Tag Archives: white rose

Day 181 – Hiding in the petals

I was able to work from home today and that meant that I didn’t have to leave the house early in the morning.  Taking advantage of the extra time before my “work day” started, I headed out to photograph the backyard in the early morning light. Today was watering day and the flowers still held droplets of water from the sprinklers.

And then there is the purple sage . . .

The flowers are indeed lovely, but they also attract some six-legged creatures.  I’ve given up trying to avoid them, and now seek them out.

After fighting with VPN and reports all day I slipped out into the backyard once again, and guess what I found hiding in the roses? Anyone know what this little guy is? And he was teeny. A grasshopper? Cricket? Locust?

Day 160 – Roses and Mended Hearts

Same rose, different treatment.

HDR:

Black and White:

On another note, Sweetie and I will be hitting the road for the Bay Area this afternoon to be in Oakland for the Congenital Heart Walk. As many of you know, I have a congenital heart defect and am doing my part to bring awareness and dollars for research and care. It’s not too late to make a donation to support me and this worthwhile cause. In case you didn’t know, congenital heart defects are the #1 birth defect in the United States, affecting more than 40,000 babies a year, yet we hardly ever hear about it. Thanks to medical advances, those of us who may have been condemned to an early demise are living well into adulthood and living pretty normal lives but CHD requires a lifetime of care, and so I walk.

Day 149 – My roses are not flawless

But they have the most wondrous perfume.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

~ William Shakespeare, Sonnet 130