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Une heure d'ascension dans les montagnes fait d'un gredin et d'un saint deux créatures à peu près semblables. La fatigue est le plus court chemin vers l'égalité, vers la fraternité. Et durant le sommeil s'ajoute la liberté. Friedrich Nietzsche.
An hour's climb in the mountains makes a scoundrel and a saint roughly alike. Fatigue is the shortest route to equality, to brotherhood. And during sleep, freedom is added. Friedrich Nietzsche.
Hello Everybody!
I don't know about you, but this how I feel after going grocery shopping these days! LOL
A frozen stem with light frost.
I wish you a wonderful day and weekend! Thanks a million for stopping by and for leaving a comment. I do appreciate hearing from you!
©Copyright - Nancy Clark - All Rights Reserved
The good dog sat on the porch in the shade, waiting for his master. The master had sat him down and told him to Stay, and he knew from hard experience that Stay was very serious. A dog told to stay did exactly that, and nothing else. Until the master came back to release him.
Morning turned to midday and sun lit up the dog’s corner of the porch. All through the afternoon, the heat got more and more intense.
The good dog panted. Burned in the sun. Thought about water; tried not to think about it. Went to that empty private place in his mind where dogs sometimes go when they have to do a lot of waiting.
Through the afternoon, the dog looked with longing at the shade on the other side of the porch. But he did not go to it. Stay meant stay.
By evening, the sun’s rays were longer and less intense. Hunger gripped the dog’s belly. His mouth and tongue were raw from panting. But… good dog that he was, he stayed.
His heart leapt, and he could almost taste cool water, when he heard someone coming up the stairs.
But he knew almost instantly that it was not his master. The footfalls were too light; the smell was all wrong.
It was a woman. She gasped a little gasp when she saw the dog. Said hello, with some trepidation. Held out her hand for him to sniff, which he did.
She kneeled down in front of him, saw that he was in distress, and went inside the cool dark house.
At the door she turned to him and said, “Come on!”
But he was a good dog, and he’d been told to stay.
The woman brought out a big bowl of water and some leftover chicken from the night before. She put them on the porch in front of the dog and urged him to eat and drink.
He did neither. He’d been told to stay. And he knew the “food and water” trick. The master had taught him that one well.
No matter how thirsty, how hungry, how fatigued, how hot or cold the dog became… he could do nothing – would do nothing – till the master gave the word.
The woman went back into the house and called the newspaper. Placed an ad in the lost and found. Returned to the porch with her digital camera. Took pictures of the dog that she could use on flyers around the neighbourhood.
Three or four times as the evening wore on she came to the porch to check on him. And each time, there he was… sitting in the same spot, the food and water apparently untouched.
She got up several times during the night to check on him, and found the same.
Morning came. The dog had drifted off to sleep at some point, but was now awake… still sitting, still waiting in the corner of the porch.
He was tempted by the water. Oh, so tempted. And the chicken was the best thing he’d ever smelled. But he knew from hard experience that taking even one lap or bite could cost him dearly.
His bowels and bladder strained. But he knew – also from hard experience – that he dare not allow them to evacuate. Stay meant Stay. It meant Do Not Move a Muscle. It meant Do Absolutely Nothing Till I Say So.
The woman came out with her breakfast and ate on the steps a few feet away from the dog. She made some gentle, concerned noises. She touched the top of his head and he allowed her, but he shrank back into himself when she tried to scratch behind his ears.
The next time she came out of the house, she was on her way to work… a stack of flyers with the dog’s photo sitting on top of her papers and folders.
The dog heard her footsteps go away down the stairs, and closed his eyes, and tried not to think.
The dog passed another day on the porch. And another night. And the woman worried. No one called. No one came to claim the dog. And… since he was a good dog, and had been told to stay, he stayed.
By the third day, he had trouble sitting up. His vision was blurred. He choked with thirst. But still he would not touch the water.
On the fourth day, the woman came out of the house and found him stiff and cold and lifeless. And cried. Because it’s always sad when the world loses a good dog.
La rêverie, comme la pluie des nuits, fait reverdir les idées fatiguées et pâlies par la chaleur du jour. En se jouant, elle accumule les matériaux pour l'avenir et les images pour le talent. La flânerie n'est pas seulement délicieuse; elle est utile. C'est un bain de santé qui rend vigueur et souplesse à tout l'être; c'est le signe et la fête de la liberté.
de Henri Frédéric Amiel
A Scottish warrior / horseman re-enactor at the Sarasota Medieval Fair. Two of my images blended with a texture.
“Le héros n'est pas celui qui se précipite dans une belle mort ; c'est celui qui se compose une belle vie.”
Jean Giono
Thank you very much for your comments and for your favs.
(Please do not use without my written permission.)
“Le sommeil n’est pas un lieu sûr.”
Jean Cocteau
Thank you very much for your comments and for your favs.
(Please do not use without my written permission.)
I take a seat, like the birds singing;
It is the distant fatigue and the mist;
I fall like the wind on the light.
I fall on my soul.
Behold the bird of miracles;
behold the tattoos of my castle;
behold my feathers on the sea, which shouts goodbye.
I fall from my soul.
And I break into pieces, the soul, over the winter;
I fall from the wind onto the light;
I fall from the dove on the wind.
by Vicente Huidobro
Luane's World - Le Monde Perdu - Winter 2022 , Le Monde Perdu (146, 172, 24) - Moderado
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Le%20Monde%20Perdu/146/173/24
The march sheet of the Timmy calendar 2023: www.flickr.com/photos/wolfgang-kynast/albums/721777203048...