a Sweet humble life. I chanced upon this little mongrel named Mocha in a make-shift “home”. My stay is too brief but we are already friends through tongue sticking out, tail wagging and paw shaking.
Peek at an underwater space.
I took these pictures quite sometime ago when I visited Monterey Bay Aquarium. I have forgotten all about the bright red octopus which disappointed many by persisting to hide in its underwater garden/cave. There is nothing much to see except a tentacle with suckers. The aquarium describes it to be “an amazing creature—brainy and beautiful…In our exhibit, you may have to look closely to find the octopus, as these animals can change their skin color to blend in with the rocks around them, and even this species, the largest octopus in the world, can squeeze itself into tiny, out-of-the-way spaces.” So here is just a peek of the amazing creature.
In a way this octopus is like human. Don’t we all choose to allow a mere peek in many aspects of our life? I am not talking about the virtual world. Even in real life we keep to our personal space. Why is it that the more civilized we are the more exclusive and distant we strive to become? I read that the Giant Pacific octopus spends most of its life alone. While it chooses to be a hermit, it can learn to open jars, play with toys, and interact with its handlers. It can mimic other octopuses. It is a master of disguise. Near the end of her three years’ life the female will find a once in her lifetime mate and reproduces. Here is a touching description of the heroic sacrificial mother.
“The mother octopus lives in the cave for up to seven months as the curtain of eggs develops, fanning the eggs with her arms or contracting her body to shoot streams of oxygen- and nutrient-rich water over them. She doesn’t eat during this time and usually dies shortly after the young hatch.” (Monterey Bay Aquarium)
Given a last line I would add that she is probably more capable of true love than many.
via Daily Prompt: Realize I now realize that this is a mysterious shot taken at Sep 12, 2015, 11:35 PM according to the description. But I cannot remember how I could have gone outside to take this photo at such a late hour! When I check other photos taken on the same day I find that they depict daytime and not night. How could I have taken some photos in the morning, paused for a whole day, and went out again just to take this one picture? It does not make sense. Anyway I give up guessing. It does not matter. The story in the picture is nice to ponder: it seems to tell of a mysterious setting for a rendezvous for at least two. The dark trees, the traffic junction, the lamp post, the distant low mounds, and the sun captured in its yellow water-color painted sky backdrop. The setting stirs up a writer’s imagination without boundary.
By the way, because the lamps seem not lit I conclude that this picture was taken in the day and not at night. It did not really matter whether it was day or night. I was alone that day and not meeting anyone.
“There is a mysterious cycle in human events. To some generations much is given. Of other generations much is expected. This generation of Americans has a rendezvous with destiny.” (Franklin D. Roosevelt)
a story of a Tree and a house.
This is a strange picture. At a glance it may look an ordinary snap shot on a fine day, but when I look closer I see a blending of the trees in the foreground and the house at the back. It looks as if the tree has grown onto the wall of the house and some parts have climbed and covered the roof. The trees were actually planted on the upper slope and the house was at a lower ground. When I look this photo I was attracted by the lovely blue sky and did not notice the effect of the trees on the house. It was late September last year. I had newly arrived in this new place and was fascinated with the sky. It is too late to ask why the tree that looked like it plastered itself onto the wall was in such a state? It looked as if it did not belong. Perhaps it would be restored in spring. I never managed to find out as I left and moved on eventually. I do wonder whether the road side trees were planted by someone else. They were not meant to be part of anything except to adorn the roadside and give shade to joggers like me. The house too was not meant to be part of the scene. It just happened to be there and caught at random together with the tree on camera. Strange how life too could turn out this way for two totally unrelated beings. In this case, a tree and a house.
I am reading a book translated from Spanish. The narrator (in first person who started as a young boy of ten years old) described his finding a book which so intrigued him he grew up with it and engaged himself with finding its author’s own life story. He was led to investigate the background of the author and got involved with people associated with the author’s past. The book was about finding the author of another book and his story. A very simple theme. What did the narrator do? He merely went and asked questions from people the other author used to know. I find this book convincingly real even though it was meant to tell another person’s story. By telling others’ life stories the narrator tells his own life story too. Clever. Stories are being written daily even at this very moment by many individuals. Some intersperse with others. Some stand alone. All are about living one way or the other. All use words. Words become alive when they describe or record life. How did humans first discover this way of preserving life, even though it can only be mere moments captured at interval in time and space? Was it by chance? A mystery to our mind. But I do believe that the Creator programed human with this in mind. What is the purpose behind each record of life? Again a mystery. Some records (books) fail to last or worse, to be read at all. Some records last a longer time. But none can boast immortality. So what is the point of writing a book? Why do I write words? I write because I love. Even if it’s a fleeting moment. I love life. Words are life.