What do you call a man who pours a lot of drinks? Phil.
@DocAtCDI
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Golden waves stretch endlessly beneath an open sky, a study in simplicity captured by Sargana on Pexels. The desert asks nothing of us but to pause, to notice the way light reshapes the land with each passing hour, sculpting ridges and valleys from sand and shadow alone.
Who is the greatest chicken-killer in Shakespeare? Macbeth, because he did murder most foul!
A husband takes his wife to a disco. There's a man on the dance floor, moonwalking, break dancing, head spins, the works.
The wife turns to her husband and sighs, 'You see that man? 25 years ago he asked me to marry him. I said no!'
The husband says, 'It looks like he's still out celebrating!'
The wife turns to her husband and sighs, 'You see that man? 25 years ago he asked me to marry him. I said no!'
The husband says, 'It looks like he's still out celebrating!'
There's something about the sound of rushing water that makes everything else go quiet. This stream, captured by Wendelin Jacober on Pexels, cuts through dense summer woods where fallen logs and green foliage frame the current. The water doesn't pause, doesn't second-guess its path. It just moves, relentless and clear, the way nature tends to when we stop trying to direct it.
Whenever I'm in trouble, I think, 'What would Jesus do?'
Then I pretend to be dead and disappear for 3 days.
Golden wheat ears sway under the Swedish daylight in Glumslöv, their delicate awns catching the sun in a quiet moment captured by Beatrice Ekenstierna. There's something grounding about standing at the edge of a field like this, where the rhythm of growth is measured in seasons, not seconds.
