Imagine
The pink panther
Leaning on a lamp post
A fedora,
on its head.
A long, white,
ivory cigarette holder
in his hand....
You can not put a price
On peace of mind. (WP)
Let my life be a prayer. (KW)
I sincerely hope the young artist at this weekends festival listened to the lyrics of icon's songs.
Until next year…..
Playing in Harmony….
Until next year….
There was a pig,
and his name was Joe.
He had a new job
but he just wouldn't go.
They gave him a corn cob,
and they gave him a bed.
All he did
was slap himself in the head.
He said, 'I can't go!
I belong in the zoo!'
'Where I can be seen!
by people like you!'
So he smiled,
and he ran
to the zoo and said,
'Here I am! Here I am!
I AM YOUR MAN!!!!!!
There are so many great places, so close to home, to explore and discover, in this great country of ours.
Wish upon a wishing well,
A pocket full of sand.
I picked a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
They wilted in my hand.
An old apple head doll,
Pinched and pruned,
and impeccably dressed.
Lay on the floor
for a well-deserved rest.
Soft tiny triangles of fabric
Filled a plastic bag
'Merry Christmas,' she said
And my heart began to sag.
And the dresses drifting down
to the ground, turn into mud.
Triangle pieces
Land with a thud.
And the water is wet.
And the rain is wet.
Yet.
My tears run dry
That old familiar tune plays on...and on....and on...and on.
And time passes by.
After traveling down a stretch of Wylie Road, through long flooded areas, dodging springtime potholes, and smooth gravel sections, we decided to hike a length of the Sedge Wren Marsh. So very pretty and noisy with the songs of the birds that we could not see. Narrow like an old cow trail, spotted with board walks and flat rocky spots.
We loved our time exploring parts of the Cardin Plain, a large limestone plain with wetlands and woods, and large grassy meadows.
Walking through God’s Garden.
Praise smoke, Labrador violets, early buttercup, and western service berries were a few that we could identify.
Bluebird Ranch, a part of the Couchiching Conservancy, is a working ranch. We witnessed several herds of cattle, all who boldly stared us down as we quietly called their names.
The bird songs that we listened to may or may not have been the voices of those pictured above.
My favourite flower of the day, the brilliantly beautiful scarlet Indianm paintbrush. With this paintbrush, God painted a garden like no other.
Belgium waffles, with blueberry and strawberry sauce straight from the farm.
Topped with a great scoop of whipped cream. Yum!
This is one of my all-time favourite places.
My summer doesn’t properly begin until I have picked a heaping basket of sweet, red, luscious strawberries. I have started my summers this way for the past forty or so years.
A tradition I plan to continue for many more years.
The wagon rides through the fields, though, have changed in the past forty years.
There are rules now. Please remain seated, and definitely NO jumping of the wagon
The jumping off, running to get back on, jumping off, running to get back on, jumping off, running to get back on, jumping off…….days are over!
Udder nonsense.
Udderly ridiculous.
Udderly strange.
Udderly different.
Udderly familiar.
NO moo…………RE!!!!!
A vendor find! A positive in a world that needs more positives!
Separate two bouquets of brilliant, yellow dandelions from their grooved leaf funnels.
Remove the stems, and the green pieces.
Add equal parts, sugar, and water.
Then, reduce, reduce, reduce
Just a little bit more! I totally agree with Winnie the Pooh.
Dandelion, honey!
Smooth as honey.
Sticky as toffee.
Sweet as ever!
With a little hint of lemon.
If you don’t like this multi-purpose, beneficial little plant, stop making wishes.
Every time you breathe upon that little ball of fluff, you are sending anywhere from 55 to 175 seeds into the air.
And somewhere, at some time, someone will be harvesting this overlooked and mistreated bright yellow flower!!!!
I wanted to walk to the river today,
Just a little over two kilometers away.
But I could not take that first step.
My shoe, it would not move.
Somehow, over the years,
I have lost my groove.
As the tears rolled down my face,
I silently cried.
Like ketchup on a plate
Of old French fries.
I know the day will come
When into the river
My toes,
Will drum.
Until then
I will contemplate
How I ended up
In this ridiculous
STATE!!!!
Groovy Tales of a Well Adult 