Can’t stop posting photos of trees! Someone stop me, please.
Silhouettes of Trees
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Silk Floss Tree Bloom: FOTD Aug 3, 2023
The cotton fibers found from Silk Floss Trees , which are called Kapok, are often used to stuff the insides of things such as pillows and a variety of other cold-weather clothing. The fibers of the Silk Floss Tree also have a hydrophobic property that allowed it to be used in the material that goes into life preservers.
The wood can be used to make canoes, as wood pulp, and to make paper. The bark has been used to make ropes. From the seeds, it is possible to obtain vegetable oil (both edible and industrially useful). The floss silk tree is cultivated mostly for ornamental purposes .
These trees can reach a potential 25 meters tall with fat and thorny bottle-shaped trunks and branches. (Information from Google.)
For Cee’s FOTD
“Done begins with do.”
Click on photos to enlarge.
I did this post for Wednesday Quotes, but after compiling it, realized there is a theme of “Alone.” Oh well, since most of my time is spent alone and what I do when I’m alone is to write or work in my art studio, I guess by some stretch of the imagination, it works.
“Done Begins with Do” was the motto chosen by my class when we graduated from high school and I’ve been following that advice my entire life. I think it applies to the other two quotes, so I’ve included it as well.
“When you’re tired, learn to rest. Don’t quit.”
I have the above line of advice taped to my desk beside my computer. On the other side of it is the one below from The Autumn Garden by Lillian Hellman. (I have since read that the line was actually written by Dashiell Hammett to help her during a period of slight writer’s block.)
“That big hour of decision, the turning point in your life, the someday you’ve counted on when you’d suddenly wipe out your past mistakes, do the work you’d never done, think the way you’d never thought, have what you’d never had––it doesn’t come suddenly. You’ve trained yourself for it while you waited, or you’ve let it all run past you and frittered yourself away.”
Vidalia Onions: Short Poem, Long Story.
Vidalia Onion Dicer. No More Tears!
The onions fall down into the collection receptacle.
Sauerkraut and mustard, ketchup, onions, relish—
a hotdog was created merely to embellish.
The tears came later, when the bill came. Go HERE to read the story of the thirty dollar hot dog. And you’ll just have to imagine the story of my my recent forty-dollar corn dog eaten at a hotel in Billings, Montana. Pictured below, its story is too painful to relate. No onions, this time.
My thirty dollar (Canadian) hot dog.
And—-my forty dollar (U.S.) corn dog!
Here is the link for the prompt, and here are more poems on the subject for dVerse Poets: Vidalia Onions
Underneath
Click on Photos to Enlarge.
Because this scene from my back yard is never the same twice in a row but is always beautiful.
Floral Litter In the Rain for FOTD Aug 2, 2023
Hibiscus After Rain: FOTD Aug 1, 2023
Night Sky from 10:30 to Midnight on July 31, 2023
Click on photos to enlarge.
I was in the pool taking these for 1 1/2 hours. Amazing skies. San Juan Cosala, Jalisco, Mexico.
For Bushboy’s Last on the Card.
These are the very last photos I took in July, ending precisely at midnight. Sorry, Brian, I couldn’t separate them. They want to stay together, so you get them all.
Stages of the Sunset
Tree of Faith, for the Poetree Prompt
For the new 2 writing Poetree Prompt
If you can’t read the poem above, here it is in larger form:
Tree of Faith
In
another
country,
I could be beheaded
for what I most believe in.
Personal. Unique.
A creative faith that rules my life––
religion an organic thing
grown from a communication
between my heart and mind to shade me.
No pews or choir lofts.
No creeds or ayatollahs or muezzins.
No pentecostal dunkings
or annointments
other than fresh falling rain.
No prayer stick more holy than a paintbrush.
No well-thumbed hymnal
declaring faith more clearly than my fingers on a keyboard
or my gooey glue pot or a frame filled with my art and thus my soul.
If God is the creator,
then what prayer could be more elemental
than one’s own creation,
reading like a holy book of who you are?
Where is that creation drawn from
other than that first creator of it all?
We are still in the process of being created.
Genesis not a book already written but the very lives we live.
Yet in another country, this most elemental mysticism of the self–
stated, is punishable by death.
Hide not your flame under a bushel unless it is necessary,
oh brother poet, sister artist, fellow fanner of a personal flame.
You have been branded in your country by that fire
that should cure.
In many countries, perhaps all,
there have come times when what is personal
must remain so for survival’s sake.
Yet what has seeded change is martyrs such as yourself,
facing 800 lashings, years in prison if fortunate,
crucifixion if you’ve drawn the short straw
picked for you by old men wanting never to be judged themselves.
In another country, this simple act of putting words like mine upon a page
enough to end a life for.
That old geriatric communal faith
being so fragile that letting one person have their own faith
might bring about
that
first
seed
of its
shadow.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 