A little bird told me that winter was over. Really it was a noisy tree frog but I didn’t get a picture of him.
A few days ago (and a few hundred miles south) it certainly felt like the frog was right …
…so I headed back north. Damn the lying frog!
I wish I’d got a shot of the crow before making the frog eat it.
According to The Human Society feral cats are the offspring of lost or abandoned cats.
In more populated areas that apparently causes a problem but around here we like `em wild.
Prompted by the Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: Abandoned
Prompted by this weeks photo challenge: Threes
Ain’t love grand? Sure it is but sometimes it’s not. It’s tattered and torn and embittered. Sometimes it’s so snarled and twisted it leaves nothing but ashes in its wake. Take it from Ishmael…
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Love IS grand – until it ain’t. If you have a real love and a healthy relationship you should celebrate that every day. Don’t be the characters I write.
Roses From Ishmael was originally published in Once Upon a Dead Gull and later added to Short Stories & Such.