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Lovely colours and textures.
So many beautiful colors all in one space. The rain drops are a nice touch.
Wonderful colors in an excellent composition, sharp details and great DOF - this one goes right now into my favorites. Very well done, Mary!
Your sequance reminds me of Vivaldi`s "The four Seasons". Beautiful, Mary.
Lovely crisp capture! Those colors are gorgeous!
Very fine rhythms!
It is a little to busy for me, but the colors are outstanding.
Very pretty.
Excellent poto Mary.
Thomas Gray
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
(continued)
Th` applause of list`ning senates to command,/ The threats of pain and ruin to despise,/ To scatter plenty o`er a smiling land,/ And read their history in a nation`s eyes,// Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone/ Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;/ Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,/ And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,// The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,/ To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,/ Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride/ With incense kindled at the Muse`s flame.// Far from the madding crowd`s ignoble strife,/ Their sober wishes never learn`d to stray;/ Along the cool sequester`d vale of life/ They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.// Yet e`en these bones from insult to protect/ Some frail memorial still erected nigh,/ With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck`d,/ Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.// Their name, their years, spelt by th` unletter`d Muse,/ The place of fame and elegy supply:/ And many a holy text around she strews,/ That teach the rustic moralist to die.// For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,/ This pleasing anxious being e`er resign`d,/ Let the warm precincts of the cheerful day,/ Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?// On some fond breast the parting soul relies,/ Some pious drops the closing eye requires;/ E`en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,/ E`en in our ashes live their wonted fires.// For thee, who, mindful of th` unhonour`d dead,/ Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;/ If chance, by lonely contemplation led,/ Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,// Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,`/ Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn/ Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,/ To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;// `There at the foot of yonder nodding beech/ That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high./ His listless length at noontide would he stretch,/ And pore upon the brook that babbles by.// `Hand by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,/ Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;/ Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,/ Or crazed with care, or cross`d in hopeless love.// `One morn I miss`d him on the custom`d hill,/ Along the heath, and near his favourite tree;/ Another came; nor yet beside the rill,/ Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;// `The next with dirges due in sad array/ Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,-/ Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay/ Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.`
