November
The hero is one who kindles a great light in the world, who sets up blazing torches in the dark streets of life for men to see by. The saint is the man who walks through the dark paths of the world, himself a light. -- Felix Adler
castaway@witty.com
Navigate the site by <clicking> on the pics - for example <click> on the Austin healey car above & see some really cool pics of "Hot Rods" - Matt.
Welcome, fellow traveller to the island. Just the russle in the overhanging boughs as the breeze eases through the russet trees. Take the bike & follow the trail off the beach to the island tour by steam train, it's only a short climb to the path by the lighthouse. A discarded set of polished boxes are left on the ground. Nearby is the welcoming glow from the lights of the
Coffee lounge& that maze of mystery,
the infamous chamber-pot of dubious comedy clips,
the crypt , or Sab's garden, dare you venture down there? They say that "In space nobody hears you scream.." Well, the funnyboard is nothin' like that, maybe you'd like to chat to some of the irregulars at the message board or take the funnyboard
It's been told that the manor contains an impressive gallery of fine paintings and
a library, it has also been mentioned that it has carpet & hot & cold running water, both however are just a rumour.
Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Don't move,
Nor even slightly stir.
We must not lose the wonder of this moment,
To the doubts and demons of the past.
Let there be no clamoring world beyond the door.
No saboteurs who would destroy us for their pleasure.
Only the reality that is now.
Only us.
Ever so sweetly, So gently.
Continue to breathe upon my shoulder,
As we both remember magic, until the morning comes.
Until the morning comes.
by Lerna O. Brown
"Yes my brother I know,
The rest might not,
but I have treasur'd every note,
For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding,
Silent,
avoiding the moonbeams,
blending myself with the shadows,
Recalling now the obscure shapes,
the echoes,
the sounds and sights after their sorts,
The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,
I, with bare feet,
a child,
the wind wafting my hair,
Listen'd long and long."
Walt whitman
("Sea-Drift", Leaves of Grass)
News rack......
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