I’m not going to be the black sheep of the family anymore.
(
online foto from my.opera.com)
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Her shirt reads, "Support the Wildlife~Have a Party"
About Me
Favorite Links
- 365 Days of Slow Cooking
- Almost Unschoolers-making Sun Bread
- Amy Thueson
- And the Record is True
- Dana Cockrum
- Janae' Thompson
- Latter-Day Homeschooling
- Linda Nooner
- Meridian Magazine
- Michelle and John Moll/private
- Noggins and Nonsense: a homeschooling blog
- Teaching the Proclamation to Your Children
- Teresa Burton
- The Art Blog of Sharon Kennick
- The Homeschool Classroom
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
— John Gillespie Magee, Jr
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
— John Gillespie Magee, Jr
My momma
Her shirt reads, "Support the Wildlife~Have a Party"
Human nature will not flourish, anymore than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn out soil. My children have had other birthplaces, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth.
--Nathaniel Hawthorne “The Custom House”
--Nathaniel Hawthorne “The Custom House”
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