What's your point of view?
Precision, precision. Not much of a hair on this guy (he was shaved) except for his eyelashes! Every follicle has a stubble. Every stubble has a follicle.
Traveling the path of life. What seat will you take? The slow, or fast lane?
Will you take chances? Make a bet on your future? Go for the dream?
use the gifts that are born in you?
A favorite childhood story that was told to me and my three brothers as a night time story by my Father. He loved to act it out. We were only a little scared.
Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby
click here for the entire story:
A Georgia Folktale
Brer Rabbit's eyes got very large. "Oh please Brer Fox, whatever you do, please don't throw me into the briar patch."
"Maybe I should roast you over a fire and eat you," mused Brer Fox. "No, that's too much trouble. Maybe I'll hang you instead."
"Roast me! Hang me! Do whatever you please," said Brer Rabbit. "Only please, Brer Fox, please don't throw me into the briar patch."
"If I'm going to hang you, I'll need some string," said Brer Fox. "And I don't have any string handy. But the stream's not far away, so maybe I'll drown you instead."
"Drown me! Roast me! Hang me! Do whatever you please," said Brer Rabbit. "Only please, Brer Fox, please don't throw me into the briar patch."
"The briar patch, eh?" said Brer Fox. "What a wonderful idea! You'll be torn into little pieces!"
Grabbing up the tar-covered rabbit, Brer Fox swung him around and around and then flung him head over heels into the briar patch. Brer Rabbit let out such a scream as he fell that all of Brer Fox's fur stood straight up. Brer Rabbit fell into the briar bushes with a crash and a mighty thump. Then there was silence.
Brer Fox cocked one ear toward the briar patch, listening for whimpers of pain. But he heard nothing. Brer Fox cocked the other ear toward the briar patch, listening for Brer Rabbit's death rattle. He heard nothing.
Then Brer Fox heard someone calling his name. He turned around and looked up the hill. Brer Rabbit was sitting on a log combing the tar out of his fur with a wood chip and looking smug.
"I was bred and born in the briar patch, Brer Fox," he called. "Born and bred in the briar patch."
And Brer Rabbit skipped away as merry as a cricket while Brer Fox ground his teeth in rage and went home.
Born to run, born to win!
"The long walk back, after the fall."
I have never competed in a horse show. I am basically in awe of the riders and the horses when I do attend a show. They are so brave and committed. Rider after rider they compete. Up and over the jumps, perfection, perfection! The horses are REGAL. They have a stoic stance. They know they are brilliant, and champions. Until…
Rarely, do you see a fall. There is a hush over the audience when I rider competes. But, there is even more of a hush after a fall. The silence is extreme. Nobody looks at the rider. Here, even the judge avoids eye contact. They say, a photograph is worth a thousand words.
What do you see?
The horse, obviously is now not stoic. Head down, eyes squinted. His entire body posture looks like he wishes to sink into the sand. But, look at the feet. He is in sync with his rider and her legs. Still partners, through and through. Right legs back, left legs forward. Head at her side on a loose rein. Partners.
The neon red sign of her score. The long walk back.