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The Academy of Athens with statues of Athena (upper left), Apollo (upper right), Socrates (lower right) and Plato (lower left)
Kind of an awkward question.
Ā© Cynthia E. Wood
www.cynthiawoodphoto.com | FoundFolios | facebook | Blurb | Instagram @cynthiaewood
Explored [Sep 6, 2016]
We happened to meet the three of us: the intruder, the bird and this amazing spotlight. I say I was the luckiest...
View of Dugald Stewart Monument, Edinburgh (Scotland, October 2016)
//
Le cercle des Philosophes disparus, Vue du Dugald Stewart Monument Ć Edimbourg (Ecosse, Octobre 2016)
The text in english is: " Things are born, grow up, disappear and come back with the same infinite movement of love"...Amerindian Wisdom.
(I hope the translation is good, if not, please let me know and correct me, thank you! :)
En franƧais: "Les choses naissent, grandissent, disparaissent et reviennent avec le mĆŖme mouvement infini d'amour"...Sagesse Amerindienne
106 Philosophers Terrace, Chestertown, MD 21620
This is one of the best preserved A&P stores that I've found in a while. SuperFresh moved to a newer location 20 years ago to a newer shopping center on the north end of town.
North wing of the Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto; behind this door is the Philosopher's Gallery event space. This is the original 1914 building designed by the firm Darling and Pearson. Intruding on it is the Michael Lee-Chin Crystal designed by Daniel Libeskind and opened in 2007.
Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.
I took philosophy in university, loved the course, Socrates was one of my favourites.
Don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without explicit permission.
Ā© All rights reserved
From Saving the world from war to eating a good meal, anything could be his thought in that particular moment. No chance of knowing for sure.
Waist level shot.
the other parts of the series:
arslanahmedov.blogspot.com/2009/08/philosophers-breakfast...
limited edition 1/15
A couple of days ago I met this young man walking his baby dog..They seemed to have a great friendship,which I'm sure will be lifelong :) After reading the moving story Jacii posted below his awesome shot,I thought it could symbolize that friendship... Unfortunately ,if there's nobody at home to help me ,I cannot do even the simplest things such as posting the link of my contacts ..I expect Jacii will help me with that ..or by showing his presence with that beautiful yet sad story he'll make his address known..
Sevgili arkadaÅlar,
Bir iki gĆ¼n ƶnce bu ikilinin arasında ,belli ki hayat boyu sĆ¼recek bir dostluÄa Åahit oldum
Jacii'nin resmi altındaki etkileyici ƶykĆ¼yĆ¼ okuduktan sonra o dostluÄu sembolize edeceÄini dĆ¼ÅĆ¼nerek bu kareyi yĆ¼klemeye karar verdim...ne yazık ki link yĆ¼klemeyi beceremiyorum...jacii'nin bana bu konuda yardımcı olmasını bekliyorum...Ancak ƶykĆ¼yĆ¼ buraya eklerse de TĆ¼rkƧe'sini bulmam mĆ¼mkĆ¼n deÄil..Ćok ƶzĆ¼r dilerim !
The Old Man and the Dog
by
Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack
competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it;
but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to
the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We
hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week
after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was
satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody.
Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman
set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he
prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and
God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called
each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my
problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I
was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read
something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she
read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home All of
the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes
had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained
five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted
dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one
after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I
neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his
feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of
the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had
etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in
lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.
Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can
you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.
"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I
don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.
"You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty
lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for
tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting
in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a
favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see
the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter... his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father...and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood.
I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly.
Live While You Are Alive.
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
And if you don't send this to at least 4 people - who cares? But do share this with someone.
Lost time can never be found .
#278 July 22,2008 Thank you all :)
What you will find in Heaven
First attempt of the Philosopher
Trying to leave the desert
HKD
Die Erde befindet sich im Himmel
Der erste Versuch des Philosophen, die WĆ¼ste zu verlassen.
HKD
Wer strebend sich bemĆ¼ht, den kƶnnen wir erlƶsen.
J.W.v.Goethe (Faust II)
Dear friends and visitors, this is the last picture from Flores. Now comes Christmas and after i invite you to travel along with me to some ancient places and volcanos of Java. Thank you so much for following so far.
I wish everyone of you happy holidays and - if you celebrate it - a merry Christmas!
Pelicans look like old Philosophers to me. The have such a serious look on their faces and the way the flock together, makes me think that they are busy with some very serious discussion.
This one was shot at the Alipore Zoological Gardens in Kolkata.
The zoo is in a pathetically bad shape today, with only a few creatures left for people to see. But I like going back to this place every winter to see the migratory birds that come. Sad thing is that, with pollution increasing day by day, the number of the birds flying in is decreasing very rapidly.
I wasn't planning on posting today, until I suddenly remembered having captured some fences after our visit to the museum last week. What a smile when I stumbled onto this image - one of many but one of a kind from that day. It immediately reminded me of the very mood of Philosopher's Walk.
HFF after all!
āThis item is likely to increase in value as the years passā¦.ā it says on the box. lol. Gift shopping at QAG.
Naples Museum of Arcaelogy
Particolare Philosopher Campana
www.flickr.com/photos/10647023@N04/21529279969/in/datepos...