For cat lovers

The smallest feline is a masterpiece
Leonardo Da Vinci

Meet Talloulah, my brother and sister-in-law's beautiful new kitten, she is half Bengal.

I took so many pics of her, here is just a sample.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beeswing

Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing,
so fine a breath of wind might blow her away.
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay

Richard Thompson

 

 

 

 

 

Donkey

He would say that God had given him a tail to keep the flies off  but that he would sooner have had no tail and no flies.

George Orwell, Animal Farm



 

 

Dartmoor Pony

Horses make a landscape look beautiful.
Alice Walker




 

 

The Sea

A Crazed Girl

“THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea”

 

W B Yeats

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not the cry, but the flight of the wild duck, leads the flock to fly and follow.

 

 

 

 

 

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth. Buddha.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Raindrops

 

Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.

Roger Miller
 

Kite

The optimist pleasantly wonders how high his kite will fly; the pessimist woefully wonders how soon his kite will fall.

William Arthur Ward

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old Dog

 

 

 

 

 

Skies

 Clouds

  

I own two passions now: watching clouds and 

writing words. Hours fly courting clouds, writing 

poems in my mind, for what are clouds and words 

but poets' fuel to warm their souls upon?

Cirrus, stratus, cumulus or mare’s tail; 

in such clouds, words seem lazy, hazy, nebulous

and misty to my mind; there are no lines 

to read myself between, I can only 

go within and listen to their whispers.

Words are scudding sounds of speech when spoken, 

but silent when written, except to my

heart where they can speak in volumes, or, when 

days are sadly overcast, they hide from 

me and say nothing, nothing at all.

 

Cait O'Connor