HANNA'S WALK

The silence of snow

There are strange and mysterious sounds
When the winds of winter blow,
The long nights are crystal clear and cold,
And the fields and meadows are covered with snow.
The stars are frosty against the sky,
And the wind’s whistle is shrill,
As the snow blows against the house
And drifts against the hill.
Yet, I like to see during the winter
A white carpet on the ground,
To plod aimlessly in the deep snow,
where deer tracks abound.
I like to feel the stillness
Of a crisp winter’s night,
Watching a full moon rise over the horizon,
Exposing a winter wonderland beautiful and bright.

Winter Wonderland by Joseph T. Renaldi

If possible, pack your lunch and go out into the wild.
Enjoy nature and leave only your footprints behind ❤

When the gold is on the willow

When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
Not hoary hair or heavy care can still my wild desire
To race across the uplands, over Memory’s tender turf,
And dive out of my sorrows in the dogwood’s bloomy surf.
O blue were violets in our youth, and blue were April skies,
And blue the early song-bird’s wings, but bluer were the eyes
That, in that land of long ago, looked thro’ the window pane,
And saw the tulips nod to us amid the slanting rain,
Where all the dusk was glowing with our ruddy cottage fire,
When the gold was on the willow, and the purple on the brier.

When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
The ducats of the dandelions have paid old Winter’s hire,
And sent him shuffling northward in garb of tattered snow;
White-tasseled birches after him their balmy odors throw.
Carousing in the bramble brake the brown bees, boozing, sip,
And up the river’s cataracts the shining salmon slip.
The schoolboy’s spirit leaveth him upon the weary seat,
And over loamy furrows leaps, with lightsome heart, to greet
The chipmunk on the mossy wall, the bullfrog in the mire,
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier.

When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
He whistles the cantata of the blackbird’s noisy choir,
And all the murmurous music of a manumitted stream
Sings soft around his naked feet, where shallow ripples gleam,
As if the loops of crystal wherein the lad doth wade
Had threaded through the lilies of some Paradise arcade,
And little laughing angels had tucked their tunics high,
To plash across its limpid shoals before it left the sky;
And still it lilts the melody of lute, and harp, and lyre,
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier.

When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
It may be sin to say it, but I fear that I shall tire
Of heaven’s eternal summer, and sometimes I will yearn
To see across the greening swale, a budding maple burn.
My soul can ne’er be satisfied where sweet Spring never hath
Her way along the mountain side or by the meadow path,
Where kingcups never catch the sun, or bluebells mock the sky,
Or trout beneath the foam-wreaths hide, or bass jump at the fly,
And, in some homesick moment, for a furlough I’ll inquire,
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier.
By Robert Mcintyre

The Willow

Winter Wonderland

There are strange and mysterious sounds
When the winds of winter blow,
The long nights are crystal clear and cold,
And the fields and meadows are covered with snow.
The stars are frosty against the sky,
And the wind’s whistle is shrill,
As the snow blows against the house
And drifts against the hill.
Yet, I like to see during the winter
A white carpet on the ground,
To plod aimlessly in the deep snow,
where deer tracks abound.
I like to feel the stillness
Of a crisp winter’s night,
Watching a full moon rise over the horizon,
Exposing a winter wonderland beautiful and bright.
Joseph T. Renaldi

DSC09789

A Belt Excavator and the JCB Song

I was heading towards the lake today. There are road works in many places, and as I passed a belt excavator it reminded me of this song; The JCB Song.
Have you ever passed a construction site with a five-year old child. They are able to stand there for hours checking every little detail.

Today wasn’t a day for standing still. The cold weather is here to stay for awhile.
I met a man at the lake. It is very refreshing, he greeted me. Fie! What a cold, and I forgot my hat.
Remember your Beanie or your hat! Your head emit a lot of heat – in fact, up to 75% of your body heat.

Happy Walk ❤

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Frozen lake - Lyngby SøJeg var på vej mod Lyngby Sø i dag. Der er vejarbejde mange steder, og da jeg passerede en gravemaskine, mindede den mig om denne sang; The JCB Song. Har du nogensinde passeret en byggeplads med et fem år gammelt barn? De er i stand til at stå der i timevis, og ingen detalje er for lille.

I dag var ikke en dag at stå stille. Det kolde vejr er kommet for at blive i et stykke tid. Jeg mødte en mand ved søen. “Det er meget friskt i dag, men fy! Hvor er det koldt, og jeg glemt min hat”.
Husk din Beanie eller din kasket! Dit hoved udsender en masse varme – faktisk op til 75% af din kropsvarme.

God tur ❤

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