SUNFLOWER CHILD

I am watching you,
Sunflower child,
darting from friend
to acquaintance, uncertain,
searching for the goblet
from which you can drink
and be satisfied....

wanting to taste the wine which will
leave you feeling accepted,
safe… needing a person
who will speak your
love language…

I am watching you,
you who do not know that
your personality can
stop wars and your smile
can mend a thousand bridges

…that the love language you
speak can transcend race and
nationalities

It is easy to take up place
in the hearts of men, a place
they would be honoured to
give…. it is easy to love you
Sunflower Child

Pablo Loves Life



Sunflowers and Black-Eyed Susans brought to you courtesy of "Gewels's Garden"

Costa Rican Horse Parade

To my utter joy we stumbled upon the Horse Parade in Liberia, Costa Rica. At least 500 horses (and riders) were in attendance. What was even better, though, were the number of Andalusians. These horses give me goosebumps.
They ranged in color from the purest white (albino, I'm assuming) to gray (most common color) to black.
I must admit the white ones took my breath away.

The riders were quite varied as well. From the old, grizzled cowboys to young cocky beer-drinking twenty-somethings to women in traditional Costa Rican dress.
I just wonder how the clean-up was done. After all this parade wound down the center of city streets.

This one almost looks like a carousel horse.
An Albino Andalusian? Or, maybe not because of the dark eyes. I don't know.

I would LOVE one of these horses. Of course, when I showed a photo of one of these to my friend,Travis, he said that no-one should ever have a pet prettier than they are. I guess I'll have to risk it.

COSTA RICAN SUNSETS

When painters leave this world, we grieve
For the hand that will work no more,
But who can say that they rest alway
On that still celestial shore?
No! No! they choose from the rainbow hues,
And winging from Paradise,
They come to paint, now bold now faint,
The tones of our sunset skies.


When I see them there I can almost swear
That grey is from Whistler's brain!
That crimson flush was Turner's brush!
And the gold is Claude Lorraine.

William Percy French