All posts by nellibell49

LYNNE SANDERS-BRAITHWAITE (BELL) . AN ESTUARINE ELDERWOMAN OF URUNGA IN THE BELLINGEN SHIRE OF NSW AUSTRALIA

“Beneath every mountain lies a valley and beyond every problem lies a solution.” ― gugu

HENRY KENDALL

SEPTEMBER IN AUSTRALIA

GREY Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest,

And, behold, for repayment, September comes in

with the wind of the West

And the Spring in her raiment!

The ways of the frost have been filled of the flowers While the forest discovers

Wild wings with the halo of hyaline hours,

And the music of lovers.

September, the maid with the swift, silver feet!

She glides, and she graces

The valleys of coolness, the slopes of the heat,

With her blossomy traces.

Sweet month with a mouth that is made of a rose,

She lightens and lingers

In spots where the harp of the evening glows,

Attuned by her fingers.

The stream from its home in the hollow hill slips

In a darling old fashion;

And the day goeth down with a song on its lips,

Whose key-note is passion.

Far out in the fierce, bitter front of the sea

I stand and remember

Dead things that were brothers and sisters of thee, Resplendent September!

The West, when it blows at the fall of the noon,

And beats on the beaches,

Is filled with a tender and tremulous tune

That touches and teaches:

The stories of Youth, of the burden of Time,

And the death of Devotion,

Come back with the wind,

and are themes of the rhyme In the waves of the ocean.

We, having a secret to others unknown,

In the cool mountain-mosses,

May whisper together, September, alone

Of our loves and our losses!

One word for her beauty, and one for the grace

She gave to the hours;

And then we may kiss her, and suffer her face

To sleep with the flowers.

High places that knew of the gold and the white

On the forehead of Morning,

Now darken and quake, and the steps of the Night

Are heavy with warning!

Her voice in the distance is lofty and loud,

Through the echoing gorges;

She hath hidden her eyes in a mantle of cloud,

And her feet in the surges!

On the tops of the hills; on the turreted cones —

Chief temples of thunder —

The gale, like a ghost, in the middle watch moans, Gliding over and under.

The sea, flying white through the rack and the rain, Leapeth wild at the forelands;

And the plover, whose cry is like passion with pain, Complains in the moorlands.

Oh, season of changes — of shadow and shine — September the splendid! My song hath no music to mingle with thine,

And its burden is ended:

But thou, being born of the winds and the sun,

By mountain, by river,

Mayst lighten and listen, and loiter and run,

With thy voices for ever.

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Often undecided whether to desert a sinking ship for one that might not float, he would make up his mind to sit on the wharf for a day. – Lord Beaverbrook

Mort: by Terry Pratchett

“*The disc’s greatest lovers were undoubtedly Mellius and Gretelina, whose pure, passionate and soul-searing affair would have scorched the pages of History if they had not, because of some unexplained quirk of fate, been born two hundred years apart on different continents. However, the gods took pity on them and turned him into an ironing board** and her into a small brass bollard.

For there is no friend like a sisterIn calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray,To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands . Christina Rossetti, Goblin Market and Other Poems

 Back in time it seemed that having a sister were a tragedy. Instead it is one of the best presents my parents could have ever given me.

Sara Anzellotti, An Unexpected Proposal

Every seashell has a story.

“More than anything, he wanted to return to the house with the same look of peace that he’d seen on Pastor Harris’s face, but he trudged through the sand, he couldn’t help feeling like an amateur, someone searching for God’s truths like a child searching for seashells.”

Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song

“The grace of God comes swiftly to the soul when endurance is no longer possible.”

St. Dorotheos of Gaza

Discourses and Sayings; Cistercian Publications

“Living in a monastery, even as a guest rather than a monk, you have more opportunities than you might have elsewhere to see the world as it is, instead of through the shadow that you cast upon it.”

Dean Koontz, Brother Odd

Where does that smushy lay-about hang his hookah these days?

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

‘Who are you?’ said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, ‘I — I hardly know, sir, just at present — at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ said the Caterpillar sternly. ‘Explain yourself!’

‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’

‘I don’t see,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,’ Alice replied very politely, ‘for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.’

LEWIS CARROL

she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot. Not so long ago; just a lifetime.” ― Sharon Kay Penman | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

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“What will happen to the spirit of this ancient dreaming land without the great mobs of kangaroos bounding across the song lines, energizing the land? Will the sunset and dawn mourn the passing of the creatures who danced in their light? “SUE, ARNOLD

Source: she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot. Not so long ago; just a lifetime.” ― Sharon Kay Penman | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

“A poet is a man who puts up a ladder to a star and climbs it while playing a violin.” ― Edmond de Goncourt | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

VIOLIN.Take up your violin and play to meAnd let your music set my spirit free.Cast off the chains of hard reality.And wander in the realms of poesy

Source: “A poet is a man who puts up a ladder to a star and climbs it while playing a violin.” ― Edmond de Goncourt | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

The mountain mist, which Blacks had thought the souls of bygone men, Came closing in, with swirls of rain. Mark O’Connor. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

The house of envy lies in the lowest hollows, golden, sunless, breathed upon by no wind, grim and filled full of inert chill, and lacking warmth, is always roiled in fog.

Source: The mountain mist, which Blacks had thought the souls of bygone men, Came closing in, with swirls of rain. Mark O’Connor. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame.” W.B. Yeats, The Land of Heart’s Desire | the GEM COLLECTION 2016

“Listen to th’ wind wutherin’ round the house,” she said. “You could bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it tonight.”Mary did not know what “wutherin’” meant until she listened, and then she understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which rushed round and round the house, as if the giant no one could see were buffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in. But one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very safe and warm inside a room with a red coal fire.”Frances Hodgson Burnett The Secret Garden

Source: MAY 29 2012 : “Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame.” W.B. Yeats, The Land of Heart’s Desire | the GEM COLLECTION 2016

“Granny Weatherwax was not lost. She wasn’t the kind of person who ever became lost. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

LOST IN THE BUSH

I’d left the camp, and lost my way,‘

Mid tangled vines and ferns;

And puzzled was which way to take

From out the many turns;

When presently I saw some smoke

Through swamp oaks wreathing up,

And close beside me soon I heard

The yelping of a pup.

Source: “Granny Weatherwax was not lost. She wasn’t the kind of person who ever became lost. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

You do not teach the paths of the forest to an old gorilla. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

Congratulations! You’re not perfect! It’s ridiculous to want to be perfect anyway. But then, everybody’s ridiculous sometimes, except perfect people.

Source: You do not teach the paths of the forest to an old gorilla. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

When she can’t bring me to heel with scolding, she bends me to shape with guilt.  Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

Obi-Wan Kenobi: And now we must leave our roles as master and student. It is time we became…brothers.

Source: When she can’t bring me to heel with scolding, she bends me to shape with guilt.  Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

After dinner sit awhile; before breakfast walk a mile. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

When God threw me, a pebble, into this wondrous lake, I disturbed its surface with countless circles. But when I reached the depths, I became very still. Khalil Gibran Read more at:

Source: After dinner sit awhile; before breakfast walk a mile. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

I’m sorry I didn’t know it was an elephant; I thought it was part of the furniture! | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

The elephant is a funny bird, it swings from bough to bough, it lays its eggs in a rhubarb tree and whistles like a cowSue

Source: I’m sorry I didn’t know it was an elephant; I thought it was part of the furniture! | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY