So Too Will You Soar ~ Patty L. Fletcher #writephoto

I suppose when people saw today’s prompt they thought of writing nature related things. For me the first thing that came to mind when I read the description were thoughts of the early morning birds and how they, like me stay so busy.

Next thing I knew, my muse was jabbering and the following was born.

So Too Will You Soar

By: Patty L. Fletcher

June, 2020

Sitting here at my table in the kitchen with the refrigerator rumbling behind me, and the oven popping as it preheats in preparation for cooking the noon meal I find myself amazed that the entire first half of the day is gone.

Continue reading at Campbell’s World

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A Thousand Miles of History XXVIII: A Haunt of Rogues…

It had been an incredible morning, starting with the magic of Boscawen Un, our visit to Sennen church and then the long walk to Carn Lês Boel and back. Still flying from the experience, we felt in need of grounding and liquid refreshment and as, by this time, we were long past noon, we knew that the First and Last Inn in England would be open. It’s a curious place; while definitely geared for serving the tourists and the road, it is also the ‘local’ pub for a good many villagers and the two atmospheres meet and meld very well. We sort of had to go there, being in the area.

The inn was originally built to house the masons working on the ‘new’ church next door, which was completed by around 1430. The current building still dates in part back to that time, though most of the pub is housed in later additions to the inn. Today, it is one of the best-known inns in Cornwall. Not just because of the fact that its name is accurate… it really is the first and the last inn you come to at this westernmost point of England… but because it has a rich history, with plenty of legends attached.

Sennen was a centre of the ‘free trade’, better known as smuggling. Import taxes on goods such as brandy and tobacco were high and enterprising seamen brought such goods into the country by less than orthodox routes, avoiding the excise men and thus the import duties. Cornwall was also once known for its ‘wreckers’, who lit lanterns on the cliffs to lure unwary ships into dangerous waters so that the wreckage could be combed for valuable cargo.

The First and Last Inn was a haunt of both smugglers and wreckers. Its stable rooms, now used for holiday accommodation, once housed the donkeys used in both of these operations and tunnels were dug beneath the inn in which the smuggled and salvaged goods could be hidden. One of them is visible in the bar of the inn; Annie’s well.

The well is named after Annie George, who, two hundred years ago and with her husband, Joseph, ran the inn as rent-free tenants of a local farmer, who rejoiced in the name of Dionysius Williams. The couple paid no rent in exchange for their silence on Williams’ other source of income… smuggling. The couple decided they wanted a greater income themselves and decided to blackmail Williams who retaliated by throwing the out of the inn. Annie went to the authorities and turned King’s evidence. Williams was convicted and sent to prison and the smuggling operations in the area, and thus the local economy, suffered a severe blow. Regardless of the judgements we may make on the morality of smuggling and wrecking, they were an integral and necessary source of income for many families in this isolated and impoverished area.

Continue reading at France & Vincent

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Take Four Birds ~ Jim Adams #writephoto

In the Koran, Abraham questioned Allah as to how he would give life to the dead.  Allah told Abraham to take four birds, tame and train them so that they depend on you, slaughter them, cut them into pieces and the set a portion of them on each hill, then call them and they would come flying to you with haste.

Continue reading at A Unique Title for Me

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Exploration ~ Reena Saxena #writephoto

darkest of living forms
symbolise
hope, optimism, strength
cut through stormy winds
explore cloudy depths
enjoy the float
come back to earth
for a simple meal

Continue reading at Reena Saxena

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Personal

bath 142

It is undoubtedly an incredible piece of craftsmanship. It is unbelievably impressive, designed specifically to be awe-inspiring, streaming light and colour into the great cavern of Bath Abbey. It is also just too big to be able to make any sense of the images it contains. Had I not seen other Tree of Jesse windows before, recognising the recumbent figure of the dreamer, I would have had no clue what it was I was looking at. It is only later, with the help of the camera, that I am able to see the individual scenes depicted in the great, towering window of the south transept of the Abbey… and the east window is even harder to decipher.

You have to wonder why.

Politics, probably… the intent of the builders hovering somewhere between raising an edifice of the utmost beauty to the glory of their God and the desire to impress upon all who entered its portals the power and supremacy of the Church itself. In so doing they seem to have forgotten that the primary function of both the images and the Church itself was supposed to be to teach the words of a humble Man to other humble men.

Given that the stained glass and the earlier wall paintings of these magnificent and beautiful churches were designed originally to convey the stories of the Bible, the saints and the virtues of the faith to the faithful, it seems rather pointless to make them so grand they cease to fulfil their function. Their very magnificence renders them indecipherable to the naked eye… in effect, their stories become so remote and impersonal as to be invisible.

bath 179

It is only when you can actually get close enough to see the painted faces that any connection is made with the subjects they portray and it is through the emotional connection that religious teaching has always been promulgated, either with the gentle message of Love or through the fear of hellfire and brimstone. It has to be personal. Without that contact with the emotions, such teachings remain too distant to take root in the heart, where faith must grow if it is to be a true and personal relationship with the divine by whatever Name we come to know it.

The same concept applies to all our life-lessons. Unless they touch our emotions in some way, we take little note of the events, great and small, that make up our lives, events that may be there and gone in an instant. There are 31556952 seconds in a single year… each one already in the past before you know it is there… each one capable of being a pivotal point of understanding, of change, of realisation. Multiply that by our traditional ‘three-score years and ten’ and the number is just too great to comprehend… too distant to seem as if it has any relevance in our lives… too big to know how to even read the number correctly… Yet we will grumble at wasting two minutes of those lives… a mere 120 seconds… in a queue. Those seconds are relevant because they are small enough for us to come to terms with… small enough to understand their waste on something annoyingly unimportant, yet big enough for us to see what else they could have been spent upon. Annoyance and frustration make them real to us.

There are 3600 seconds in an hour… and an hour spent with someone you love, doing something you love… even dreaming about somewhere you love… is an hour well-spent. It makes you smile, relax, feel good about life. We can understand the passing of an hour. It is small enough to be personal and yet it can hold enough to make life feel as if it is pure gold and we the richest of creatures.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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An evening chat.. ~ Happysoul #writephoto

The son asked the mother

Watching the sky

Where do birds go together

Flying so high

Continue reading at  Live Love Laugh Learn

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Smile #midnighthaiku

A drop of sunshine

Bright against a faded leaf

Childhood’s smiles return

*

 

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Guest author: Daisy Bala ~ A Bouquet of Poetry

Daisy is a passionate author and blogger living in Chicago suburbs with her husband and two kids. She is a nature lover who draws her musings from the verdant green bounty around her. Her walk-in woods continuously inspire her to drink through the day’s eye and scribble the thoughts in her blogs. If not writing, she’s running around after her 11 month old, changing diapers or teaching her 8-year-old the basics of geometry. Her love for the seasons and flora is implicit in her vivid writings. Daisy hails from New Delhi, India and has been in the US for the last six years. She has been blogging since 2016 and just published her poetry ebook through the blogchatter platform.

A physics graduate and a master’s in Human Resources, Daisy is a homemaker thriving on positivity and blogging!!

She has been published at Literary Voice, Womensweb, Silverbirchpress, Creative Talent Unleashed, Wonderful Woman, Blogadda and TOI reader’s blog!!

Daisy has always been a nature enthusiast and scribbled her musings in her daily blog, calling it “happiness writing”. But when life threw an invincible opportunity to convert that blog into a book- her dream poetry bouquet, she called it “blissful writing!!”

She recently participated in the May 2020 blogchatter ebook carnival launching her ebook- a poetry Bouquet “ Blossoms and Foliages”.

For her, It was an enlightening successful feeling of being published and getting noticed. 

In her own words, she says, “I believe, if you stay close to nature, it will never fail you”. 

“When you walk the woods drinking through your eyes and smelling the wild flowers. When you shine in refulgence or feel the dappled sunshine through leaves, the shadows fall behind you. Your thoughts are exfoliated like a mindfulness practice and you pause to introspect. The sunshine falls on you, shines within you, liberating you!!”

Daisy invites everyone to come and jibe with nature through her nature musings, in her poetry collection!!

Blossoms and Foliages

Daisy Bala

Blossoms and Foliages is a bouquet of poetry made of blooms and nature’s bounty, condensed into words dripping with crisp freshness and nature’s vivaciousness. The poems revolve around the kaleidoscope of seasons, the mid-summer blooms, watching the daisies grow, ushering fall colors and frozen icicles. Walks in the woods and musings outside the patio are the inspiration for these floral monologues. Drink through your eyes and smell the bluebells as you linger with this poetry bouquet.

The book can be found at theblogchatter.com

You can also follow Daisy at her blog: http://freshdaisiesdotme.wordpress.com/


Launching a book?

If you are a writer, artist or photographer…If you have a poem, story or memoirs to share… If you have a book to promote, a character to introduce, an exhibition or event to publicise… If you have advice for writers, artists or bloggers…

If you would like to be my guest, please read the guidelines and get in touch!

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Soar ~ Honoré Dupuis #writephoto

“They are already on the move? They are geese, I think, perhaps a vanguard, it would mean a very early winter…”

“Or they are tourists, having a look around. Besides, a storm is bubbling up above us, they could be looking for shelter.”

Continue reading at Of Glass and Paper

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A Thousand Miles of History XXVII: The Head of the Dragon…

We have lost count of the number of hillforts we have seen, climbed and contemplated… but Carn Lês Boel would be our first true promontory fort. These Cornish ‘fortifications’ or ‘cliff castles’ seem to be nothing of the sort, though, and the fortifications, such as they are, seem to defend something other than a settlement.

The narrow, rocky promontory juts out into the sea, surrounded on three sides by sheer and dangerous cliffs. On the landward side, it is bounded by a bank and ditch which, even accounting for the effects of erosion by centuries of weather, still seems a meagre defence, more symbolic than practical. It extends in a wide arc around the entrance to the headland and would take a lot of men to defend it against aggressors.

The natural defence of the headland is the land itself. Just a few men could hold the narrow neck of land that joins Carn Lês Boel, the ‘bleak cairn’, to the mainland and few could attack it at any one time. Not that there is any evidence of aggression or of defensive action there. In fact, there is no sign of anything to defend at all… no hut circles, burial sites or any trace of a settlement at all. So, what on earth was going on?

The area enclosed by the cliffs is inhospitable. There is nowhere on its rocky, boulder-strewn surface where you could build a home, even if you were foolhardy enough to brave the wind and storms that drive in from the sea. Another Cornish promontory fort gives the clue; Treryn Dinas, a similar site, was comprehensively excavated and found to be a Bronze Age site with ceremonial and ritual significance that played a central part in the life of the local people. Perhaps Carn Lês Boel fulfilled a similar role?

The entrance to the ‘fort’ is flanked by a pair of standing stones, one of which has now fallen. The remaining stone is very obviously deliberately placed and chocked into position. It was on this stone that the little bird was waiting. The cliffs were wreathed in the thick sea-mist that had dogged our footsteps throughout our time in Cornwall… which was a shame as we should have been able to see Land’s End from here.

Continue reading at France & Vincent

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