Thursday.... waiting for the sun;

5.53 AM

5.57 AM

6.02 AM

6.03 AM  

©Photos/ Ts  Ballina, NSW, 28/08/2012  sunrise at 6.03 AM

Wednesday; Cherie;

Hello!

©Photo October 2012/ my garden, Ts

Tuesday; "a weird mob";

©Photo/ my garden;

A long and true story;

GOD and Grass: 

Frank you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions, violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colours by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.

St. FRANCIS:

It's the tribes that settled there Lord.. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers 'weeds' and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

GOD:

Grass? But it's so boring. It's not colourful. It doesn't attract butterflies birds and bees only grubs and sod worms. It's sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS:

Apparently so Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.     

GOD:

The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast.  That must make the Suburbanites happy.     

ST.. FRANCIS:

Apparently not Lord. As soon as it grows a little they cut it, sometimes twice a week.     

GOD:

They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS:

Not exactly Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.     

GOD:

They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?     

ST. FRANCIS:

No Sir just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.     

GOD:
Now let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow.  And when it does grow they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

ST. FRANCIS:

Yes Sir.     

GOD:

These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.     

ST. FRANCIS:

You aren't going to believe this Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.     

GOD:

What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. It's a natural cycle of life.     

ST. FRANCIS:

You better sit down Lord.. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.     

GOD:

No!? What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?     

ST. FRANCIS:

After throwing away the leaves they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.    

GOD:

And where do they get this mulch?     

ST. FRANCIS:

They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.     

GOD:

Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore.

St. Catherine you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight     

ST. CATHERINE:

'Dumb and Dumber' Lord.. It's a story about....     

GOD:

Never mind I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.

©?

  

   

Monday; pleasure;

© Photo/ this morning in my garden;  Roses are red...and my favourite poem...

Morning

♥  by: Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)

The mist has left the greening plain,

The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,

The coquette rose awakes again

Her lovely self adorning.

The wind is hiding in the trees,

A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,

Until the rose says "Kiss me, please,"

'Tis morning, 'tis morning.

With staff in hand and careless free,

The wanderer fares right jauntily,

For towns and houses are, thinks he,

For scorning, for scorning.

My soul is swift upon the wing,

And in its deeps a song I bring;

Come, Love, and we together sing,

"'Tis morning, 'tis morning."

Link  Poetic Takeaway's;

Friday; bye, bye...

Enjoy a nice weekend;

♥

Happiness can not be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute
with love, grace and gratitude.
Denis Waitley

©Photo Ts

Thursday; Satire; my stinging pen;

Nature and its extraordinary beauty;   Bud of Hippeastrum flower, my garden, September 2o12

♥

Oh, yes, my fingers are itching,  but trust me,  I am not to be taken seriously on Thursdays.

What shall it be today? The trash can is full and it should not be a problem to find a dirty deal to expose.

What about the crusades, they are in high favour with hoi oligoi.

The war drums are beating in high favour of invading an other country, the lies are  rampant, the noses are itching and growing every day.  

Hoi polloi has to be persuaded  to blow a fake  bugle and hate the “others”

The newest crusade is well on the way to conquer  what and whoever is in the way to the new world  order. Iraq and Afghanistan have already seen the power and violence of the crusaders riding on white phosphorus.  Even the little stretch of Gaza has seen the might of the crusaders, killing and destroying  to their hearts content. Go on you knights of  lust for oil, money, land, blood and power, sharpen your drones your nuclear warheads and prey to your gods to bless your hands dripping with blood of people who have not invaded your countries, killed your loved ones, stolen your land, your countries wealth, destroyed your countries ancient treasures. 
You have always stolen and plundered under a flag, called  for god and country, always send the poor lads to their death in the name of honour and democracy. There is no honour in warfare, in killing the other. There is no honour in dying for a country. The only honour is in peace and friendship.
 You have always lied and played the saviour when in fact you have been the destroyer.

1095 November 27 Pope Urban II called a great council of clergy and nobles to meet at Clermont in France called the Council of Clermont. He called for a crusade against the Infidels.

Now,  the pen is blunt, until next time.  Peace and Love, have a good Thursday.

©Text/Photo Ts


Link    http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article32469.htm

Wednesday; Seville Oranges;

I walked down into the wild garden and saw that the Seville Orange tree was full with fat, round oranges, ready to be picked. Next day Fabrizia and I went to harvest the golden orange bounty.

We filled 2 buckets and she insisted to carry them up the hill,  home.  Her little arms straining, but her stamina  and perseverance did not let her give up, at it is quite a steep way up,  until she had them right at the door. They were standing around a few days as other task were on the menu.   I juiced them and cooked them into Jelly instead of Marmalade.

the big ones weighed 400 g 

I made 2 liters of juice, these were quite juicy, as generally Sevilles are not as juicy. 

The jelly turned out well,  a tart sweetness with a hint of bitterness. 

2 liters Seville orange juice,
1,2 kg white sugar, cooking time about 40 minutes. I think if one used commercial pectin the cooking time  would be around 20 min.
A small bag filled with some pips from the oranges, the pips help to produce the pectin.
The jelly just got the right consistency , perfect....I am amazed myself!


©Text/Photos Ts


Link   Poetic Takeaway's; a trivial world of words.