Here are the photos, loved by me a lot

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Thought of the week

Extra ordinary people not do different things

They do things differently

The Solitary Reaper

A voice so thrilling ne'er heard

In spring time from cuckoo-bird

Breaking the silence of the seas

Amoung the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things

And battles long ago

Or is it some motre humble lay

Familier matter of to-day?

Same natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

that has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang

As if her song could have no ending

I saw her singing at her work

And o'er the sticle bending

I listen'd, motionless and still

And as i mounted up the hill

The music in my heart I bore

Long after it was heard no more

- William Wordsworth

The road not taken

Two roads divergedin a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long i stood

And I looked down one as far as i could

To where it bent in the undergrowth,

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear

Thought as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morninig equally lay,

In leaves no step had trodden black

Oh! I kept the first for another day

yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if i should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence,

Two roads diverged in a wodd, and I-

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference

- Robert Frost

A Window Away

I look out of my window what do I see?
A cardinal, a blue jay and a chickadee.

They sit on my feeder or in my tree,
They're fun to watch and company.

When I here them sing thier pretty song,
My worries and cares are gone.

Hummingbirds engoy my flower,
Succulent nectar they love to devour

The chipmunk fills his cheeks
With seed that he seeks.

He scurries away back to his dain
Then comes back for seeds again

Rabbits run, hop and play
On the wonderful sunny day

Mother nature is a window away
I am thankful for this every day.

-Sandi Vander Sluis

STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near ;
He will not see me stopping here,
Between the woods and frogen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake;
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep;
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost