John, thank you for photographing these beautiful feather friends in London. You are a true diamond to all friends and followers of my blog. Friends, may I present the universal symbolism of freedom... they can walk on ground, swim in the sea, and enjoy soaring into the sky. I see these babies as hope, joy... love!
Friedrich Nietzsche said "In reality, hope is the worst of all evils because it prolongs man's torments." Interesting, isn't it? How about you? What is hope to you?
Hope keeps me going in my life. It gives me a reason to smile in my darkest days. It gives me a happier vision for the days to come. And when I start daydreaming... I know hope will make it all better, in time.
Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops...at all. (Emily Dickinson)
When there's a flicker of hope... joy will trickle into our hearts. Joy is like a bird which, when pursued, flies farther and higher. However, if you be still and take notice of your surroundings, joy can be just right there staring at you.. waiting for your recognition, appreciation, and embrace.
You have to believe in happiness, or happiness never comes.. Ah, that's the reason a bird can sing - On his darkest day he believes in spring. (Douglas Malloch)
Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent. (William Wordsworth)
Love in my life is what makes me happiest of all. Love is magical to me. It starts off slow and cautious, and as it grows, miracles happen. At times, it may seemed as though it had disappeared from the face of the earth, but it will reappear again when the time is right. Love brings hope. Love is joy. Take away love and our souls die a slow death.
Walking hand in hand... smiling at each other with our eyes... enjoying wine... moonlight kisses... enjoying little moments in life... is what I call "love".
If a bird falls in love with a fish, where would they live?
Who gets the fins and who loses the wings?
It's an irony.
That's how cruel but poetic love can be.
