Mountains rise over mountains and smoke from valleys;
the dust of the world can never touch the white gulls.
The old fisherman is by no means disinterested;
he owns, in his boat, the moon over the west river.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
there's nothing like stories
quiet moments in nature
Art and Literature Beyond Borders
A bird's eye view of St. George, Utah
Keep on Reading
Chronicling an ever-changing city through faded and forgotten artifacts
I read, rant and write ;)
Sono una donna libera. Nel mio blog farete un viaggio lungo e profondo nei pensieri della mente del cuore e dell anima.
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Se non combatti per costruire la tua vita non ti rimarrà niente
THE RUSH HOUR BLOG
Becky Ross Michael: author & editor
We are all just babes in the woods.
Poetry, Opinion, Politics
Leonard Durso 
Nice moon poems lately. Such a moon out there too.
I once wrote “contrails at night are prettier.” Tonight I saw contrail at night through clouds and they are prettiest.
The moon seems to attract us all.
And birds. Seems a thing poets and birds.
Seasons, too, and what they bring.
and no-one can take it from him
Right.