
Image Of The Month



“Don’t hate the black, don’t hate the white. If you get bit, just hate the bite.”
Sly Stone (1943 – 2025)
I came across a small box of these “Puzzler Gag Cards” a few months ago and decided to fit them into this blog from time to time.


Between trying some fishing spots over the Memorial Day weekend we stopped at a grocery store for some items. While approaching the front of the store Shelly and I paused to look at the flowers on sale. I noticed a man with a shaved head, covered with colorful tats, maybe aged late 30’s to early 40’s bending over and touching a flower while talking to it. Like most of us who encounter crazy people in public I warily tried to ignore him, but his persistence with the flower finally intrigued me enough that I began to watch what he was doing and moved closer. He was holding a tissue to the flower, and on it was a caterpillar he was coaxing to crawl from the tissue to the flower. I was now next to him, watching the progress, and commenting about how hairy and colorful the bug was. He said he found it on the floor of the bathroom in the store. I said maybe it fell off of someone in there and he agreed. The caterpillar finally made it to the flower and I called him a big old softy and said I would have saved it too. He smiled at me and turned and walked away, triumphant with his mission.

The lyrics are about a spiritual quest, typical of Morrison’s work. “Bass thrums like a boat in motion, and the song comes back to water as a means of magical transformation. At the very end Van sings: too late to stop now, suggesting that the song also describes an act of love.” (Wikipedia)
We were born before the wind
Also, younger than the sun
‘Ere the bonnie boat was won
As we sailed into the mystic
Hark now, hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic
Yeah, when that fog horn blows
I will be coming home
Yeah, when that fog horn blows
I wanna hear it
I don’t have to fear it
And I wanna rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float
Into the mystic
When that fog horn blows
You know I will be coming home
Yeah, when that fog horn whistle blows
I gotta hear it
I don’t have to fear it
And I wanna rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float
Into the mystic
Come on, girl
Too late to stop now


Once a month I highlight a piece of art I have created and posted on my Fine Art America site. This one is titled Waiting To Happen from the Collage Art Collection.

“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”
George Bernard Shaw

On a remote Yemeni island live dragon blood trees, which produce red sap.