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Posts Tagged ‘nature’

A poinsettia sits in the kitchen window, a holiday gift still providing much pleasure.

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A little wooden butterfly scotch taped to a piece of vellum that was taped to a sunny window.  A bit of fun on a Tuesday morning. 😉

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Ice upon windows is beautiful.  At night that can be hard to remember as I shiver under the covers.  But in the morning when the wintry sun strikes the delicate forms layered upon the glass … well, that’s a whole different situation, isn’t it? 😉

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Thanks for the positive comments about the recent tulip pictures.  I did not expect to photograph them again today … it is quite rainy with little natural light coming through the window.  But then on a whim I picked up a flashlight and that experience has been rather fun.

Since this storm system will be around for a bit, we’ll see how this “flashlight series” progresses.

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The interior of several white tulips.  As I’ve written before, tulips were not always my favorite flowers.  But now it is with pleasure I buy a bouquet, their heads tightly closed, and wait just a few days for the blossoms to open, revealing the subtle hues shading their centers.

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Thanks to everyone who has given me feedback on the blog this year.  Each comment has been appreciated.  More to share before year’s end, but until then, happy holidays and safe travels. 😉

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Not a rainbow but …

… I was taking a shortcut through the Boston Public Library, making my way from the Boylston Street entrance to the Dartmouth Street side.  Of course I had to pause for a quick browse of the New Arrivals shelf.  That’s where I saw the deed take place.

It would be easy to assume that the old man was homeless, one of the many who frequent the building.  His clothing was bedraggled to say the least and his beard more than a bit unkempt.  His brown skin was weathered into the proverbial leather.  Despite apparent age, there was an almost childish bright light in his rheumy eyes.  While he walked with the aid of a battered metal cane, there was a spryness to his step as he made his way across the room.  But, I have to admit, I noticed none of these details until later, until after I heard the young man’s voice calling, “Hey.  Hey! Wait a minute, old man.”

The old man had been walking away from me, but he turned at the younger man’s voice, and that was how I was able to see his face.  The younger man had been walking toward me, looking gruff and rushed as so many of us do today as we race, race, race.  I had seen him brush passed the old man nearly knocking him over.  But then he had stopped.  The gruff look upon his face had not changed. In fact, it deepened.

At some point the younger man  spun around.  With a fierce, aggressive energy, he called the old man.  When the man paused and turned to face him, the young man raced back to him.  “Here,” he said, and shoved something into the old man’s hand.

The old man raised a plastic bag.  It was just clear enough for me to see that inside were a pair of shoes.  I glanced down and saw what the younger man may have seen.  The old man’s feet were barely covered by a pair of threadbare sneakers.

“Where did these come from?” the old man asked, clearly perplexed.  The younger man had already turned away.  Over his shoulder he growled, “St. Francis.”

The older man looked at the bag, shrugged, and continued on his way.

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