A Journal of Thoughts, Photographs and Sketches
They’ve lived there for years under these expansive skies and have witnessed the beauty of many a sunset, sunrise and harvest. Now, as they gaze out to the horizon, time is short. Soon they too will be a memory. They once lived there, people will say.
The water was still, the air crisp, and two crows squawked their way through the sky.
I love this time of day – sunset over our neighbourhood. You can hear the voices and the laughter of people sitting in their gardens, the air rich with the smell of barbecues and the sound of clinking wine glasses, life at rest and embraced by the solace and comforts of home.
The countryside is full of wildflowers, Dandelion, Wood Forget-me-nots, Daisies, Poppies and a myriad of others. Today I passed this field ablaze with Buttercups. It was a happy walk punctuated by scenes of beauty like this.
A short poem:
Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast.
Joyce Kilmer
Coming down from Bluebell Hill, on my way home. In the distance the first blinking lights of our village.
I’ve decided, during this time of uncertainty, to learn off by heart a short poem or fragment of a poem, every second day. Here’s today’s from Robert Frost’s “Fire and Ice.”
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
I must say I too prefer fire, but thinking about it – give me both.
