~Amazing Driftwood Horses

Pictured:
The stunning life-like horse sculptures
made entirely of driftwood washed up on the beach
by Artist Heather Jansch
..WEBSITE..

The work of Heather Jansch started from her
two passions: drawing and horses.
She has a very interesting and diverse biography,
many exhibitions, one book published
(Heather Jansch’s Diary: A Year in the Life of…..),
and another one in progress.

From a distance they are the embodiment of
equine grace, three creatures ready to burst
into a gallop across the sands.

Only on closer examination are they revealed
to be sculptures made, incredibly, from driftwood. 
created by artist Heather Jansch,
whose individual works take up
to three years to produce.

Every now and then,
when the world sits just right,
a gentle breath of heaven
fills my soul with delight...
~ Hazelmarie Elliott ~

~Broom

Cytisus scoparius, the Common Broom
and Scotch Broom, Sarothamnus scoparius,
is a perennial leguminous shrub native to western
and central Europe.

In Britain and Ireland the standard name is
Broom
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cytisus_scoparius

Spanish Broom is extremely toxic and poisonings
have occurred when substitutions made.
Spanish Broom is helpful around stores of food
to keep rats and mice away and was
traditionally used in this manner.

An old form of broom was the besom, which was
made simply of twigs tied to a handle, and was relatively inefficient as a cleaning implement for it commonly
caused more of a mess than it cleaned up causing
it to be somewhat counter-productive.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Broom

Broom winder, 1956

"Soft moss a downy pillow makes,
and green leaves spread a tent,
Where Faerie fold may rest
sleep until their night is spent.
The bluebird sings a lullaby, the firefly gives a light,
The twinkling stars are candles bright,
Sleep, Faeries all, Good Night."

- Elizabeth T. Dillingham, A Faery Song

A Single rose can be my garden
a single friend… my world
by Leo Buscaglin

~Grandma’s Hands

Grandma, some ninety plus years,
sat feebly on the patio bench.
She didn't move, just sat with her head down staring
at her hands. When I sat down beside her
she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer
I sat I wondered if she was OK.
Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting
to check on her at the same time,
I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at me and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,"
she said in a clear voice strong.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you
were just sitting here staring at your hands and I
wanted to make sure you were OK," I explained to her.
"Have you ever looked at your hands," she asked.
"I mean really looked at your hands?"
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them.
I turned them over, palms up and then palms down.
No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as
I tried to figure out the point she was making.

Grandma smiled and related this story:
"Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have,
how they have served you well throughout your years.
These hands, though wrinkled, shrivelled and weak have
been the tools I have used all my life to reach out
and grab and embrace life.
"They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler
I crashed upon the floor.
They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back.
As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer.
They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots.
They held my husband and wiped my tears when
he went off to war.

"They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent.
They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my
newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they
showed the world that I was married and loved
someone special. They wrote my letters to him and
trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse.
"They have held my children and grandchildren,
consoled neighbors, and
shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand.
"They have covered my face, combed my hair,
and washed and cleansed the rest of my body.
They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken,
dried and raw. And to this day when not much of
anything else of me works real well these hands
hold me up, lay me down, and again continue
to fold in prayer.

"These hands are the mark of where I've been and
the ruggedness of life. But more importantly it will be
these hands that God will reach out and take when
he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me
to His side."
I will never look at my hands the same again.
But I remember God reached out and took my
grandma's hands and led her home.
-- by Melinda Clements

Grandma's Garden

 
I remember Grandma's garden
The beauty and the grace
Of all the lovely flowers
In that dear, sweet place

I remember Grandma's smile
As she planted, pruned, and tilled
Laboring with love and laughter
As this world with joy she filled

I remember Grandma's patience
When we ran amid the flowers
With her beauty all around us
We would spend those precious hours

I remember Grandma's garden
And I'm happy in the knowing
That when she knelt there in the soil
It wasn't just flowers she was growing.
~ Author: Erin Kilmer

“When I have something to say
that I think will be too difficult for adults,
I write it in a book for children.
Children are excited by new ideas;
they have not yet closed the doors
and windows of their imaginations.
Provided the story is good...
nothing is too difficult for children.”
~ Madeleine L'Engle

Guardian Angels appear in all forms of Love & Light

 

I found this on Facebook
but no name of artist
but I had to share, this is soooo wonderful and amazing
don’t you think?

        
Keep a green tree in your heart
and
perhaps a singing bird will come.
~ Chinese Proverb

Onion-stalked Lepiota (Lepiota cepaestipes)

Albin Schmalfuss, from Führer für Pilzfreunde
(The mushroom lover’s guidebook)
vol. 2, by Edmund Michael, Zwickau, 1901.

Magical.
The 16th Avenue Tiled Steps project has
been a neighborhood effort to create a beautiful
mosaic running up the risers of the 163 steps
located at 16th and Moraga in San Francisco.

Iron shoes are pictured on the bank of the Danube
marking the Holocaust in Hungary.
Hundreds of Hungarian Jews had to leave their shoes
on the bank before they were shot into the river
by Hungarian militaimen during the World War II.
The United Nations declared in 2005
the Holocaust Memorial Day
on January 27 to commemorate
the 6 million Jews and other victims
murdered by the Nazis.
~LINK HERE~

Wisteria Tunnel
is an impressive flower walkway located
in Kawachi Fuji Garden in Kitakyushu,
Southern Japan.