too much really!
This is totally stolen from someone elses profile I admit it ,its
not mine but its so damn beautiful that I want share it with others
.
- In the forest, high up on the steep shore, and not far from the
open seacoast, stood a very old oak-tree. It was just three hundred
and sixty-five years old, but that long time was to the tree as the
same number of days might be to us; we wake by day and sleep by
night, and then we have our dreams. It is different with the tree;
it is obliged to keep awake through three seasons of the year, and
does not get any sleep till winter comes. Winter is its time for
rest; its night after the long day of spring, summer, and
autumn.
On many a warm summer, the Ephemera, the flies that exist for only
a day, had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life and felt happy
and if, for a moment, one of the tiny creatures rested on one of
his large fresh leaves, the tree would always say, “Poor little
creature! your whole life consists only of a single day. How very
short. It must be quite melancholy.”
“Melancholy! what do you mean?” the little creature would always
reply. “Everything around me is so wonderfully bright and warm, and
beautiful, that it makes me joyous.”
“But only for one day, and then it is all over.”
“Over!” repeated the fly; “what is the meaning of all over? Are you
all over too?”
“No; I shall very likely live for thousands of your days, and my
day is whole seasons long; indeed it is so long that you could
never reckon it out.”
“No? then I don’t understand you. You may have thousands of my
days, but I have thousands of moments in which I can be merry and
happy. Does all the beauty of the world cease when you die?”
“No,” replied the tree; “it will certainly last much longer—
infinitely longer than I can even think of.” “Well, then,” said the
little fly, “we have the same time to live; only we reckon
differently.”
And the little creature danced and floated in the air, rejoicing in
her delicate wings of gauze and velvet, rejoicing in the balmy
breezes, laden with the fragrance of clover-fields and wild roses,
elder-blossoms and honeysuckle, from the garden hedges, wild thyme,
primroses, and mint, and the scent of all these was so strong that
the perfume almost intoxicated the little fly.
The long and beautiful day had been so full of joy and sweet
delights, that when the sun sank low it felt tired of all its
happiness and enjoyment. Its wings could sustain it no longer, and
gently and slowly it glided down upon the soft waving blades of
grass, nodded its little head as well as it could nod, and slept
peacefully and sweetly. The fly was dead.
I once had a vegan chicken fried steak in portland , it was so
fucking amazing ! I still think about how tasty that meal was
.
How I can hold my one footed trackstands even longer .