Nature’s children were floundering as drinking holes ran dry, shrubs withered and died, food became scarce. The heat was relentless and endless, there was no air movement, everywhere was still, stifling and oppressive.
Continue reading at pensitivity101
*
The Head-of-Gary Hill, otherwise known,
these days, as Callanish II…
provided us with a rest-up place for the night.
*
Continue reading at France and Vincent
Stones, thorns pierce my feet,
Thoughts entangled into a knot!
Clouded by obstacles
Continue reading at Live Love Laugh Learn
Dear Don,
I have to point out that the precise origin of ‘your ‘slug trails are probably more unmentionable than the ones I am currently dealing with… No suit should be subjected to such gelatinous treatment and I have the unshakeable mental image of a small boy sans handkerchiefs stuck in my mind…
As to the habits of your average slug, having had occasion, for some unknown reason, to research them, I can only say that I am amazed at some of their natural talents… while others are really not for the squeamish.
I think we would have to agree both with Jung and magical possibilities inherent in some of the older paths. I do not think it is coincidence that names true magic an esoteric science. Our own studies have shown the malleability of perceived reality. And the ability to alter that perception… and perhaps that is the core of the teaching after all. Does it really matter if ‘concrete’ reality changes if our perception of it shifts sufficiently? It is the effect of change that matters, not the change itself.
Continue reading at France and Vincent
This is a continuation of a story I wrote last year, Rift.
Everything had seemed so simple! Jeg had received word from Ashna herself, queen of the godlike Atonee, that he was the key. All he had to do was go back and mend the rift with Dalph and all would be good between their peoples.
Well, she didn’t say it quite like that. And healing the wounds between himself and the beautiful Iniyan princess would not be easy by any stretch. And that was the least of his worries.
Jeg’s mind clouded over.
It had been an uneasy alliance. Many of the people of his race, the Marishny, actually sided with the Zergs. Many others didn’t care, thinking that there would be few changes in a life under the Zergs.
Continue reading at Trent’s World
“There are, you know, limits, O writer,” said I,
“To how long I’ll stay here to whimper and sigh.
Perhaps it’s the heat that been making me sicken…
But now I’m not well, you should feed me on chicken.”
*
“Oh Small Dog, you do not seem too ill to me,
You’ve barked at the horses, the birds in the tree,
You’ve warned off the postman delivering bills,
You seem quite alert, given all of your ills.”
*
“O writer, I think I’ve contracted a bug.
You know I was queasy, was sick on your rug.
I went ‘nil-by-mouth’ for the whole weekend too,
I’m curled up in bed and I’m feeling quite blue.”
*
Continue reading at The Small Dog’s Blog
Pioneer spirit
Winged freedom knows no borders
Far-travelled seeker
*
The silver striped hawk moth is not a common sight in the UK, originating mainly in Africa and South Asia. One of several unusual moths we have seen in my son’s garden this year.
Reblogged from Jim Webster, aka Tallis Steelyard:
It is one thing to have a goal, it is entirely another thing to successfully achieve it. Hindle was wise enough to realise that. Still, next day, as he went about his daily round, he met a young woman. She was carrying a fiddle under one arm but didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He greeted her as he greeted everybody else, with an aphorism. In her case he greeted her with the words, “When I was young I told my mentor, ‘When I grow up, I want to be a musician.’ My mentor told me, “You’ll have to choose because you cannot do both.”
She smiled, a wide genuine smile that even reached her eyes. That’s where his problems started because he looked into her eyes and found himself drowning. Desperate to maintain a conversation he almost babbled. “I’m Hindle, the mendicant. I’m raising money to provide a refuge for those who have no other refuge. He half turned and saw, as he expected, Bog the Babbler. Bog followed him round for much of the day, Hindle had known hounds who couldn’t run to heel as faithfully. “Like Bog here.”
Continue reading at Tallis Steelyard
The distant goal is clouded,
But if the heart within is clear
Light will flood your path ahead
And faith will replace fear.
Continue reading at Life is Beautiful
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
a clouded sunset into
relentless darkness.
Wanting…waiting…for sunlight
to shimmer between the hills.
Left in the comments by Joelle Le Gendre