“It took me time to understand my waterlilies. I had planted them for the pleasure of it;
I grew them without ever thinking of painting them. ” – Claude Monet.
“It was June, and the world smelled of roses.
The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.”
Maud Hart Lovelace
Time it was
And what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They’re all that’s left you.
Simon and Garfunkel – Bookends.
“It’s the ends of the world,” said the caterpillar.
“It’s the beginning of the world,” said the butterfly.
When Great Trees Fall
Maya Angelou
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.”
“A photographer is like a cod, which produces a million eggs
in order that one may reach maturity.” ― George Bernard Shaw
This fish photo bomb and other monomadnificent photographs
will be posted later on Leanne Cole’s blog for this week’s Monochrome Madness.
►►►► Monochrome Madness – Week 13
And when the wind in the tree-tops roared,
The soldier asked from the deep dark grave:
“Did the banner flutter then?”
“Not so, my hero,” the wind replied.
“The fight is done, but the banner won,
Thy comrades of old have borne it hence,
Have borne it in triumph hence.”
Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave:
“I am content.”
Then he heareth the lovers laughing pass,
and the soldier asks once more:
“Are these not the voices of them that love,
That love–and remember me?”
“Not so, my hero,” the lovers say,
“We are those that remember not;
For the spring has come and the earth has smiled,
And the dead must be forgot.”
Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave:
“I am content.”
“As wave is driven by wave
And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,
So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows,
Always, for ever and new. What was before
Is left behind; what never was is now;
And every passing moment is renewed.”
Ovid
Maverick Mist 