Angling

‘Ephemeral… fugitive… contingent’: these words written by Charles Baudelaire in 1863 express the very nature of metropolitan life in the late nineteenth century. Urban renewal across Europe had given way to a new, fast-paced way of life, and nowhere was this more evident than in Paris: the then cultural centre of the western world. Crowds of people would converge upon Haussmann’s wide boulevards, swiftly navigating through the city to see and be seen by their fellow Parisians. Painting en plein…

“Animal Rights” is the belief that like humans, animals have rights (James, 5). Englishman Henry Salt published nearly forty books. One of his books was Animals’ Rights. In this book, he said that like people, animals have rights because the animals are individuals with lives that matter to them. Because of this, Salt argued that animals deserve to be free from human interference (Treanor, 28). Although not everyone agrees with animal rights, they are important in our society because animals…

What, me a rose photographer? No, I am a botanist, plant physiologist and plant pathologist. At least that is all that I thought I was until 24 years ago when my passion for the beautiful roses led me on a slightly different journey to an evacuation in rose photography. It has been an interesting and rewarding trek, but perhaps I should start at the very beginning. Many, many eons ago, when I was 6 years old, my mother helped me plant my first rose. She instilled in me a love for all types of…

(A playful writing influenced by A. A. Milne’s ‘Winnie the Pooh and Beatrix Potter’ Stories) I gaze from my window to see a slight rustle in the conifers, picking up my binoculars with curiosity I notice a wood pigeon fluttering about; my imagination gets the better of me, thoughts rolled into a story. I don’t believe in happy endings; but I will try and write something with a good end to it and no better way can a story be brought to life than through the antics of wood pigeons. There was a…

FBI Agent Winston Powell looked innocuous enough like a tourist in a white Ralph-Lauren shirt, a pair of white Nike Air Max sneakers, and Dockers khaki slacks. He was a blond-haired blue-eye gringo with a quick, disarming smile. And his flawless bleach-whitened teeth hinted at a touch of vanity. The disguise was effective because the locals thought Agent Powell was just one of many other well-to-do Americans in Mazatlán on vacation. And they were partly right—the vacation part: He was a tourist…

It was a Saturday afternoon in December and frighteningly cold out. Becca had gone to the ice rink to watch Ashley skate. Sitting on the bleachers, freezing, wishing her best friend was a gymnast or even a pianist, she reached up and pulled her hat over her ears. She peered through the glass wall, out to the ice, and quickly forgot about her frozen extremities. Ashley’s coach stood scrutinizing her as she sped across the ice, jumped high in the air, spun around into a blur of beautiful colors…

Sabo sighs as he opens the front door seeing the many piles of unopened moving boxes. he moved down the hall kicking off his boots, and unbuttoning his shirt along the way not wanting to stay in his work cloths longer then he had to his shirt was halfway unbuttoned when ace came barreling in. “Sabo!” before he could get a word in edgewise ace was on him arms wrapped around him hugging him close; his head barred in his neck nuzzling into it. Sabo flushed at the attention arms wrapping around…

As the incredible books are composed for normal men, William Wordsworth likewise composed extraordinary lyrics for the same individuals. He excessively accepted that the dialect of the town society is the most valuable medium for composing verse. He felt what additional customary felling is there in the dialect of normal men are not found in the fake and organized dialect of the individuals live in the high society. Wordsworth brings Man and Nature closer to one another. The artist accepts that…