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© Cherie Bosela || CherieBosela.com || facebook.com/CherieBosela.MixedMediaArtist
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putting up the Christmas Lights!! For fun I photoshopped the day 7 in there and changed the color :)
Todays prompt was Hidden Beauty. I saw this beautiful little hidden flower growing out of the side of a tree in Waikiki.
18 Still FMSPhotoaDay
After a manic morning of school run, little kickers football class and a visit to the supermarket, Boo is finally still, concentrating on his [or his big sisters] puzzles!
I cherish each and every postcard sent to me. Latest addition is Grand Canyon card. #fms_far #fmsphotoaday
My Hat!
The hats of a man may be many
In the course of a varied career,
And some have been worth not a penny
And some have been devilish dear;
But there's one hat I always remember
When sitting alone by the fire.
In the depth of a Northern November,
Because it fulfilled my desire.
It was old, it was ragged and rotten
And many years out of mode,
Like a thing that a tramp had forgotten
And left at the side of a road.
The boughs of the mulga had torn it,
It's ribbon was naught but lace,
And old swaggie would not have worn it
Without a sad smile on his face.
When I took off the hat to the ladies
It was rather with sorrow than swank,
And often I wished it in Hades
When the gesture drew only a blank;
But for swatting a fly on the tucker
Or lifting a quart from the fire
Or belting the ribs of a bucker
It was all that a man could desire.
When it ought to have gone to the cleaner's
(And stayed there, as somebody said!)
It was handy for flogging the weaners
From the drafting-yard into the shed.
And oft it has served as a dish for
A kelpie in need of a drink;
It was all that a fellow could wish for
In many more ways than you'd think.
It was spotted and stained by the weather,
There was more than one hole in the crown,
And it made little difference whether
The rim was turned up or turned down.
It kept out the rain (in a fashion)
And kept off the sun (more or less),
Bt it merely comanded compassion
Considered as part of one's dress.
Though it wasn't a hat you would bolt with
Or be anxious to borrow or hire,
It was useful to blindfold a colt with
Or handle a bit of barbed wire.
Though the world may have thought it improper
To wear such old rubbish as that,
I'd have scorned the best London-made topper
In exchange for my old battered hat.
-- William Henry Ogilvie
Day 2 Light Fat Mum Slim photo a day Challenge
I had great plans for sunshine shining through the turning leaves but mother nature had other plans.
Little Squidge was happily chilling out on his changing mat whilst I tried some snaps of a light bulb - which were totally uninspiring! - when the sun briefly came out lighting him up!
Also for Pure in Our Daily Challenge - A new life so pure and untainted by the world and its influences.
There is a magic kingdom of strange powers,
Thought-hidden, lit by other stars than ours;
And, when a wanderer through its mazes brings
Word of things seen, men say: "A poet sings."
Its gates are guarded in a sterile land -
Mountain and deep morass, and shifting sand;
Storm-barred are they, and may not opened be
Save by the hand that finds the secret key.
That key, some say, lies in the sunset glow,
Or the white arc of dawn, or where the flow
Of some lone river stems the shoreward wave
In shuddering silver on its ocean grave.
Some say that when the wind wars with the sea,
In that stern music, one may find the key;
Or, in green glooms of forests, where the pine
Uplifts her spear amid great wreaths of vine;
Or, where the streaming mist's white rollers climb
The dark ravine and precipice sublime -
A filmy sea that twines and intertwines
Wreathes the low hills, and veils the mighty lines
Of sovran mountains, crimsoned and aglow
In crystal pomp, crested with jewelled snow;
But still, with souls afire, men seek that land,
And die in deep morass and shifting sand.
To those alone its iron gates are free,
Who find, within their hearts, the secret key;
For Earth, with all the colour of her day,
Is not their country - that lies far away.
-- "The Secret Key"
George Essex Evans (1863-1909)
The Secret Key and Other Verses