Showing posts with label 495688. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 495688. Show all posts

Sunday, December 24, 2023

If you could hie to kolob


 

2001 a space odessey


 

👻 Sure, I’d love to! Here’s a funny story about a ghost:

  Sure, I’d love to! Here’s a funny story about a ghost:

Once upon a time, there was a friendly ghost named Casper. He loved to play pranks on people, but he was never mean-spirited. One day, he decided to play a trick on a group of kids who were camping in the woods. He snuck up behind them and made spooky noises, causing them to run away in terror.

But Casper didn’t stop there. He followed the kids back to their campsite and started moving their things around. He put the sleeping bags in the trees, the food in the fire pit, and the chairs in the lake. The kids were so scared that they didn’t even notice what was happening.

Finally, Casper decided to reveal himself. He floated down from the trees and said, “Boo!” The kids were surprised, but then they started laughing. They realized that Casper had been playing a joke on them the whole time.

From that day on, Casper became friends with the kids. He would visit them every time they went camping and play more pranks on them. But the kids didn’t mind. They knew that Casper was just having fun, and they loved him for it.

I hope you enjoyed this story! Let me know if you want to hear another one. 😊

Saturday, December 23, 2023

THE GARDEN OF DOLORES

  THE GARDEN OF DOLORES

THE garden of Dolores! Here she walked
When fretted in the twilight's pallid space
The trees were black and delicate as lace,
And palms were etchings, sharp and slender-stalked.

Now riots summer in these magic closes,
And life is rounded in the frailest spray . . . .
Dolores, cold and buried yesterday,
Is it thy spirit here among the roses?

For restless murmurs through the garden seek;
To shadowy caress the flowers unclose;
A blossom in the dark magnolia glows—
Or leaning pallor of an oval cheek?

Upon the dusk is borne a strange long cry,
And one quick sob of wind the air has moved.
Ah, perfect garden that Dolores loved,
Her soul has called to thee . . . a far goodbye.

Владимир Набоков К России

  Владимир Набоков К России Отвяжись, я тебя умоляю! Вечер страшен, гул жизни затих. Я безпомощен. Я умираю От слепых наплываний твоих. Тот,...