Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here. |
A favorite given to me by Apondia. Blessings: never to be 21 again. I was blessed to turn 22. The hellish year continued but I survived it. 22 is still my favorite number. With 364 days to celebrate my life there's no need to focus on that one day I reserve for myself. Needless to say, I don't do birthdays. But, if you really don't like me being here then maybe I should schedule my own euthanasia on that day to save space on my headstone. Month/Day will suffice. If not, then my name or no name, just "Fred". Too late now to die young and leave a good looking corpse. I looked real good at age 23 cutting shatter-cane in the milo fields of Kansas. Funny... P'Med... died on his 22nd birthday in "He's coming to me". Makes me want to write "Forever 22" (ตลอดไปยี่สิบสอง) I'll keep posting this until someone watches and comments. *sigh* Now, this is another kind of blessing. A surprise from NaNoKit. My first awardicon for this 13 year old blog. She liked "Opening the garden ... of the heart [109] (36 lines)" a story-poem of 36 lines for: "Share Your Faith" . Opening the garden ... of the heart The garden opens its gates each year ... as the gardener watches in anticipation, as frost and freeze have finally yielded ... yet early visitors want a carpet of color (its not quite spring) and holler to each other, "How little these bushes, how ugly this stream, how useless they seem."1 The gardener knows better and calmly explains, "in time we will harvest bushels of berries. these will be red and juicy, those black and loved by bears we'll be lucky if they don't glean them first." "Well, this one tried to grab my purse!" "Ah, to love a rose we must forgive its thorns, to inhale its fragrance we must nourish its nature, cherish it for whatever it offers... and never scorn.2 They walk through the drizzle under umbrellas, sidestepping the puddles, avoid every wet frond. "Why don't you drain this dank muddy pond?" "I'm fond of the blossoms that rise from the muck each summer." The visitors wrinkle their noses. "Yuck." "Well, lets move on and not block the view for those behind us."3 Around the back bare trees overshadow slick paths, shading the promise of ferns and moss. "I like flowers. I have no use for forests." "This tall tree pelts us with nuts by the hundreds; these twigs ease pain; this straight limb will give its life to provide us shelter; these beckon with golden leaves come autumn; they have earned my respect and deserve to remain."4 And so the gardener gently guides his guests breathing deep to put his own anger to rest as he remembers his teacher, a master gardener, who showered him with patience over the years and taught him how to overcome inner fears by showing him how to tend the garden and make it his friend.5 © Kåre Enga [177.109] (29.juni.2020) posted in "Blogville " 1151 Footnotes |