Can you guess what..

I posted this in a Guess group on February 18, 2009, to date no one has guessed it. Can you figure it out? one guesser (is that a word then) asked if this was microscopic.. um not exactly, shot with a 60mm Nikkor lens, so it's a macro/micro in Nikons lingo, however I certainly wouldn't call it a microscopic image. © M'sheArt2 So can you guess what this object is, sans bokeh? Large view Anna Ternheim song - Summer Rain has gotten under my skin, tis been playing in my head the better part of the day. A friend from myspace (there's that loose term) her song had been on my profile for the better part of my being there, being where, myspace.. I went into an Abbott and Costello funk ask not why as I don't tolerate that mode of communication well, some that know would tell you as much. I digress.... Anna- I think she's wonderful as are they young ladies singing acappella w/ her (not sure of the spelling ) which I've never been fond of really till I found this..

Last summer was mad remember the rain

I know people complained

I had something else in mind

Not the sound of rain against my window pane

All I could hear was you

Hammering in my head

Fall like a wave

Against a rock

Leave with a rush

Or get crushed

You never know

Until after the shock

When you wake up

What’s broken what’s not

One day I don’t know how

My whole life evolved

Around you my Lord

Believing was not enough

You said I was a hole of desperate need

And no love in the world

Not even yours

Could satisfy me

That’s when the troubles began

Disasters came

One by one I nearly drowned

In that Summer rain

Fall like a wave

Against a rock

Leave with a rush

Or get crushed

You never know

Until after the shock

When you wake up

What’s broken what’s not

We fall like waves

Against the rock

Leave with a rush or get crushed

You never know

Until after the shock

When you wake up

What’s broken what’s not

When you wake up

What’s broken what’s not 

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighboring school Come the boys, With more than their wonted noise And commotion; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, Till the treacherous pool Ingulfs them in its whirling And turbulent ocean. In the country, on every side, Where far and wide, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, Stretches the plain, To the dry grass and the drier grain How welcome is the rain! In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand; Lifting the yoke encumbered head, With their dilated nostrils spread, They silently inhale The clover-scented gale, And the vapors that arise From the well-watered and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil Their large and lustrous eyes Seem to thank the Lord, More than man's spoken word. Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees, The farmer sees His pastures, and his fields of grain, As they bend their tops To the numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain. He counts it as no sin That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain. These, and far more than these, The Poet sees! He can behold Aquarius old Walking the fenceless fields of air; And from each ample fold Of the clouds about him rolled Scattering everywhere The showery rain, As the farmer scatters his grain. He can behold Things manifold That have not yet been wholly told,-- Have not been wholly sung nor said. For his thought, that never stops, Follows the water-drops Down to the graves of the dead, Down through chasms and gulfs profound, To the dreary fountain-head Of lakes and rivers under ground; And sees them, when the rain is done, On the bridge of colors seven Climbing up once more to heaven, Opposite the setting sun. Thus the Seer, With vision clear, Sees forms appear and disappear, In the perpetual round of strange, Mysterious change From birth to death, from death to birth, From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; Till glimpses more sublime Of things, unseen before, Unto his wondering eyes reveal The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel Turning forevermore In the rapid and rushing river of Time. Okay I am off to shoot spider webs now .. Not, didn't happen I got sidetracked, I don't remember what turned me around besides when I did look they seem to have been more industrious in my house than on the house deck (see a total space shot) I'll give them some time to unpack their boxes. I finally found info on how to expand my post space, next lessening the margin on the left somewhat..

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