Red wooden bridge highlights the space
Lily pads basking in this sunny place
Trees and lilies standing aside
To show the beauty of nature’s pride.
Reblogged from Cheryl at The Bag Lady
Red wooden bridge highlights the space
Lily pads basking in this sunny place
Trees and lilies standing aside
To show the beauty of nature’s pride.
Reblogged from Cheryl at The Bag Lady

I’ve been watching for a while. First, as the little bluetits explored their options, then as Mrs Bluetit decided against moving house, they began rebuilding, flying backwards and forwards with the materials they needed to make a soft, warm nest for their babies.

There was a bit of a lull then, as Mum got busy laying their eggs, while Dad defended their nest against all comers.

Now, the pair of them are running themselves ragged, cleaning the nest daily and making constant sorties, every few minutes, to bring food back for their babies.

They are far from tame, but totally unafraid of the strange creature with the camera. I don’t approach the nest, though there have been a couple of near misses as I have been walking close by as they come in to land. But they approach me, hunting grubs, seeds and small insects, with the desperation that is rendering Dad rather scruffy. He looks as if he has a ‘mohawk’ haircut half the time.

Sitting in a shady corner, they come to within a few feet as I click away, hoping to get the odd decent picture from a camera I don’t really aim… I am enjoying their presence too much.

In this time when so many things are in flux and there is so much fear and uncertainty in the world, these little creatures remind me that Nature is just doing what Nature does… and why should we humans accept her gifts yet think ourselves exempt from her claws.

In a few short weeks, the babies will leave the nest. Some may not make it… falling foul of cats, magpies and the myriad dangers the wide world holds for them. But some will thrive and with luck, we will see the fluffy, yellow-beaked chicks take their maiden flight. A tiny reminder that no matter what is going on around us, the cycle of life continues.

As the sun starts its upward journey painting the sky with a golden glow, most still slumber. But not me.
On this misty moisty morning, the air I breathe is damp, the breeze that strokes my skin chilled yet invigorating.
The only sound I hear is the swishing of my feet as I stroll ‘cross the dew-laden pasture.
Continue reading at Keith’s Ramblings

Masked marauder plays
Infant imagination
Explores a new world
*
Reblogged from beetleypete:
I am very pleased to feature British blogger and cookery writer Carol Taylor, who now lives in Thailand. This is her story of how she came to live there.
Carol is a great member of our blogging community, and is always fully engaged with blog posts.
My Bio
Born in the Fifties which makes me?.mmm I will let you do the math. I was the eldest of three girls and the tomboy….my sisters loved dolls and pushing other peoples babies up and down the street…I still ask myself why?? I much preferred climbing trees, camping out and spending all my school holidays on my granddad’s farm…My grandmother taught me how to cook on her aga and I suppose that was where my love of cooking started…Singing in the church choir was also a passion of mine as is playing the piano.
Continue reading at beetleypete

He was drunk. He had to admit it. Not slightly inebriated or a bit tipsy, but flat out drunk.
There would be trouble when he got home. In his mind he rehearsed the route he would take from the front door to the bedroom – probably via the bathroom – and the movements he would make to get undressed and into bed without waking Dolores. He could manage it, he confidently lied to himself.
Where was he now? He hadn’t been paying attention. How had he stumbled into these woods? Must’ve taken a wrong turn at the end of the high street. He didn’t recognise the old bridge crossing a pond. Funny how you could live in one place your whole life and not notice a part of it like this.
Continue reading at Iain Kelly
She had her eyes firmly fixed on depths below, not the other side. Gingerly stepping on a bridge whose maker she did not trust was not easy.
It had never been easy since the day she married. She had found out that her inheritance mattered more than her, and they actually despised her for ‘the stroke of luck she carried, without any special ability.” Her ordinariness was held against her.
Continue reading at Reena Saxena
What lies beyond the red bridge?
Tantalising, teasing, a sound calling me
Daring me to fight my way through the trees
I cross over the shining lily pond
Following the sweet melancholy sound
Of someone singing
Continue reading at Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

Reblogged from Goff James at Art, Photography and Poetry