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Showing posts from October, 2015

The Kiss

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  “Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that someone had caressed him and made him happy—that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought did not leave him even in his sleep. When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as the day before.” The Kiss By Anton Chekhov (1860–1904)

Zefrank's Guide to Candy Trading

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It's all in good fun.

Reader, Consider

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Photoblog: File Your Negatives

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in the back of the book--right where it belongs!

Photoblog: A Few Of My Favorite Things

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"Overheard on a Salmarsh" by Harold Monro

Nymph, nymph, what are your beads? Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them? Give them me.         No. Give them me. Give them me.                 No. Then I will howl all night in the reeds, Lie in the mud and howl for them. Goblin, why do you love them so? They are better than stars or water, Better than voices of winds that sing, Better than any man's fair daughter, Your green glass beads on a silver ring. Hush, I stole them out of the moon. Give me your beads, I want them.                 No. I will howl in the deep lagoon For your green glass beads, I love them so. Give them me. Give them.               No.

Photoblog

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who knows what this is?