Today is Armistice Day, a day whose memory is celebrated in the UK and Commonwealth countries. Poppies have become a widely recognised symbol for those who lost their lives. The world as we know it now bears no resemblance to the world when they were fighting and events are now shaping ours in ways that were unthinkable until recently. We should give thanks that we have enjoyed peace for so long here in Europe and pray that it will continue.
The published version of the poem reads:
In Flanders fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
By John McCrae
“The reproduction of the autograph poem is from a copy belonging to Carleton Noyes, Esq., of Cambridge, Mass., who kindly permitted its use.”
I couldn’t decide whether I preferred the version with the black or white writing so I have included them both.
water buffalo taking a refreshing dip in the sea
the elephants at the Pinnewala sanctuary in Sri Lanka get a daily dip too
a walk on the beach will blow a few cobwebs away
iced coffee on the beach
maybe you’d prefer a hot cup of Java
the sight of a field of red poppies is always uplifting
as is watching the dancers at a local folk festival
What refreshes you? Is it the sight/sound of water in some form? Is it a drink? a change of scenery?
sharing Ailsa’s travel theme
Using the ‘rule of thirds’ is the best way to compose a great shot, where the focal point is not in the dead centre of the photo.
Daily Post weekly photo challenge
the river in Canterbury. I can imagine Ophelia drifting in the weeds here …
the prehistoric bridge known as Tarr Steps, north Devon, UK
the river Sorgue has its source at the Fontaine de Vaucluse in Provence
it then flows through the picturesque town of Isle sur la Sorgue on its way to the sea
As a child this was one of my favourite poems:
The Brook, by Alfred Lord Tennyson
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges….
Read the rest here
a river of poppies in a cornfield in Provence
If you were a river where would you like to rise and flow down to?
sharing with where’s my backpack
Ailsa, from Where’s my backpack, challenged us to illustrate FLOW
the river Avon flows slowly below the Clifton Suspension bridge, Bristol, UK
going with the flow on a kayak trip on the river Semois in Belgium. This is Cordemois abbey.
boating on the flow of the river in Canterbury
a river of red poppies flows through a cornfield in Provence
the flow of colour in patchwork quilts
we went to Provence in June. The winter and spring have been much wetter than usual resulting in a much greener landscape than we are used to seeing. The poppies were in exuberant and widespread bloom,
forming rivers of red running through the landscape.
The cherries were being harvested while we were there, their bending the tips of the branches.
We were too early to see the lavender in full flower but you can still get an idea of what the fields would look like a couple of weeks later. This field was close to where we were staying.
These are fields around the abbaye de Senanque just outside Gordes
One day we went to the visit the fontaine de Vaucluse.
This is a natural spring which sends thousands of gallons down the hillside. Usually at this time of year there would not be much water but this time it was the fullest I have ever seen it. The water is a bright blueish green (must be copper in there somewhere). This is where the water comes up from the spring before it starts flowing downhill.
The market in nearby Coustellet was colourful but we weren’t tempted to buy anything, although I was
tempted by this piece of sculpture
early morning view of the valley