Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it.
Be careful what you water your dreams with. Water them with worry and fear and you will produce weeds that choke the life from your dream. Water them with optimism and solutions and you will cultivate success. Always be on the lookout for ways to turn a problem into an opportunity for success. Always be on the lookout for ways to nurture your dream.
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.
WISHING ALL OF YOU A GREAT WEEK
The flowers of late winter and early spring occupy places in our hearts well out of proportion to their size.
Gertrude S. Wister
The little bird, the white throated dipper is a very entertaining bird.
People who know the bird’s behaviour smile in recognition when one refers to the bird’s one-man show.
The white throated dipper is Norway’s national bird.
When winter is hard in Norway, the dipper flies on holiday in Denmark. Ornithologists will probably express it differently, but I like the idea that the bird keeps a well-deserved holiday in a mild climate.
Besides the current Norwegian name Fossekall; ‘Waterfall Call’, the dipper has many dialect names in Norway.
Among these are Elveprest; ‘River Priest’ and Kvemkall; ‘Mill Shell’.
The dipper has at least 70 different local names in Norway, and at least 50-60 are known from Sweden.
You can read much more about the bird on Wikipedia and listen to its song.
The hoarse cries of a raven put me in adventure mood. A few kilometres further on, only the creaking of snow under my shoes breaks the silence, This is an amazing day after the blizzard and the light makes my heart sing.
I’m grateful for being alive.
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the withered air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, and housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
The Snow-Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson