Tiny question to billionaires

Gosh. No post for a couple of days.

And the stories lying on the street (at least this is what the avarage young would-be journalist will once, twice, thrice etc. been told in the beginning of what he's very probably sure will become a great career.

Three months ago I would not know how to spell shornalist, and today already I am one, eh?

Wow, ... writing German I could go on and on and on ...

Now did I decide to not blogging in German.

Thus, my fault, hm?

Ha ha ha.

Anyway. All this just to tell that there's much to learn about life when - after having rubbed her neck, back and knees with oinments - listening to a woman without teeth.

You're smiling? You don't believe?

Alright. But one example: You can be a billionaire. However, what do your billions help when you can't go on toilette?

The peace of the night.

[...] to be anything but ...

[...] the laboring man has not leisure for a true integrity day by day ; he cannot afford to sustain the manliest relations to men ; his labor would be depreciated in the market. He has no time to be anything but an earthworm*."
Thoreau, Walden

* Err, don't know how it could happen. Please replace an earthworm by a machine.

Same sight, different view

Well, for yesterday's post I chose a photo taken in April, around Eastern.
That's why the Osterglocken (Easterbells = daffodils) meanwhile are withered, and thus today it looks a bit different: Narcissi & Co. have taken their place, the hazeltrees have put on their foliacious skirt. Only Forest Bulb remains as it is.

Of warmth, worms and extasy

The sunshine bathes in clouds of many hues
And mornings feet are gemmed with early dews
Warm Daffodils about the garden beds
Peep thro their pale slim leaves their golden heads
Sweet earthly suns of spring—the Gosling broods
In coats of sunny green about the road
Waddle in extacy—and in rich moods
The old hen leads her flickering chicks abroad
Oft scuttling neath her wings to see the kite
Hang wavering o'er them in the springs blue light
The sparrows round their new nests chirp with glee
And sweet the Robin springs young luxury shares
Tuteling its song in feathery Gooseberry tree
While watching worms the Gardeners spade unbears

John Clare (1798 - 1864) Home Pictures in May

More poems by John Clare are to be found on this fine site.

I've been reading a lot

Much reading has brought upon us a learned barbarism.
Lichtenberg (1742-1799)

Instead of words