June is my land in time, my dearest season, the kindest of lights to my heart.
This is an odd June, however. The first in three that I spend far from Israel - my reason for wistfulness. The late spring is keeping me coughing and sneezing long out of date, draining my energy. And, then, there is the weariness of worrying about indispensable things, which barely leaves room for that sacred space so much yearned for.
I do not want to lose myself in my land this year. So I am bound to nurture both - and I do it with poetry. That of my teachers, which hangs on the stage like ripen fruit to be grabbed and savoured. That of my companions, which grows from notebooks and screens with delicious boldness. And, of course, that of the ones who know the source of all strength.
Of edible flowers
As above I decided to water it with a confetti made from petals of various edible flowers, cosmos, daisies, Chinese carnations ... This is a simple chocolate mousse with cream that instead of individual cups I opted for an oreo base and give it a cake shape.
SOLD Two-Tone Gabbanelli - GCF-FBbEb - Sol and Fa SOLD This is a two-tone Gabbanelli in GCF / FBbEb for $ 1500.00. Sold Sold Hohner Corona II / FBE can change to GCF / Made in Germany - Late 1970s model in excellent condition.
Essentials of the Spirit: Claude Monet
His artistic inclinations were born of the contact with Boudin in Le Havre, and the excursions to the field and the beach during its adolescence oriented the later development of its painting.
Just yesterday I read these lines on a letter by Emily Dickinson: "I found a bird, this morning, down - on a little bush at the foot of the garden, and wherefore sing, I said, since nobody hears? One under the throat, one flutter of my bosom - 'My business is to sing' - and away she rose. How do I know but cherubim, eleven, themselves, as patient, listened and applauded her unnoticed hymn? ".
June is my land in time, my station dearest, for my heart.
This, however, is being a strange June. It is the first of three that I step away from Israel - my reason for nostalgia. Spring Remission has me coughing and sneezing out of date and drain my energy in vain. And then there is the arid concern for indispensable things, which scarcely leaves room for that sacred space which I so much need.Just yesterday I read these lines in a letter from Emily Dickinson: "I found a bird this morning - down - down - on a small shrub at the foot of the garden, and why do you sing, I said, since no one hears? A sob in the throat, a throbbing in the chest - "My task is to sing" - and took flight! How do I know if the cherubim, themselves so patient, did not listen and applaud their unheard-of hymn ever? ".