“Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.”
― Stephen King,
Master technique and then forget about it and be natural. Pavlova.
One of Bilbo’s riddles for Gollum
“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
– Mary Astell An Essay in Defence of the Female Sex.
To have gold is to be in fear, and to want it to be sorrow.
“The six squares of our love didn’t add up to a cube. Still, I took the oddly-shaped box down to the post office and tried to mail it into the future, when I’d be more prepared to open it.
― Jarod Kintz, This is the best book I’ve ever written, and it still sucks
The proverbs of Wales: a collection of Welsh proverbs, with English Translations"
I was regretting the past and fearing the future. Suddenly God was speaking: "My name is I am." I waited and God continued: "When you live in the past, with its mistakes and regrets, it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I was. When you live in the future, with its problems and fears, it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I will be. When you live in this moment, it is not hard. I am here. My name is I am."
by Helen Mellincost
foto – white bird in park lane.
It is too late to write them now –
The ancient fire is cold;
No ardent lights illume the brow,
As in the days of old.
I cannot dream the dream again;
But, when the happy birds
Are singing in the sunny rain,
I think I hear its words.
After Many Years
foto – iluka apartments dec 09
sites 2c http://www.fullbooks.com/An-Anthology-of-Australian-Verse1.html
The Colours Of Light
Oft the colours are pitched so high
The deepest note is the cobalt sky;
We have to wait till the sunset comes
For shades that feel like the beat of drums –
Or like organ notes in their rise and fall –
Purple and orange and cardinal,
Or the peacock-green that turns soft and slow
To peacock-blue as the great stars show .
a head operates in its clay
and thinks about the wings
it cannot elevate to understanding
here against the fickle light
foto – by susan pomroy 2009