This old barn was one of many old, really old buildings on this property we drove past on Sunday. The old man was walking hunched a little to his sheets that were flapping on the clothes line. Two old wooden posts with some wire stretched between.
I spotted these little guys everywhere the other day. All along our fence line a mass of these weeds grow and obviously lady beatles love them. And they have no shame either.
We have that choice don't we, to say the things we know we shouldn't, but they will hurt someone and right now that's what we want to do. To stick it to them, well we do, sometimes. I choose not to say them. I choose not to hear the sarcasm, or the anger, or the bitterness in things said to me either. Instead I will try to say something to heal the pain, to show that I care, to help in someway.
My tomatoes, berry tomatoes by the way, are popping out all over. I love the hairy, sticky stems and the spiky curled up hats they wear. The smell of ripe tomatoes, oh is there anything better, well fresh lemons maybe, just maybe.
Light travels faster than sound. That's why some people seem bright until you hear them speak.