This is one of my favorite poems.
A man went to heaven and God let this man see the foot prints of where he (the man) walked in life.
But the man noticed that at the good times in his life there were two sets of foot prints, he knew they were God's. But at the hard times, there was only one set. He asked God: "Why did you leave me in the hardest points in my life?" God replied "That was when I was carrying you."
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
In The Car
A pretty funny moment in the car today....
Lil bro was rambling on about Johnnys volcano (Any one who knows him knows what that is)
Lil Sister was singing Christmas carols (no idea why)
Dad was trying to listen to the radio, and as a result, kept turning it up louder and louder (by the way, the song was Disco duck)
Mom was sitting in the front passengers telling everyone to quiet down
and I was sitting in the captains chair plugging my ears.
Lil bro was rambling on about Johnnys volcano (Any one who knows him knows what that is)
Lil Sister was singing Christmas carols (no idea why)
Dad was trying to listen to the radio, and as a result, kept turning it up louder and louder (by the way, the song was Disco duck)
Mom was sitting in the front passengers telling everyone to quiet down
and I was sitting in the captains chair plugging my ears.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Sunset
We have just had
a beautiful pink and purple sunset I am calling this picture "Pink Storm" and very fittingly so.
Friday, May 8, 2009
The End of the World!!
DADDDDDDYYYYYY!
SOMTHINS WRONG WITH THE POTTYYYYYYYYY!!!
Cried Little bro' on a friday morning. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING, SON! Replied Dad.
Dad rushed away from sorting bills to have a look. I was sitting at the breakfast bar at the time and later heard Lil bro give a detailed account of what had happened, and from a 4-year-year-old it sounded as if the sky was falling. Later, when I asked Dad what had happened he replied "You heard your brother, the world was ending, and I saved it with a plunger!"
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Poetry
There is some kind of Magic around nearly all Poetry, notice I have recently posted LUCY GRAY, this is my favorite poem (Lucy Gray) but I also like Springtime Moments:
My senses come alive,
showered in the unwavering momentum of spring.
To hear, to feel, to see, to smell the sweetness of spring
and the miracle of life once again. PJC
My senses come alive,
showered in the unwavering momentum of spring.
To hear, to feel, to see, to smell the sweetness of spring
and the miracle of life once again. PJC
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Tiny Chicks!!
We have
tiny chicks in our bird house! they do not have any feathers yet but I hope to put pictures of them on my blog when they do!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Chickedee
This is just a simple picture I took of a perching chickedee. He is on the fence around my back yard and against the pine trees lining the fence in the back.
Lucy Gray (or, Solitude)
By William Wordsworth
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:And, when I crossed the wild,I chanced to see at break of dayThe solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;She dwelt on a wide moor,-- The sweetest thing that ever grewBeside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play,The hare upon the green;But the sweet face of Lucy GrayWill never more be seen.
To-night will be a stormy night --You to the town must go;And take a lantern, Child, to lightYour mother through the snow.
That, Father! will I gladly do:'T is scarcely afternoon --The minster-clock has just struck two,And yonder is the moon!
At this the Father raised his hook,And snapped a fagot-band;He plied his work; -- and Lucy tookThe lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:With many a wanton strokeHer feet disperse the powdery snow,That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time:She wandered up and down;And many a hill did Lucy climb:But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that nightWent shouting far and wide;But there was neither sound nor sightTo serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stoodThat overlooked the moor;And thence they saw the bridge of wood,A furlong from their door.
They wept -- and, turning homeward, cried,In Heaven we all shall meet;-- When in the snow the mother spiedThe print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edgeThey tracked the footmarks small;And through the broken hawthorn hedge,And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed:The marks were still the same;They tracked them on, nor ever lost;And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bankThose footmarks, one by one,Into the middle of the plank;And further there were none!
-- Yet some maintain that to this dayShe is a living child;That you may see sweet Lucy GrayUpon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,And never looks behind;And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.
By William Wordsworth
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:And, when I crossed the wild,I chanced to see at break of dayThe solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;She dwelt on a wide moor,-- The sweetest thing that ever grewBeside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play,The hare upon the green;But the sweet face of Lucy GrayWill never more be seen.
To-night will be a stormy night --You to the town must go;And take a lantern, Child, to lightYour mother through the snow.
That, Father! will I gladly do:'T is scarcely afternoon --The minster-clock has just struck two,And yonder is the moon!
At this the Father raised his hook,And snapped a fagot-band;He plied his work; -- and Lucy tookThe lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:With many a wanton strokeHer feet disperse the powdery snow,That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time:She wandered up and down;And many a hill did Lucy climb:But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that nightWent shouting far and wide;But there was neither sound nor sightTo serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stoodThat overlooked the moor;And thence they saw the bridge of wood,A furlong from their door.
They wept -- and, turning homeward, cried,In Heaven we all shall meet;-- When in the snow the mother spiedThe print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edgeThey tracked the footmarks small;And through the broken hawthorn hedge,And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed:The marks were still the same;They tracked them on, nor ever lost;And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bankThose footmarks, one by one,Into the middle of the plank;And further there were none!
-- Yet some maintain that to this dayShe is a living child;That you may see sweet Lucy GrayUpon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,And never looks behind;And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.
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