And while Mr. Jeremy sat disconsolately on the edge of his boat—sucking his sore fingers and peering down into the water—a MUCH worse thing happened; a really FRIGHTFUL thing it would have been, if Mr. Jeremy had not been wearing a mackintosh!
A great big enormous trout came up—ker-pflop-p-p-p! with a splash— and it seized Mr. Jeremy with a snap, “Ow! Ow! Ow!”—and then it turned and dived down to the bottom of the pond!
But the trout was so displeased with the taste of the mackintosh, that in less than half a minute it spat him out again; and the only thing it swallowed was Mr. Jeremy’s galoshes.
by Beatrix Potter
“THE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHER”
Siku ya kufa nyani miti yote huteleza
What seems to be hard to achieve in real life is often times the best. Fruits of hard labour are enjoyed the most.
Ihii na igwa ikuragira uthu-ini
Boys and sugar-cane grow up as enemies (because boys are all the time eating sugar-cane)
My Sitting Down Place
My Sitting Down Place by Gail Kay, Proserpine, QLD
I go down to the creek
Where the water gurgles
As it hurries along
Over the shining sand and pebbles
To its destiny
With the sea.
Flits and moves
Across the water, over the creek bank,
And the birds sing happily
To the accompaniment
Of insects and crickets.
I sit in silence as I soak it all into my soul.
From the water
To my heart.
Whatever life brings me I now can face
Because of this,
My sitting down place!
The fierce to the bullring go, the tame to the cattle pen
This characterizes Mexican defiance: He who fails to face life fiercely is deemed dishonourable and is shamefully compared to a bull not worthy of the bullring.
In bullfighting there is a term called querencia. The querencia is the spot in the ring to which the bull returns. Each bull has a different querencia, but as the bullfight continues, and the animal becomes more threatened, it returns more and more often to his spot.As he returns to his querencia, he becomes more predictable. And so, in the end, the matador is able to kill the bull because instead of trying something new, the bull returns to what is familiar. His comfort zone.
“They were watching, out there past men’s knowing, where stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West
“Lizzie said that if you imagined you were standing on the moon, looking down on the earth, you wouldn’t be able to see the itty-bitty people racing around worrying you wouldn’t see the barn falling in or the cow stuck in the pond; you wouldn’t see the mean Granger kids squirting mustard on your white dress. You would see the most beautiful blue oceans and green lands, and the whole earth would look like a giant blue-and-green marble floating in the sky. Your worries would seem so small, maybe invisible.”
― Sharon Creech, The Great Unexpected
A man found a snake. Although it was frozen, he recognised it as a poisonous snake. He picked the poor thing up and took it home to revive it. He placed the snake in front of the fire to thaw. Once thawed, he bent down to give it a nice little saucer of milk. The snake lifted its head and bit the good man. As the man lay dying he asked the snake, “How could you do this to me after all I have done for you?” As the snake slid out the door, it turned to the good man and said, “Stop your whingeing. You knew I was a poisonous snake when you picked me up. What else did you expect me to do?!” (Respect, Aug 1996)
foto – bellingen markets nsw 2010 june
O ease our restlessness, Wild wandering dark,
vague hurrying depths of storm, pause and be full,
and thrust your fullness into our desire
till time release us, till we sleep. And wake
to a cool sky and a soaked earth left bare
to drink its light in peace
foto – clouds over ulmarra 2009 december
My window-sill is level with the faces in the street.
Drifting past, drifting past,
To the beat of weary feet.
While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.
Faces in the Street
foto – kati b’s feet 2009 kalang
THE GATHERING LIGHT
Time whistles around us, an invisible
flood tide that I let go
while I take in what I have done.
It wasn’t a fight, I was drawn to this moment.
The physical world drains away
into a golden calm.
foto – hall stand with jug and bowl from kerrie nov 09
There is not an enemy so stout as to storm and take the fortress of the mind, Unless its infirmity turn traitor, and Fear unbar the gates.
foto – storm over ulmarra in november 2009
Every man must skin his own skunk
foto – loo near the river in bellingen 2008