Where’s spring?

dream_0145I paddled most of the morning when I spotted this small sandy beach. It was the perfect place to beech the kayak and eat the lunch I’d packed. I’d just started to take a bite of the sandwich when some seagulls started a raucous chatter, looking around I could not spot them. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t on a Caribbean island, and the noise wasn’t made by gulls. The cool breeze was really cold air, and the noise was my alarm clock. The sandy beach was in a dream.

6-waitingforspring_1776I shut off the alarm and pulled down the electric blanket and took a look outside. My dream seemed real enough, there was my kayak. But snow covered it. We both were waiting for spring. Well, there’s only one thing to do now, crawl back under the warm blanket and go back to sleep till the snow plow comes. Some day we’ll have warm breezes, a sunny sky and sandy beaches. For now the thing to do was to start a crock-pot of oatmeal started. That takes a little while to cook, so diving back under the warm blanket was not only inviting, but really satisfying. I’d get up to contemplate the day later. Kayaking in this time of year is only a dream.

for Sunday Photo Fiction – January 17th 2016

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From on high

Some interesting photo challenges are made each week by Nancy Merrill Photography.
This week is no exception, Looking Down. Looking back through my recent archives I found these views two that seemed to fit. Both photos are from the top observation level of Hallgrímskirkja church in Reykjavik, Iceland.



for A Photo a Week Challenge: Look Down

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Jubilee Door of Mercy

I planned on having more doors for this week, but the weather didn’t coöperate so only one. Pope Francis has declared this Church Year as the Jubilee Year of Mercy. In the Baltimore, Md. Archdiocese seven churches received the honor of having one door dedicated as a “Blessed Door”. One door at The Shrine of St Anthony in Ellicott City, a Franciscan Friary was one of the seven churches.
My photo is of Father Michael, OFM opening that door – in reality it is a gate into the central courtyard of the Friary.



Today’s images do double duty, For Norm’s Thursday’s Doors, and Nancy Mreeill’s Photo a Week Challenge

for Norm’s Thursday Doors – December 17, 2015

for Nancy Merrill’s A Photo a Week Challenge: Religious buildings

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Doors at the Friary

Doors to the Friary Chapel

At the Shrine of Saint Anthony, Ellicott City, Maryland

for Norm’s Thursday Doors – December 10, 2015Norm’s Thursday Doors – December 10, 2015

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The Old Grey Horse

That’s me, the Old Grey Horse

I’m just the guest author today, and I have a great horse story for you.

The mane part of the tail I’m going to tell starts years ago. (Don’t interrupt me, I’v a horse and will use words the way I know). I was living with a couple of friends of a farm, but they preferred to stay near the barn. Not many thought of me as a ‘good looking’ horse – I was grey, a rather prematurely grey so the hansom looking horses would leave me to myself. I on the other hand would wonder all over. The far reaches were almost 3 furlongs from the barn (no I don’t know how far tha is in people speak, I’m just a horse). Down the hill from the farm was a lake, I only know that because I have lots of horse-sense.

3-theFarm_8177I’d wonder all over munching on grass and weeds, it was lots better than the stuff my people served. They told me it was more nutritious whatever that meant. The fresh air and grass were delicious. One day I heard the hum of an engine and well tuned Abarth exhaust system, an a Triumph TR-3 coming up the road from the lake. Later that day I heard it going the other direction. This became a daily ritual so I decided to get a closer look. I made it a point to be at the fence morning and evening. And the driver started to notice me standing at the corner of my fence.

As time went on he would slow a bit and wave at me, and I made it a point to be out for him. We didn’t know names, but he became my new friend. A couple of times he would stop and talk to me, but I’m a horse and don’t really understand ‘people speak’ but we continued with our freindship. If the weather was good I’d take the long walk just to see him, and when the weather was warm enough he’d have the top down on that TR-3. I thought that if I was a person I’d like to ride with him in that lovely car.

What a fine day! I always preferred back roads over super highways, even on the way to work, so crossing the headwaters of a lake and winding uphill past farms made going to work almost worthwhile. Then one day I noticed an old grey horse in the pasture near the road. Everyday he seemed to be closer, leaving the rest of the horses back by the barn. On the way home I began seeing that horse would be right at the fence watching me. So I’d slow up and wave to it. Because it was grey I thought of it as an Old Horse.

Meanwhile back at the barn my owner bought another horse and I was introduced to an attractive Filly. We became friends and, well great friends, and after a while along came a small colt. I began to think of my friend in the sports car so when the colt was able I took the three of us all the way out to the road – the whole 3 furlongs and proudly showed off my new ‘best friend’ and our new colt.

Then for a while I didn’t see the old horse, and I began to feel a bit sorry for it and wondering what happened to it.. Then to my surprise it was standing by the fence with another that looked a bit younger and between them was a small colt. I thought I could even see a proud smile on the ‘old grey horse’ so I realized it was just grey house and not really all that old. I think he was trying to say, “I’m not an old horse, I’m a proud dad!”

for Sunday Photo Fiction Dec 6th, 2015

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All washed up

Roiling, rolling, rolling
Though the streams are swollen
Keep them doggies rolling

Michelin, Perelli, GoodYear, B.F. Goodrich; it doesn’t matter, we all try to keep rolling but we all end up in one of a few ways. Some of us go bald, then blow-out and followed by loud words, none of the are repeatable, but often repeated loudly. some of us just come apart and leave pieces on the highway. I’ve seen some of my buddies just get a bit thin, then lean against the garage wall till they just dry-rot. They often end up hanging from a tree to the delight of little kids that swing in them hour after hour. Finally after the rope wears out and the kids become way too large and old the tyres get flung into the beach in the hopes that they disappear. They never do, they join the other detritus and ruin the environment.

for Sunday Photo Fiction Nov. 29, 2015

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