HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
by William Butler Yeats
Artwork by me
O p DeviantArt
kalau mentari pecah di kaki rumput
angin pun menumbangkan pohon-pohon kering
Ku berlari mencariMu dan membunuh
setiap bayang- bayang
"Aku ada . Aku di mana-mana" kata langit
"andai kau mengembara dalam diri
By Johar Buang
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Recordado tanto por su inconfundible voz como por sus provocadoras camisas. @arielseguracordoba es un cantor de los buenos, una energia huracanada, una sonrisa constante.
Los años le han regalado una melena plateada que le sienta como a nadie y una madurez en su canto que se agradece.
Presents the art of... @akaalec
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Porters approach the Barranco Wall... A thousand feet of near vertical climbing is required to scale The Wall. And when you get to it's crest you realize it's all for naught, as the path from there falls gently away, over the span of miles, to the same elevation we started at hours before.
At the end of this gentle descent is an eight hundred foot deep crevasse separating us from Karanga Camp, where we will make the briefest of layovers before pushing on to Barafu Basecamp where we will stay the night. At the bottom of this black crevasse, there flows the smallest rivulet of water. It's the last reliable source of fresh water on the mountain. So from here on out, every drop of water we use or drink will have been hauled by a porter up those 800 feet and then carried - for miles - at elevation, up the face of the mountain to us.
We arrive to Barafu Basecamp, elevation 15,239 feet, by mid afternoon. Porters there are busy tightening guy lines and putting the finishing touches on camp. Marti tells us one porter has succumbed to altitude sickness. His face is racked with guilt and shame as he informs us the porter was carrying the bags with our warmest clothes and our mountaineering quilts. We assure Marti not to worry. To make sure the porter is safe and well. That we are amazed by the men and the work they do. That we're infinitely appreciative.
But Marti doesn't hear. He ushers us to our tents, gives us tea and implores us to stay warm. The sun will soon set, but even now it is well below freezing. The wind is an absolute terror. We huddle together to share our warmth, and as we do, something magical happens.
The porters begin to sing.
It's a song born of boundless stamina and endless energy. One of joy and triumph. They begin clapping to the rhythm. I hear them dancing. I plead with myself to get up and join them in their revelry. I break the task into the simplest of objectives. And yet I can't. My chest rattles sickeningly. The bronchitis has crushed me. The altitude and the cold have finished me off.
As I said, I didn't climb this Mountain. I was carried there by warrior Tanzanian porters
Llaveros en fieltros súper hermosos y hecho a tus gustos , dale a tu negocio un toque personalizado o a tus detalles personales en @aslanartefelt contáctanos al Instagram @aslanartefelt ó al correo
Nathaly_nasa@hormail.com ubicados en Santo Domingo.
701619 February, 2019
Traveling is one of the best ways to open your mind and heart to the world around us.
As a result, I’ve experienced the full range of emotions during my travels.