Little Ida’s Flowers

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  “MY poor flowers are quite dead!” said little Ida. “They were so pretty yesterday, and now all the leaves hang withered. Why do they do that? . . . Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?” she asked again, and showed him a nosegay, which was quite withered.  “Do you know what’s the matter with them?” said the Student. “The flowers have been at a ball last night, and that’s why they hang their heads.”  “But flowers cannot dance!” cried little Ida. “O yes,” said the Student, “when it grows dark, and we are asleep, they jump about merrily. Almost every night they have a ball.” —Hans Christian Andersen. (1805–1875)

Wave

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 All is well where we are. Just rain. And now, today’s selection:

“Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the belt of foam above, had carried us a great distance down the slope; but our farther descent was by no means proportionate. Round and round we swept—not with any uniform movement——but in dizzying swings and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a few hundred yards—sometimes nearly the complete circuit of the whirl. Our progress downward, at each revolution, was slow, but very perceptible.” (“Descent Into The Maelstrom,” by Edgar Allan Poe)

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