Day of Rest

One of the great pleasures we derive from having a pond (actually, 2) is to look at the amazing, almost artificial looking, water lilies which we've 'planted' over the years. Each day new ones open, and old ones close up and return to the bottom. The rhythm of life around a pond is fascinating to watch, but it can't be caught in quick glimpses as you rush by. Sundays were given to us by the Creator as a day of rest, in which we could cease from our daily labour and reflect on the rhythm of life.

"This is the day that the Lord has made,
Let us rejoice and be glad in it."
(Psalm 118:24)

(70-200mm  f11  1/160  ISO200)

(70-200mm  f5.6  1/320  ISO200)

Peaceful feeling

Thank you to everyone for your support and prayers through your comments on my last posts. I hope to be back here on a more regular basis, and to come by and visit you.

(18-55mm  f9.0  25 sec  ISO200)

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where

But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
So on we go

His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there

For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother

If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another

It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share

And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother

He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother

Blogging hiatus

Due to a sudden and unexpected death in our immediate family this week, I will be taking a break from blogging for the next week or so. Thank you for the comments on the past posts to which I haven't been able to respond.

Day is done

The vast and solemn company of clouds
Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined,
Cool into ashy wan; as Night enshrouds
The level pasture, creeping up behind
Through voiceless vales, o'er lawn and purpled hill
And hazéd mead, her mystery to fulfil.
Cows low from far-off farms; the loitering wind
Sighs in the hedge, you hear it if you will,--
Tho' all the wood, alive atop with wings
Lifting and sinking through the leafy nooks,
Seethes with the clamour of a thousand rooks.
Now every sound at length is hush'd away.
These few are sacred moments. One more Day
Drops in the shadowy gulf of bygone things.

"After Sunset"   (William Allingham)

(18-55mm  f14  1/8 sec  ISO200)