Knowing who you are is the best defense against who they think you are. ~Dodinsky, author
Though I’m a part
Of all the others
Diff’rent — not bad or good
Just trying to be myself
Soaking water, air, and sunshine
Minding my own business as I grow
Conscious I’m the same but very diff’rent.
Note: Poetic form is Etheree.
…they are as sick that surfeit
with too much as they that starve with nothing.
~William Shakespeare (English playwright, poet, and actor), Merchant of Venice
Empty bird feeders
Urged until the end of May
Because of bird flu
Note: This is a Haiku. Here’s the rest of the story.
I may not be there yet, but I’m closer than I was yesterday. ~Author unknown
It’s a challenge when you’ve got a sneaky Mama.
I think she stays up late at night, trying to outsmart me. And you know, sometimes she succeeds — but don’t tell her that.
She’d be impossible to live with.
Take this Easter holiday, for example.
The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month. ~Henry Van Dyke, American author, educator, and clergyman
I’ve been waiting for a pretty day to capture some of Central Illinois’s Spring beauty, but alas! By the time that rolls around, all the good blooms will be gone and it will be 90 degrees outside!
So I’ve decided a nice walk around town in search of blossoms, Easter/Spring decorations, and such will have to suffice.
Let’s get started.
In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. ~Margaret Atwood, Canadian poet, novelist, activist, and teacher
Maybe Ms. Atwood was onto something, but I’ll wager she drew the line between the scent of “dirt” and that of “mud.”
Rainy, muddy mess
When it snows, you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels. ~Author unknown
This week, we finally got one of those snowfalls like we had when I was a kid.
Back then, I’d have been happy to make snow angels and get a day off from school; today, the shoveling task falls to me.
Sigh. Adulting can be hard.
Monkey, December 2021
There is a better thing than the observance of Christmas day, and that is, keeping Christmas. Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you; to ignore what the world owes you, and to think what you owe the world; to put your rights in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground; to see that your fellow-men are just as real as you are, and try to look behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy; to own that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life; to close your book of complaints against the management of the universe, and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness — are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas. And if you can keep it for a day, why not always? ~Henry Van Dyke, American author and clergyman
Merry Christmas from me and Monkey! We’ll be taking a few days off during the holidays to celebrate with Domer and grandma, and I can’t promise (but I’ll try) to get around to visit you all before then. See you in the new year!
When the stomach is full the heart is glad. ~Dutch proverb
Or it could be
A small butterfly.
Having a fine dinner
On this pretty pink zinnia.
Or maybe this is a dahlia.
I’m not sure that knowing should matter.
I just thought you’d enjoy seeing them, too!
Note: This poetry form is Etheree (the single kind, not the double, this time).
A little fresh air would be good for you just now. The weather is lovely; and a little stroll in the park will bring the colour back to your cheeks. ~J. Palgrave Simpson, Victorian playwright
Today, I’m joining Robin over at Breezes at Dawn for the annual jaunt known as Walktober. We each take a walk (ride a bike, swim, skate, whatever), post about it (with pictures, if possible), and Robin gathers links to each post so we all can travel together and enjoy other parts of our amazing world.
The spiders with their pot-bellied bodies and beady eyes, are not beauteous objects, but a spider-web in the sunshine with dew upon it, is one of the loveliest things in the world. ~Dorothy Scarborough, American writer
Sparkling drops of water
Play upon her handiwork.
Inconceivable, isn’t it, that
Dew can magnify beauty
Even for such a short while?
Rare is the person on earth
Who can appreciate the weaver
Every bit as much as the creation
By which she’s famously known.
Note: This is an Acrostic poem. You got the message, right?