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Down the old haunts where nobody goes there is an old tree that nobody knows. It’s a dead tree, full of life that can’t be seen while searching with a wanting eye, or nose …
Then, when the gasping trying goes the still and quiet comes and one appears, to let the shooting begin. Carefully, no grasping, so as not to disturb the native ears.
Once begun, as shooting is under way and one has had enough and moves away, the other visitors to the tree present, one by one, for a picture, to represent.
And so it goes … While the shooter is busy seeing what’s there the visitors are busy with their own search, of what’s in the air and under the surface. I’m sure they have a care.
For what they find is no small thing, to them, danger or boon will cause them to sing, in their way. Have you ever heard a shield-bug cry out, or have a fling …
Well, they don’t remember the pain to compare so shout for joy they don’t. Except in pain they may cry, that none can avoid. The experience is true though, the same for I, or you.
The difference being they don’t interpret and start to think, to keep them from the brink, of suffering man who cannot help but sink.
But it’s not the end, just something along the way, until thinking no longer holds sway.
And that, my friend, is another story, for another day.
Then, when the gasping trying goes the still and quiet comes and one appears, to let the shooting begin. Carefully, no grasping, so as not to disturb the native ears.
Once begun, as shooting is under way and one has had enough and moves away, the other visitors to the tree present, one by one, for a picture, to represent.
And so it goes … While the shooter is busy seeing what’s there the visitors are busy with their own search, of what’s in the air and under the surface. I’m sure they have a care.
For what they find is no small thing, to them, danger or boon will cause them to sing, in their way. Have you ever heard a shield-bug cry out, or have a fling …
Well, they don’t remember the pain to compare so shout for joy they don’t. Except in pain they may cry, that none can avoid. The experience is true though, the same for I, or you.
The difference being they don’t interpret and start to think, to keep them from the brink, of suffering man who cannot help but sink.
But it’s not the end, just something along the way, until thinking no longer holds sway.
And that, my friend, is another story, for another day.
A HAPPY PENTAX USER
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