Picking Daisies

Pity the eyes that have never seen dawn
Twilight, or shadow—or a wind blown tree
But pity the eyes that look upon
All loveliness, and yet still never see

Pity the ears that have not caught the notes
Of wind or wave; of music or bird
But pity more when music floats
To ears that hear—and have still never heard

Pity the hearts that have not known the gift
Of comforting love; nor have felt a caress
But pity the hearts that simply drift
From loves high moment to forgetfulness

For this is the tragedy of “common sense”
To dim all wonder—with indifference

Camping

I hate to leave you all on such a melancholic note, so now (for my own pleasure) I must post again, just to scoot my last post down into oblivion.

Here are some pictures of Anna, Eman, and me camping last night.

They’re all dim and dusky…terrible shots, but if you look closely and squint slightly, you might be able to make out our dashing features : )

There was somewhat of a glorious…sun glow, there in the background

Yeah…so here's my “picture” face (if I look concerned, it's because I'm balancing on a rock)

(I know, I know, the “sunset” is gone already)

Eman, checking out the “valley men”

Anna, gathering wood (and Becky, dutifully photographing her)

Anna and Eman, hard at work pitching our tent (Becky, hard at work to capture the moment)

Anna, pounding in the stakes (Photo by Becky)

…apparently, the human eye-ball will roast quicker than a hot-dog (I need a longer stick)

You've staked out your life on the rock of My name
determined to stay there, come sunshine or rain
and you love the unshakable feel of this base
so you’ve fastened yourself most securely in place
on the soft, mellow, clear days, it’s fine just to lay
in the warmth of My sun, you can rest here and play
but there also come times when dark trouble will stir
and when fierce storms and rage will most surely occur
if you really do treasure your place here on high
there is so much more to it than heaving a sigh
harsh waves will beat you; the winds will lash out
the whole ground will tremble, and thunder will shout
you’ll be fought with a furry; the tempest will sting
and so you, with a furry, must desperately cling