Our faith sought…

Our faith sought…, originally uploaded by M’sheArt2.

Wherever forests have not been mowed down, wherever the animal is recessed in their quiet protection,

wherever the earth is not bereft of four-footed life – that to the white man is an ‘unbroken wilderness.’
But for us there was no wilderness, nature was not dangerous but hospitable, not forbidding but friendly.

Our faith sought the harmony of man with his surroundings; the other sought the dominance of surroundings.
For us, the world was full of beauty; for the other, it was a place to be endured until he went to another world.

But we were wise. We knew that man’s heart, away from nature, becomes hard.”

❥~❀ Chief Luther Standing Bear

Advertisements

I like this place…

I like this place...
I like this place… Originally uploaded by M’sheArt2

“I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.”
~  William Shakespeare

Henry’s Shell

Henry's Shell

Originally uploaded by M’sheArt2.

Posted for the Macro Monday group; the theme this week is shell.
Happy Monday. xx


I
‘ll leave you with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem

The Sea Diver

My way is on the bright blue sea,

 My sleep upon its rocking tide;
And many an eye has followed me
 Where billows clasp the worn seaside.

My plumage bears the crimson blush,
 When ocean by the sun is kissed!
When fades the evening’s purple flush,
 My dark wing cleaves the silver mist.

Full many a fathom down beneath
 The bright arch of the splendid deep
My ear has heard the sea-shell breathe
 O’er living myriads in their sleep.

They rested by the coral throne,
 And by the pearly diadem;
Where the pale sea-grape had o’ergrown
 The glorious dwellings made for them.

At night upon my storm-drench’d wing,
 I poised above a helmless bark,
And soon I saw the shattered thing
 Had passed away and left no mark.

And when the wind and storm were done,
 a ship, that had rode out the gale,
Sunk down, without a signal-gun,
 And none was left to tell the tale.

I saw the pomp of day depart–
 The cloud resign its golden crown,
When to the ocean’s beating heart
 The sailor’s wasted corse went down.

Peace be to those whose graves are made
 Beneath the bright and silver sea!
Peace – that their relics there were laid
With no vain pride and pageantry.