Cloud Series

There are many children's books about clouds and it doesn't really interest me until I was perusing the photographs I had taken for the last four years. Though I like shooting nature and landscapes, the clouds that became part of those landscapes also give stories of their own.  It reminds me of books such as It Looked Like Spilt Milk or The Cloud Book that I used to read in class.   

Batangas, Philippines

Chonburi, Thailand

Tagaytay, Philippines

Clouds are like people.  They come in different shapes and sizes yet they are all made of tiny droplets of water or ice crystals.  Clouds are identified by where they are found in the sky making names for themselves as high clouds, middle clouds and fog.  They also get their names because of their shapes.

Tagaytay, Philippines

Mekong, Laos

Batangas, Philippines

Just like clouds, our names are true to ourselves and become our trademarks. That we shouldn't be named or called because of our size or shape, nor by the status we hold in life.  We are all alike though different in many aspects.  Even with all the disparities, we are all flesh and blood, and tiny droplets in this big universe of ours. 

Cloud Series

There are many children's books about clouds and it doesn't really interest me until I was perusing the photographs I had taken for the last four years. Though I like shooting nature and landscapes, the clouds that became part of those landscapes also give stories of their own.  It reminds me of books such as It Looked Like Spilt Milk or The Cloud Book that I used to read in class.   

Batangas, Philippines

Chonburi, Thailand

Tagaytay, Philippines

Clouds are like people.  They come in different shapes and sizes yet they are all made of tiny droplets of water or ice crystals.  Clouds are identified by where they are found in the sky making names for themselves as high clouds, middle clouds and fog.  They also get their names because of their shapes.

Tagaytay, Philippines

Mekong, Laos

Batangas, Philippines

Just like clouds, our names are true to ourselves and become our trademarks. That we shouldn't be named or called because of our size or shape, nor by the status we hold in life.  We are all alike though different in many aspects.  Even with all the disparities, we are all flesh and blood, and tiny droplets in this big universe of ours. 

The Bird Saga Continues...

Remember the saga of the birds in my attic, now let me start again by saying, "WT!!!"  Is it happening again?  What is wrong this time?"

I usually go home late because I have many things to tend to.  So in one unusual day I came in earlier, I walked around the garden and looked up to see whether the hole is open again.  There are still a lot of pigeons lurking but I do not see anything peculiar so I dismissed it.

But still, there is something amiss.  It was the smell of a dead rat.  I am familiar with that smell as I lived in an old house when I was young and we had plenty of terminated rodents from my shooting spree.  Yup!  I was an avid fan of the air rifle and I spend late nights waiting and hunting for them but I am digressing. 

I looked under the bed, over the dressers, and in corners rarely visited by my vacuum cleaner.  There was none!  OMG!  It must be coming from the attic. When once a playground of homeless pigeons, I thought that one had been missed and left there to die.  Pitiful bird but pitiful tenant.  The smell is killing me!

Mind you, the room is used as my dressing room so all my clothes are in there. And when I say clothes, I mean a heap full!  Not that I am collecting, but I never throw anything away even if the shirt is old, worn, and tattered.  I have an issue, got it! Ok, I am away from my topic again. 

So with my nosey nose, I pretended to be a dog and sniffed all corners, sides, and locations.  It wasn't visually appealing so no photographs.  It wasn't under my suitcases, nor in the corners of the room, and unsure whether it was coming from above.  I thought heaven smells good so in my logic, it isn't from above but from below.

Now here comes stupidity, or mere miscalculation.  Whenever I open the door, the pungent smell is so heavy that I had left the windows opened, which was never opened for ten years. Crash! Ka-blag! Nah, it didn't fall. Off topic!

Sorry, the smell my friends is coming from the door for in between is...

a GECKO!  Poor creature,  Grandpa Jonathan is now either into herpetology, roadkill or doorkill to be exact or into pressing them to make bookmarks, want one?