They’re Baaack (Wordless Wednesday)
A Year in Pictures
A Look Back at 2018
I wasn’t very productive as far as writing [or marketing] goes but I made a few memories and I ain’t mad about that. 😀
Some of the books got a new cover, you can see them here if you’re so inclined, or you can look at a few of my pictures from 2018.
Man that flew by. Oh well…
Hasta la vista 2018, I’ll be back & here’s wishing all of YOU a HaPpY 2019!!
HaPpY Cinco de Mayo Y’all
A little color to enhance your celebrations.
Wordless Wednesday (The Sting)
Depending on Your Perspective
Saturday I posted a photo of an approaching storm with a caption ending in “y’all forgive me but I love a good storm” and it was a very good storm… or a very bad one depending on your perspective.
After posting that photo we journeyed to my son’s home in adjacent Van Zandt county for a fish-fry and enjoyed the show from the safety of his garage. As lightening danced and crackled over the oak trees we cracked jokes, reminisced and watched crispy fillets float to the surface in vats of boiling oil. We didn’t even mind the loss of electricity; it did not affect us — we were cooking with propane.
Little did we know only miles away lives and livelihoods were being destroyed. As we were laughing ourselves to tears, others wept in fear and sorrow.
We made our way back home [to a dark but undisturbed house] as the radio blasted warnings and tales of catastrophe; declaring several tornadoes had passed through the area(s). It turns out there were seven. Seven tornadoes.
I did not perceive the impact until power was restored several days later and I could get a visual.
It definitely causes one to reflect.
These photos were taken yesterday from [almost] the same position of the one Saturday. The same southern tree line is just above this view.
I still love a good storm but lord my heart does break for all those suffering a loss. I would appreciate it if you all would take a few seconds and send a positive thought or prayer their way.
The Titmouse (A Poem & A Picture)
Q: Why The Titmouse by Ralph Waldo Emerson?
A: Because I have a few photos that need a home… and Titmouse’s are adorable.
Here was this atom in full breath,
Hurling defiance at vast death;
This scrap of valour just for play
Fronts the north-wind in waistcoat gray,
As if to shame my weak behaviour;
I greeted loud my little saviour,
‘You pet! what dost here? and what for?
In these woods, thy small Labrador,
At this pinch, wee San Salvador!
What fire burns in that little chest
So frolic, stout, and self-possest?
Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine;
Ashes and jet all hues outshine.
Why are not diamonds black and gray,
To ape thy dare-devil array?
And I affirm, the spacious North
Exists to draw thy virtue forth.
I think no virtue goes with size;
The reason of all cowardice
Is, that men are overgrown,
And, to be valiant, must come down
To the titmouse dimension.’
This was just a small snippet to accommodate my poor pictures. If you would like to read the poem in its entirety I borrowed it from Poem Hunter.
Oops, I almost forgot to plug Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)
A Poem & A Picture (Your Birdhouse)
And we’re off…
Did you hear the gun? It is officially National Poetry Month.
This pretty ditty is by a woman known only as Ariella, I suppose. No last name or links were provided. 😦
Enjoy your weekend off and keep the suggestions coming.
I Used to Be Your Birdhouse
Poem by Ariella
I used to be your birdhouse.
I could coax you out from your seat in the treetops
from behind the camouflaging greens
and watch you edge out shyly with the wind ruffling your blush feathers.
You’d cling to me when the spring showers started falling
and I could keep you safe and dry, I could always do that.
I’d be there to hear your youthful songs, and I’d whisper back in a language just we knew
and then I’d hug you goodbye and watch you step precariously from my perch,
flapping in the wind, unsure, unaccustomed.
and I’d be there for you the next day and the next
because I thought you’d still need me.
I never thought I’d see you, the point of a flying V
soaring with your head held high,
not even glancing down at
my tired wooden walls
and faded empty perch.