Replying to Pacific Thought LO26001
Dear At you wrote,
>Andrew Campbell < ACampnona@aol.com > writes:
>[Maybe we can get a picture attached to this Rick;-)
>...if so, then...find the little chair therein and consider
>the eternality of the children fidgety sat upon the finity
>of the four legs.]
>[Host's Note: Image is at
> < http://www.learning-org.com/images/PaulKlee1937.gif > ..Rick]
>>Greetings Dear Andrew,
>>-Jessica the past couple of weeks. She is bent on "caring"
>>for the "fairies". She is in a peaceful state of mind. She creates tiny
>>furniture (about 2 cm in size) for the fairies. She then puts these
>>furniture in small boxes (open to one side) and hangs these boxes outside
>>in the fruit trees. (It is very dry and hot here over much of the northern
>>part of South Africa for the past six weeks. Most of the farmers' crops
>>have burned to death. Jessica reckons that the fairies now need more care
>>She is also on a painting spree. SNIP ON A YELLOW-BEIGE BACKGOUND.
>>When I read the following, I knew I just had to tell of the remarkable
Mmmmm. Such another 'scooting' (fast moving and flighty) 'garden fairy'
sent me and some friends this poem the other day. So it seems such fairies
as might exist do so by way of acausal, synchronous thinking "becoming"
fields as might be expected by the imaginative souls?
Every valley drinks
Every dell and hollow
Where the kind rain sinks and sinks
Green of Spring will follow
Yet lapse of weeks
Buds will burst their edges
Strip their wool-coats, glue coats, streaks
In the woods and hedges
Weave a bower of love
For birds to meet each other
Nest and egg and mother
But for fattening rain
We should have no flowers
Never a bud or leaf again
But for soaking showers;
Never a mated bird
In the rocking tree-tops,
Never indeed a flock or herd
To graze upon the lea-crops.
Lambs so woolly white,
Sheep the sun-bright leas on
They could have no grass to bite
But for rain in season
We should find no moss
In the shadiest places,
Find no waving meadow grass
Pied with broad-eyed daises:
But miles of barren sand,
With never a son or daughter,
Not a lily on the land,
Or lily on the water.
Lack of water is not our fairies problem, but be sure Oupa to tell little J
that the fairies in the gardens of S appreciate the appreciations.
And imagining S and J at play in some/any 'field' I see a preponderance of
colour yellow (-friendship;-)
humble messenger Andrew;-)
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