Who among us is not. A hollow space, prayers. And the shocking light of dawn? There was a child in Florence. His hair a vine of blackened split rope. Woven in knots, brushed back. His face was a moon,. White, smooth, often in shadow. As he hurried the familiar cobbled route. From the Mercado Centrale,. Carrying bread for the week. And a few precious pieces of salted meat. She waited, knowing her only son.

I plan to write about and enter photos of all that but meanwhile I am going back to the earlier time soon after we moved down to sw Victoria. Linlithgow, lovely lake, well once it was,. To this place closer to needy son in Adelaide. Yet not too far from Melbourne.

Today, I sit back losing one of the most important denizens of my life. Not materialistic but something which can breath. I wonder how powerless are we? What have we got? We studied the whole human body but, we cant make anything similar. We have studied history of whole world but, can never learn from it. What are we? The denizen is my grand mother. 8220;What you do? 8221; The man asked.

I was given some yellow zucchini from our delightful 75yr.

Liguster- und Tuja hecken säumen nun unser Grundstück ein und auch ein paar Bäume haben wir noch angeschafft, nachdem unsere 3 ersten Bäume den Wühlmäusen zum Opfer gefallen sind. Beim Besuch einer anderen Glücksb.