Is Your Blog Under Attack? ~ Hugh W. Roberts

Reblogged from Hugh W. Roberts:

Every day our blogs come under attack from various elements which are invisible to the eye. Just like protecting our families, pets, and anything else we value, we should also do all we can to protect our blogs from these threats.

Threats come in all sorts of forms, but there are a few simple steps you can put in place to keep your blog is safe.

Continue reading at Hugh W. Roberts 

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The Horizon ~ Balroop Singh #writephoto

This image reminds me of a real story of two kids who thought that the sky and the earth meet and they would be able to touch the horizon. Everyday they watched in awe and yearned to go there. The day their moms left them in the care of their grandma, they got the opportunity. Holding each other’s hand they walked toward their favorite place. Grandma thought they must be playing with the ducks near the pond. Adventure ran through their blood.

They quickened their pace as the sun shone brighter. They walked and walked, far away to touch the horizon. When moms returned home in the afternoon to discover the missing kids, they were blamed for being careless and irresponsible. A frantic search ensued. Grandma rushed into neighboring houses, hoping the kids must be playing with their friends.

Continue reading at Emotional Shadows

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Priest of the Sun… (A Thousand Miles of History)

Cadbury Castle

*

‘…Reality is now shimmering in the heat as the air sparkles and I remember that King Arthur sleeps beneath the hill of Camelot like a child in a giant’s womb… ready to wake in the hour of need…

I plunge into the earth in search of a cool cavern, yet my feet stand on the sunlit grass as the Knight who is a Priest approaches.

I pull the furs about me against the chill, standing spear-straight in the winter sun…

He may not pass.

The Temple is mine….

Hers…

He may not pass without answer…

Behind me a crescent of acolytes, await, with bowl and stone, oil and wine…

I hold up my hand, and he meets my eyes…

“Whither goest thou, Priest of the Sun?”

“I go hence into the Lowlands for the people are in need.”

“What is that need?”

“The need is Love…”

“And what will you give for the passage?”

“I will give my heart’s blood to the land.”

He offers his left hand.

A priestess steps to my side, holding the bowl and the razor-sharp shard of blue flint.

He is silent, save for a sharp intake of breath as the thick flesh at the base of his thumb yields to my ‘stone-blade’.

Blood, red as the holly crown I wear, wells into my bowl.

With blood and oil, I mark him, the sign of passage paid.

I lift the cup to his lips…wine steeped herbs that open the inner sight…bitter… part of the price…

He drinks, his eyes holding mine like a serpent…I like his strength… he is no fool, this one…he knows the true price of vision…

Passing the cup to the maiden I take his hand and lead him into the dark womb of the temple…’

to-be-continued…

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The masked man in the forest

Steve Tanham's avatarSun in Gemini

(Above: Gareth, masked man of the forest…)

I’m writing this on Sunday. The unexpected gale-force wind is battering the house. Temperatures have dropped thirteen degrees in the middle of the night – I know, because I woke up at four, fought wakefulness for half an hour (it may have been the bright moon), then gave in and let the collie out for a wee, to find I was too cold to photograph the startling moon without dashing back in to don a coat…

This in a spring so warm you could have gone out in beach shorts for most of the days and nights of the previous two weeks. Not the norm for Cumbria!

(Above: The May 04:30moon. It would have been churlish to talk about it and not show the photo…)

The beautiful spring moon is unrelated to the rest of this post, but why waste it!. There weren’t…

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Causeway ~ Deepa #writephoto

in all the spaces
between words
there are trees growing roots,
seas growing waves,

Continue reading at Sync with Deep

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Beyond the horizon ~ Anita Dawes #writephoto

I stand barefoot on the wet sand

beside the ragged rocks

Of a long-forgotten causeway

Beneath a soft blue sky

with the straight-line horizon before me

Continue reading at Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

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A question of choice

I have been thinking a lot lately…there is more than enough time for that at the moment. Not that a mind often stops. It sleeps occasionally, though even dreams may keep it busy. Sometimes it feels as if conscious thought goes into abeyance and I stand back and watch another me, one who knows something that I do not. A bigger me. Not, as my sons would gleefully tell you given my mere five foot that this is a difficult thing.

Many writers recount how their characters write the book and they, as authors, simply take down the words as dictation. I can verify this for I have felt it myself, learning to know and love my creations as they create themselves. All the writer does then, is set the scene and give them a form to inhabit. The characters seem to write the rest for themselves and the writer taps away at the keyboard, watching and waiting to see how the story unfolds and frequently being taken by surprise.

It is a curious feeling and one that has made me wonder whether this is how deity feels, fondly watching us play out our stories upon the backdrop of life, waiting to see what we will do with the opportunities we are given. For they are opportunities, each and every challenge with which we are faced. Some of them are bigger than others, some pass almost unnoticed, but we meet them every day.

The big ones, those that affect our lives, inwardly or outwardly, are the ones we remember. They are the heartaches and grief, the fears and loss, even the joys. For they all carry choice as part of their gift. Even when we are faced with a seemingly choice-less situation, we still have the ability to decide how we act or react, how we learn, what we carry away from the moment.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Causeway ~ Nima Mohan #writephoto

An abandoned causeway,
as a fluke, got in my way.
A beauty with rarity,
Hidden from all the noise.
Goosebumps all over,
when cool winds embrace.

Continue reading at The Tenth Zodiac

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Hope #midnighthaiku

Flame ignites the heart

Hope brightens the darkest day

Light beyond the clouds

*

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Medieval Embroiderers ~ April Munday

Reblogged from April Munday:

Butlerbowden_cope

Butterbowden Cope By The original uploader was VAwebteam at English Wikipedia. – Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons by NotFromUtrecht using CommonsHelper., CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8939525

Embroidery was something that every woman brought up in a wealthy household could do.  They sewed purses for their husbands, or table linen or cushions for the household. If they were really accomplished, they might make something for the local church. I think all the women in my novels do embroidery at some point.

Nuns also embroidered. Some of them could get so carried away with it that they were told to return to their books and the singing of psalms.

Embroidery was not just a domestic skill, however, it was also a profession. In the domestic setting, embroidery was done by women. Professionally, it was mainly done by women, but some men were also involved. It looks as if all the designing was done by men.

Continue reading at April Munday

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