Goodbye to a Friend

She was such a good friend.

Wagging her tail, twisting in a circle &

whining all the while holding a shoe or stick

lightly in her teeth. Oh so happy to see everyone.

I will miss you my Penny girl.

A Winter With No Snow

 So this winter we have had less then a quarter of the usual snowfall (as you can tell from these pictures) :( However, it will probably make for the lack of snow in April or May when I am dying for spring Not snow!

Anyways I took these a few weeks ago and finally got around to downloading them to the computer.

A Happy Valentines Day to All and Sundry!

"Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds. . . [it] alters not with

his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of 

doom."

~William Shakespeare~

Whitman's Tribute to the Great Lincoln

Okay so I must admit that in the past this poem has not been a favorite. The few times I was assigned to read it I would lets be nice and say that I "skimmed."
Well, a couple of days ago I was browsing through a volume of poems and came across this one and decided to read it. 
Umm it brought tears to my eyes! 
So now I have dedicated myself to memorize it :)
Anyways here is a new favorite of mine.


O Captain! My Captain!


O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: 

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

-Walt Whitman-