Wordless Wednesdays . . .

I love this one . . . . . . . . .

Wordless Wednesdays . . .

“July. Silence. Complete silence.
The whole world floated.” ~ Lola Ridge, from “Silence”

Wednesday morning, sunny and mild, 75 degrees.

From La Collectionneuse (1967):

 


Music by Frédéric Chopin, Etude in A Flat Major, Op. 25 No. 1, “Aeolian Harp”

“Resolution #4: I must encourage greedy people to use the term, ‘Low-hanging fruit,’ because that’s just like old times.” (Crowley) ~ Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Crowley & Aziraphale’s New Year’s Wishes


If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Friday afternoon, mostly sunny and lovely, 76 degrees.

Cannot wait to watch the  Good Omens adaptation with David Tennant and Michael Sheen, except that means we need to hook up the Blu-Ray to get access to Amazon Prime, which means . . . probably not going to watch it anytime soon . . .

A bit of a hodgepodge collection. Enjoy.


The miracle of tea:

Rules to live by:

Totally relatable:

Goats? Yep.

St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Missouri, July 21, 1908

Hmm . . .

Not I can’t stop thinking about a spider wearing flip flops. . .

Good for him:

Good boy:

And finally, coffee. Yes.:

The Topeka Daily Capital, Kansas, January 14, 1904

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Today’s Self-Portrait: Lots of Movement that Gets Me Nowhere

“Can we really conquer chaos so easily? If that were so, I should be able to prune the pandemonium of my own soul into something neat and tidy rather than this maze of wants and needs and misgivings that has me forever feeling as if I cannot fit into the landscape of things.” ~ Libba Bray, from The Far Sweet Thing

Friday afternoon, overcast but mild, 66 degrees.

I’m in one of those moods. Yep. Could it be day five of this unending migraine? Awaking each morning at 4 a.m. for no particular reason and being unable to go back to sleep? Eating stale tortilla chips and salsa because I’m craving salt and now I have incredible heartburn? The fact that I’ve been trying to write Tuesday’s post for 4 days and can’t get past the poem?  Continuing/unending issues with just trying to live our lives?

All of it? None of it?

Whatever . . .


Oh, the good old days . . . kind of . . . you know, Spanish flu deaths, diseases, sexism, racism, rampant poverty, fascism . . . no, wait . . . yep, that whole making us great again thing . . .

Harrisburg Telegraph, Pennsylvania, June 26, 1913

Found on irisharchaelogy’s tumblr:

From Ultrafacts.com (love this one):

Many of these old trees were dying or had died and, despite their age, were destined for a meeting with a chainsaw. Tingle, however, saw potential in the old trees and over time transformed many of them into remarkable works of art. They are located in Orr Park, Montevallo, AL (Fact Source)

This one reminds me of how Paramount’s mountain logo faded to the mountain in Raiders of the Lost Ark:

I love drinks with paper umbrellas; it’s like Hawaiian Punch:

From anxietyproblem’s tumblr:


Music by Lauren Daigle, “You Say”