesterday afternoon that is what I wore out without given any thought to changing.
Riding in with my friend, the girls and I, met at a restaurant, then headed out for the evening
One of the girls boyfriend’s band was out playing at this pub on the dicey side of town and we headed there after having a few at our regular pub, the Poet and the Peasant, without worries as to where the new pub was located.
The music was good, loud but it a had a beat. The Pubs candescent lighting a bit dim, the kind that really makes things glitter and sparkle! The crowd in that evening let me tell you , it was as packed as a jostling pit and there was a hazy atmosphere of smoke, liquor, and sweat from dancing bodies !
We met these two blokes right off, and the ones guys sly eyed sister also showed up, all three strangers to us, who soon joined in, with us thinking nothing of it, just all friends enjoying the music , right!
So We partied till the wee hours of the morning and I basically went home(Uber) to my flat and passed out onto my couch still dressed up!
When I woke I stated to undress and noticed as I undid my satin blouse , that something was, did not, seem quite right!
I went in and looked in the mirror at my bloody eyed self, finally realizing my pretty gemmed pin I usually wear with that blouse, securely fastened in the satin bow, was gone missing !
Buggers I said and looked all around for it no luck!
Chilled, I went back in and checked myself over, everything was accounted for except my bloody gemmed pin!
I was running late, so I let it stew in the back of my mind and got dressed in my Sunday best.
Then at church, I just could not concentrate(nothing new) , and to find my happy place, began to mull over about all the fun I had had yesterday .
I suddenly remembered something that at the time didn’t seem out of the ordinary, and may not have all been in fun, but in my mind, looking at it with a fresh , unclouded mind’s eye, may explain things!!
While we were listening and dancing to our friend’s band, this one blokes sly eyed sister had become overly chummy with me and kept coming up behind me and draping her arms over me, pawed me and child like played with my blouse’s bow, immaturely pretending like she was a playful kitten.
She herself had on a long red satin blouse, open necked, so it did feel kinda nice in our drunken state I will admit!
Satin against satin if you know what I mean, but remember I was two sheets to the wind at that point! And her boyfriend was buying us drinks so I didn’t want to rock that ship!
Gullible git that I am!
Because, Before I left( I was the last of my group) she, the sly eyed girl, was saying her goodbyes as her brother headed off after telling her they had to go. She looked me over on last time smiling and then giggled that my satin blouse’s bow was loose again, silly!
It had been uncharacteristically happening all night and I kept noticing that in going to the loo, fixing it in the mirror, always taking time in admiring how my fancy bow pin was sparkling in the low lights!
Then her brother starts yelling for her to Hurry it up Lass were leaving. And she shouts back bollocks you Trog, can’t ya see I’m saying goodbye!
SO while Im cringing at this, she turns back to me with a sweet smile I guessed was for knowing she was getting her brothers goat, as she cheerfully was “kind” enough to offer to tightn my bow back up, taking time to make sure it was securely back in place for me, also made “sure” my blouse was all tucked and pretty.
And her brother is by the door still shouting, so I told her she had better go before he loses his drunken temper, feeling bad for the lass!
She just smiles, looks over at him, flipping him off with one hand as her other jerked at my tied bow!
“Sorry bot that luv !” she apologized, adding ”lovely time wasn’t it, toodles!”, she added quickly, leaving me with a quick, pressingly enveloped hug, and left to her waiting brother whom she dragged out of the pub door in a hurry!
And yep, you guessed it, in her fussing over straighten up my satin blouse , as she was supposedly yelling at her brother to further distract me, bloody bitch removed my expensive pin that she had probably her devious foxy eyed sights on all evening I bet !
Just daringly unpinned and stole the jewellery off from my favourite satin blouse , right under my nose! So surgically precise, that she didn’t so much as leave a tear behind when she managed it!
Then she was probably smirking inside at me while palming it as she hugged her gullibly, nice to the touch, dressed up twit goodbye!
I wonder now how many times she had practiced at taking it with her distracting pawing, prodding and fondling at my soft clothes in mischief all that night!
Is that what her and that ruddy so called brother of her’s had been chuckling over all the night long!
And to think that I missed my ride home because they pleaded me to stay on the dance floor with them, and I was too kind to refuse, also they really couldn’t dance that well either on their two left feet!
And then, once they had me singled out….
God am I still so angry at those two pissers!!!
At Least she left her gullible twit (me!) go on to keep her shiny rings, earrings and necklace !
But between you and me, since I will probably never run into that one again soon nor will she be reading this, for some words are more than two syllables......
For in the toshed state I was in that evening, she probably could ‘ave slickly slipped the whole bloody lot off me if she could have managed to plan that out in her sordid head, that giggling wasted I was!
Fortunately Insurance will cover it, but that is not the point, I don’t think.
Also True We have played similar games, but never for keeps, and that is my gripe, stealing something and not returning it goes far beyond it being a tease or a prank!
At Lest the way I picture it!
Anyway I have a half a mind wear my really nice silk dress out with my pearls, no emeralds, and to go alone at that pub again in a few months when another band plays! See if I can play it gullible enough to lure the sly eyed, slow minded bitch into my web and catch her red handed in act this time!!!
And with that said, I’m done ranting, and off to bed!
Vuurtoren "Grote Kaap" aan de Duinweg vlak bij Julianadorp, Nederland. Ook bekend als "Groote Kaap."
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Omnia - Fairytale
Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale
I have not seen thy sunny face
Nor heard thy silver laughter
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life's hereafter
Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale
Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale
A tale begun in other days
When summer suns were glowing
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing
Whose echoes live in memory yet
Though envious years would say forget
Whose echoes live in memory yet
Though envious years would say forget
Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread
With bitter tidings laden
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden!
We are but order children, dear
Who fret to find our bedtime near
We are but order children, dear
Who fret to find our bedtime near
Without, the frost, the blinding snow,
The storm-wind's moody madness-
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow,
And childhood's nest of gladness.
The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast
The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast
And, though the shadow of a sigh
May tremble through the story
For 'happy summer days' gone by
And vanish'd summer glory
It shall not touch, with breath of bale
The pleasance, of our fairy-tale
It shall not touch, with breath of bale
The pleasance, of our fairy-tale
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale
[Child of the Pure Unclouded Brow
by Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass]
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"Child of the pure, unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy tale."
- Lewis Carroll
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks a lot for visits and comments, everyone... Have a nice sequential date - 12/13/14 Saturday...!
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!
And birds and flowers once more to greet,
My last year's friends together ~ William Wordsworth
and i am getting sick of it,
please get out of my head,
i want to live my life
unclouded.
update, 2010: i can now say, after about 4 months of torture and tears, i am comfortable with being single. i can't say i never think about him, but i can say that i don't cringe in disgust, or longing, when he pops into my head. just indifference.
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Canal water exit down the weir to St. Lawrence River. A section still remains as a long body of water stretching to the foot of the Moses Saunders hydro dam revetment.
Below a view to the right from our canoe noticing the lovely trees and reflection…
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Using digital manipulation and Filters - Mirage to Create the Reflections
Poem by - Alfred Lord Tennyson
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road runs by
To many-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veiled,
Slide the heavy barges trailed
By slow horses; and unhailed
The shallop flitteth silken-sailed
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to towered Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."
Part II
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-haired page in crimson clad,
Goes by to towered Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling through the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneeled
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glittered free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazoned baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burned like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often through the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed;
On burnished hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flowed
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over towered Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse,
Like some bold seër in a trance
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Through the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turned to towered Camelot.
For ere she reached upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
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The Pacific is inconstant and uncertain like the soul of man. Sometimes it is grey like the English Channel off Beachy Head, with a heavy swell, and sometimes it is rough, capped with white crests, and boisterous. It is not so often that it is calm and blue. Then, indeed, the blue is arrogant. The sun shines fiercely from an unclouded sky. The trade wind gets into your blood and you are filled with an impatience for the unknown. The billows, magnificently rolling, stretch widely on all sides of you, and you forget your vanished youth, with its memories, cruel and sweet, in a restless, intolerable desire for life. On such a sea as this Ulysses sailed when he sought the Happy Isles. But there are days also when the Pacific is like a lake. The sea is flat and shining. The flying fish, a gleam of shadow on the brightness of a mirror, make little fountains of sparkling drops when they dip. There are fleecy clouds on the horizon, and at sunset they take strange shapes so that it is impossible not to believe that you see a range of lofty mountains. They are the mountains of the country of your dreams. You sail through an unimaginable silence upon a magic sea. Now and then a few gulls suggest that land is not far off, a forgotten island hidden in a wilderness of waters; but the gulls, the melancholy gulls, are the only sign you have of it...
W. Somerset Maugham
Western Canada, Section 5: Vancouver Island, Port Hardy - Holberg - North Coast Trail
On the upper level, above the Arcade concourse, stands a bronze statue of John Betjeman, depicted gazing in apparent wonder at the Barlow roof. A work of the British sculptor Martin Jennings, the statue commemorates Betjeman's successful campaign to save the station from demolition in the 1960s. The 2-metre (6 ft 7 in)-high statue stands on a flat disc of Cumbrian slate inscribed with lines from Betjeman's poem Cornish Cliffs:
And in the shadowless unclouded glare / Deep blue above us fades to whiteness where / A misty sea-line meets the wash of air.
— John Betjeman, Cornish Cliffs,