Dead Tree of Life

Turkeys can fly (at least this one which landed on our long-dead cottonwood did).  That limb has since fallen off making this tree even less stable.  For two seasons now bluebirds have nested in those holes near the top so it would be nice if tree could last one more season.  I have recently propped it up with a 2X4 at  45° to the ground . . . hope runs eternal.

I have since quit the facebook--- too addicting, and I guess that's the point. They pretend privacy is a priority, whereas the priority is selling information of the "friends" for commercial and political purposes.  More time to read and work on some blog posts.  Time better spent.

Spring be Here '18

Still Pond 2 Isabella Plantation, Richmond Park, London, UK

For my girl

A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.                               

 Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi  (1207-1273)

was born to native Persian-speaking parents, orignally from the Balkh, in present-day Afghanistan.  He was born either in Waksh, a village on the Vakhsh River in presnt-day Tajkistan, or in the city of Balkh, in present day Afghanistan.

Breath

                                     I died from minerality and became vegetable;

                                   And From vegetativeness I died and became animal.

                                   I died from animality and became man.

                                  Then why fear disappearance through death?

                                  Next time I shall die

                                  Bringing forth wings and feathers like angels;

                                  After that, soaring higher than angels -

                                  What you cannot imagine,

                                   I shall be that.

                                  Rumi was a 13 century Persian poet and mystic.

Warmth and Wakey Nights

A fire still amuses as it must have through the ages past.  Since lightening first struck that tree they must have sought the warm and sights to behold. Floating color, as elements burn, allows pause and sleepy meditation.
This is temporary happy.  

"Seaport by Moonlight"   A 1771 painting by Claude-Joseph Vernet  in the Louvre in Paris.
A detailed presentation (he depicted many French ports and ships):  I wonder how he painted by moon and fire light.

  I use this as desktop background and only recently noticed the fellow asleep on the anchor behind the folks at the fire.

How did those sailors keep warm on those wooden ships?