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About Me
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- June
- I live in my dream place with Husband, one beloved rescued cat and one beloved rescued dog, and the warm memories of many other treasured pets. I rarely sleep for more than four hours at a time and would happily nap/wake/nap/wake all day and night. I am undisciplined, a classic underachiever. I believe that inevitable tragedy is a fork in the road, offering lessons in emotional and spiritual growth. One of my coping skills is a quick and wicked wit and I often crack me up. I avoid people who talk neverendingly about nothing. I cannot bear unrelieved humorless negativity. I like people who are comfortable with silence. I like listening to people who learn from Life. I have received a few Blogger Awards, and while I find them momentarily gratifying, they're just too much like chain emails and I gratefully decline to receive any more of them.
My Blog List
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Hello darkness my old friend,3 months ago
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It's TIme6 months ago
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This feed has moved and will be deleted soon. Please update your subscription now.3 years ago
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The Netherlands5 years ago
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Zephyr: A Soft, Gentle Breeze6 years ago
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9 comments:
Lovely!
There you are, the things that are yours for the asking, if only you get yourself out there.
Such a mysterious edge to these lovely photos June, which left me feeling pensive :)
A photo-story. I like what you're seeing. I hope you were walking while snapping.
Loveliest month, loveliest time of day. Thank you.
Beautiful photos, clearly winter is on its way!!
Ah, lovely. The fall season is filled with life going to sleep for the winter. These pictures show all that somehow.
Gathering in. I love how the fog settles like that.
Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote
“Woods, A Prose Sonnet”
Wise are ye, O ancient woods! wiser than man.
Whoso goeth in your paths or into your thickets where no paths are,
readeth the same cheerful lesson whether he be a young child or a hundred years old.
Comes he in good fortune or bad, ye say the same things, & from age to age.
Ever the needles of the pine grow & fall, the acorns on the oak, the maples redden in autumn,
& all times of the year the ground pine & the pyrola bud & root under foot.
What is called fortune & what is called Time by men—ye know them not.
Men have not language to describe one moment of your eternal life.
This I would ask of you, o sacred Woods, when ye shall next give me somewhat to say,
give me also the tune wherein to say it.
Give me a tune of your own like your winds or rain or brooks or birds;
for the songs of men grow old when they have been often repeated,
but yours, though a man have heard them for seventy years, are never the same, but always new,
like time itself, or like love.
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