Tiny harbinger

On first sight there's nothing special,
when last Sunday I went to feed the birds.

Snow, birds- and cat tracks, some scrubs.
However, what a delight ...

... on second sight.

Tracks getting less deep

Comparing the tracks one could find in Seanhenge

during January,

those in March are less deep.
So there's hope ...

the snow shovel can soon be put asleep.

The Secret of Kiltish Powers

The "second sight" possessed by the Highlanders in Scotland is actually a foreknowledge of future events. I believe they possess this gift because they don't wear trousers.
Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1742-1799)

Cyclone Xynthia as terrific goalgetter

There will very probably be a replay. As the ref's decision ought to have been: corner.

Well, on the other hand, what do I know about football? :)

Her Voice His Eyes

Otherness is no sin

Suppose I should stick to silently writing

To think
I must be alone:
To love
We must be together.

I think I love you
When I'm alone
More than I think of you
When we're together.

I cannot think
Without loving
Or love
Without thinking

Alone I love
To think of us together
Together I think
I'd love to be alone.

Richard Murphy

Never wake a lazy lion

Ladies and gentlemen,
Dames en heren,
Bayanlar, Baylar,
Signoras e Signori,
Señoras y Señores,
Mesdames et Messieurs,
Friends,

I am so sorry to cause inconviences.

Some religious nutters cause me, in a first step to ask for word verification. As soon as the lady and the gentleman* (or the machine) get tired and thus decide to focus on other poor bloggers, I shall return to easy business as usual.


* My esteemed readers will notice that on my quest to become the politest blogger in this universe and those yet to discover, I did not call mentioned lady and gentleman names.
Otherwise, I'd say they are fucking idiots.

The peace of the night.

Perhaps, perhaps

Astronomy is perhaps the science whose discoveries owe least to chance, in which human understanding appears in its whole magnitude, and through which man can best learn how small he is.
Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1742-1799)

One cat a day ... ?

Yesterday a blackbird, used to find ...

(at least) one apple a day in Seanhenge,

looking left ...

looking right ...

hardly could believe its eyes.

Forest Bulb: Some thought I were Venus

Well, as promised for today's Laughing Lhursday, here's the metagrobolistic subject of Seanstronomy, observed in daytime.

I think from now on I shall call this star Forest Bulb.

As now :) can (perhaps) easily be seen it's neither Venus, Moon, nor Mars, but the good old bulb at the edge of our good old greenhouse which - mind you, the greenhouse, not the bulb - once, deep in the past millennium, was build mainly from old windows by our father (never would have come to my mind he was "but" my father-in-law) who whenever I'd admire his various skills (and how often I would!) accompanied by his unique tiny smile used to say (and still I do have his voice in my ear): "Sean, you can well be stupid as long as you know how to help yourself."

By the way: See the bright spot on the western side of Forest Bulb's northern hemisphere, pretty near to its equator? That's the sun.

Well, I am pretty sure that someone who on first sight knows to distinguish Mars from a bulb [see here, in the comment section] will probably insist on that it's rather a reflection of the sun, or to put it more precisely ... here's your turn, Andrew. :)

And now, getting hungry, I'll dedicate myself to something completely different. Bertus would call it minestronology.

Chill out with Chopin

Long live Heine

Our death is in the cool of night,
our life is in the pool of day.
The darkness glows, I’m drowning,
the day has tired me with light.

Over my head in leaves grown deep,
sings the young nightingale.
It only sings of love there,
I hear it in my sleep.

Heinrich Heine (13.12. 1797 - 17.02. 1856)