Af Cramps Vs Pregnancy

HIGH TIDE

How often will I be lifted up at the spectacle of the tide, the slack tide! Crushed by the power used, admired as moon and sun might snatch prodigious mass inertia, move as thrust sheets to throw, in grand style on a ledge of the continent. And I agree that the achievement deserves the exclamations that rise from the beaches, the exuberance that it arouses, by imitation: here indefinitely lavished on the man, vigor and novelty, patience and the invention, the permanence and transformation.

I long to notify me of another tide, it does not last six hours, but six months or more, whose amplitude is not far from fifty feet but not exceed one hundred, who can contemplate many places where the tree grows, and deserves no less enthusiasm.

One comes to us from the other side of the earth. Massive, compelling, and thunderous, it is Elsewhere marine mariner, whose horizons, to run its course, would be ragged before our eyes. - "Running full speed, pushing the shoreline! "Said the stream.

- "Staying where I am and fix me with obstinacy, said the tree. Only in Macbeth that forests start walking! And all the combined forces of the earth and the sky did convince him to take a single step. - "Deploy, storm, recover! "Cry the turbulent waters. - "To be content with a horizon, but expanding, but set themselves up for the stretch," murmurs the tree. And if possible, culminating, as I deal with the air. "

The stretch of sea is crowded with peaks of a moment, the top of a tree is intended to fixed star - the clarity mother of pearl. Also, holding me in a grove of three centuries (it was there syzygy tide!), And designing one could get under way towards a star appeared in the sky, I never tired of questioning every leaf ultimate. And admire the omnipotence of the sun.

It was almost summer. No one remembered the last downpour. Who would have dug a deep trench in the clearing, would have seen oozing rock. But it seemed as if, through the plant, the aspiration of the star provoked the water beneath our feet, like birds flocking molecules which have to migrate, earning a hair dark hair and the canals of the sapwood to lead the green light of a limb, or half-day of a needle.

I have often praised, Sun! when you lend a hand to the Moon to stir the ocean and the housewife, her quilt, but you never seem to me more powerful than super (such as those who drink with a straw), water unlikely until it is sublime in the highest, and with it, fiber, cork and parenchyma, and the darkness night and mineral plant.

Open water do you know the tides side where you agree. You make them surly, you push them to the point that they end s'entremordent; you harass them so much, they run out of steam in a few hours while they can, days run their course. But the scarce water that you raise, Sun, you see her stagger towards you, large or petty, but countless palms grateful.

For me, a deciduous tree is rebounding as the waves, full of openings, which arise from the clash of water and rock, except that it does not collapse, does not resolve into foam, but that it welcomes the bird in its spongy mass as a result of coral reef fish.

Am I tired of the tribulations of unresolved water, scavenging, toys, decor terrestrial and moods of the sky? I'm heading towards the forest as a high tide rather than lateral, transverse - erratic, but vertical and fixed, where scavenging is unknown.

I enter with the feeling of being admitted to a multi-pillared temple at paving Ocellated, where the office is started (it is at the elevation!) Except that it is not a building but a powerful base of water, driven by the sun, would have turned into tree trunks, branches and leaves - and the shadow is an impalpable water, astringent, which flares your nostrils, when the real occult and clogs your life.

we would have too long muffled roar of pebbles to large rebuffed? masses of gravel access by kicking it over the strikes? or the crackling of dry sand facing the mesh of the foam? It is here that we hear the breeze for the sap to rise - by what gaps? - Or down, Mother, for the phloem sieve tubes, would the botanist. I have long loved the passion of the tumultuous Atlantic waters tossing their wild oats, and their Wild all volts of mares neck and mane. I aspire to be a rumor that hissing floss, pongee, of raw silk, shantung of ... And here comes the wind after the break: when he weaves the warp fibers of a wood, it seems not snoring of antique looms, in a valley?

I do not expect a forest, a serenity which she lacks: it was played light, there is atrophy, it is stifling remotely while rival and shadow is the same venom. A wave kills Navy, overrides the barrier, the water that has gripped handle, along a trunk, demonstrates the power explosive in the branches and foliage up to its consistency, the tree, a greenish rock, tapped by pholades.

I ask the tree canopy to any of the effects of another order, beginning with the most common. I have been talking of the shadow of the sea: I stood on a shore that she had cleared more than in a clearcut forest. When the suffocating our blurs boundaries, empoisse our palms, forehead beaded, invoke, and each sub-hardwood whose shadow I'd be a dense skin and adjusted, a light-hearted approach attempted by the dance.

But I have other reasons, most unique, haunting high tides plant. There, each wave crashing down my scattered thoughts as to clap, we shattered a gathering of birds there, the pages "all dazzling" soared - in leaves. I learn here in contention until the exuberance and the wisdom in the sight of a thicket. Here, where the prevailing unanimous, we do not put my mind to pieces, but they tell me and edifies me - for "a methodical conquest." Here, I mean what I say!

There, moon and sun cast streams share and secondly, they mix, knead and churn, make them furious, but the water remains water. While held in a grove of chestnut trees, under the linden of the court is to see what a sun at the minutia of a chaser, the patience of embroidery can be a little water, salt Minerals and time. Not to mention the smell, and neither the bee that makes it sound.

Still have I said everything. Too much breeze, too smash coastal marine render sterile the foliage. It's an orchard enclosed by walls braided lichen, that should be written as a praise of the sun that makes him full justice. Because if it is a feat of hoist a lineament of water, a long aspiration to the point where blink blink and dizziness, is miracle of changing water into sap and juice it into a pulp of irradiating flavor.

Also, do I leave that to cover the place where Sun and Tang Suc wear their best initial common.

- This is also the Snake! a voice whispered into my insidious.

more reason!

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Whispers ...

The love

In this walk which was to take me to my loss, it was less a desire to challenge myself that the canopy of a sky hung with navy rumor, the smell of resin, ash sand beneath our feet, among the tufts of heather, and my hand chatting with yours: you know how to choose your associates, your matchmaker !

* The lover

It is good that the ocean is very close to our house to talk about upheaval, uprooting, embraces, looting ... And well there is a coastal forest - warm lustrous fur of sea wind - where listen to magnify our fervor in many attachments.

* François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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Phantom Period During The Menopause

FIELD OF SUNFLOWERS

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Next, at sunrise, a road that runs alongside a field of sunflowers, I wonder be the subject of sustained attention, and unanimous. Argus had a hundred eyes. They are a thousand who stare fixedly for you to lose composure. I'd attired, without my knowledge? Have they never seen a man? A crowd - amazed? or hilarious? - Turns to me, staring, huge bug-eyed yellow ciliates. It will be up here and there - on the toe? - To see me better and, in the stretch of sea, waves arise, the time to take a brief look round.

is a lot less than a battalion to which they would have done an about-face and be held motionless, stiffened in anticipation of what may occur in a designated point on the horizon - I in the circumstances.

(But you know, I do not be intimidated, and would look for him.)

Along with a strong woody stem, straight as a pole of Plenty, rise in tiers, spaced, alternate leaves, cordate, toothed, the botanist would say, too rough to the touch than their long petiole. And it must be the rigidity of a rod stabilized by fins to establish a way to star plant which does not lack even the solar prominences, it is true, as wisely arranged in a ring, the blue flames of gas stove lanceolate .

Each "flower" (in head) shines like a piece of brassware suspended in an old kitchen. Hay at the discretion of daisies, forget-me's nostalgic; hay corolla tormented, shredded, iris, aloe invaginated, and the scruffy grass inflorescences of glycine: we have held, brilliance and dignity together. Why, moreover, would there not flowers that are beautiful, who strut, looking great? It appears, no doubt, but she seems so friendly and easygoing, she calls the playfulness, she won the support.

Should the man be imbued with himself! I thought I was the object of curiosity close to impropriety. My shadow, now separate me back to a more accurate assessment: it is to the sun rising behind me, that these faces were turned rejoiced. Confidence, even before it appeared in sight. Ascertained that it could not disappoint their expectation, it was unable to shine.

All flowers draw him into their shape, color, aroma, their posterity. The sunflower worships her to be more faithful replica. And the image of the monstrance comes, obviously, including that of the "reign" that suspends above the altar ...

But no, this does not radiate corolla: it offers itself in focus in the light - and, advance, it blossoms with joy. I was wrong in lending the arrogance is just tilted his head - as you flex a little lid, that we turn to God, boldness and submission mixed.

Now that the sun's rays touch the crowd right and worthy of celebrants, I mean ride, coming down through the ages, the acclamation of those who were for a miracle the star offered them a new day, the sun then name him Horus and Ammon Ra, Osiris, Apollo, Phoebus and Helios.

"You beauty radiates on the horizon of heaven, O

living sun that experienced the first!

You get up, East

each country and you fill your beauty.

You're fine, you're tall, you

sparks and you're on top of any country.

Your rays land ablaze

and everything you creas.

You are Ra, you reach their end,

Thou chained to your love for your son . * "

The Flower of rape is modest; he needs the outbreak to develop into a drop of golden fluid layers stalls, floating, unstable, which require large flat areas in the landscape . The sunflower is its July we thin layers on slender piers, which a painter from the north tried in the Provencal countryside, to reach, at the peril of his reason, "the high yellow note".

Thanks be thus made it to this field, such as a dawn tangible and the fabulous Field of Cloth of Gold, to remind us what devotion is due to the munificence of a new day when the sun shines on the foliage, orchards, fountains and plane trees, coastlines and their wives .

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* Hymn of Akhenaten (Translation A. Erman.)

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Murmurs * ur ripe

L'Amoureuse : When there is a collision of our lips, I think those roses fall "more than another exquisite" and is always something unexpected flowering that knows my face when you kiss me.

The Lover: You take day your face like his sunflower capitulum.

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* François Solesmes The Murmurs of love Ink Navy (Supplements)

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Rs232/485 Converter Circuit Diagram

1st July 15

Land, air, the ocean has its fringe, more or less time depending on his mood.

In collaboration with the painter Stephane Quoniam, was born not long ago, a "little artist's book" a where three etchings are, for me, Office of the gaps in a coastal foliage through which so many times and always in vain, I tried to surprise element without being seen.

The text here could have taken place in the book.

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ROLLS

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Who sailed along a rocky coastline known as the roller is gregarious and occurs most often in colonies. At the foot of the cliff at the bottom of a creek, piling up of minerals of any size to ovoid, with mild outside.

It does not fall to pick up a stone, except for his dog run, a stone, unless one is a geologist, has nothing to say. But while roller, provided it is in our grasp, arouses a feeling in our palm compliance, adherence and desirable, and it gives him a cup of vocation.

Is it because the fair-weather cumulus, airships, seem by their oval overcome gravity, we believe that the wheel is lighter? Our wrist is always surprised to find more bulky than we felt as if his density was increasing its sweetness home.

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The roller is a stone of civilized people here who know how to cut corners being so evasive, they seem shifty, elusive. The rock may show its antiquity, it does not suggest, as the roller, the passage of time - including the invisible river, combined with the wind, never ceases to polish those Crau.

Whether shaped by the wave or waves of the river, he must first of the wave. Alone, she is quite flexible, enveloping him to print his elusiveness. A hamada sharpens and whistles and protests in the face of heaven a band of pebbles accumulating to itself as more than a locked flint.

It owes to the wave, but only a stream agile, determined, tireless, can be of ellipses - both by rolling, rubbing his fellows, and by sucking up to him give contours Bean. Running water or burrow fill; their effects stretch before our eyes in lines more or less loose. The roller is, their fruit, the one who picked up a quasi infracassable hull, best demonstrates the resolution, their tenacity.

He never "n'amassera foam, unless the foot of a cliff died. Except in calm seas, when the shingle bank is like a spawning ground that the seed of foam would fertilize, it asserts that in the discharge of its load dump body of rubble in a crash of the surf ..

(But that's littered with eggs tarnishes quickly between two projections of the wave! Like the wheel that we had picked up a recent glossy undulation and, earlier, fades in the air . The Supreme forfeiture is for him to sit on a shelf or acting clipboard, forever polishing his suspension.)

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Of all the kinds of rollers, those of flint or slate more likely to try my hand. My palm did then, with them, assault finesse, but must admit defeat and the contact with a child plays, corolla pink. And the word of nudity comes to my lips. Everything happens as if the stone was clothed common gangue, or its rough edges, but equal, the sweetness of grain-specific are pebbles of nudity. To it we must, with the feeling of immediacy, that of a curve whose touch we would pour itself in that anointing, we abolished in half to ease, to witness the tiny and infinitely confused. To the point that the embrace is not, but ours is more than what we think hold.

except that if any rock can become a consistent roller while the roller is not closing the touch. And that of basalt that I just typed. Its outside my skin porous honeycombed with tiny cells and they do not follow closely enough the epidermis. Because unanimity of my tactile papillae not accomplished, the prevailing feeling of the rough. Temperate but obvious, hostility from the stone is in sight.

So back to a roller silica, the touch of convenience in a manner meeting the accession of mutual recognition, which earned him fullness. Where I see that the mineral can educate a skin of living and teach him a caress slow or static, can win in remote areas, sometimes unexpected, as long as the anime discernment. Hence a wise lover benefits tremendously from the roller satin he just pick up and leave it cool in his hand.

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Should, provided, rely on the kindness of the roller? The blunt weapons can cause serious disorders, and it is stone, better than he fits a fist, a hard core strengthens a snowball.

just that time forwards he shapes to more benign until no more than gravel with each wave of jet draws a bustling multitude disturbed, that sand sizzles with the finals of gratification, that our greedy slime ankles, and that such an assumption of mineral grain infinitesimal a rumor wandering through mid-range navy.

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1. Francis Solesmes, Stephane Quoniam, Alongside the sea , Saint-Remy, "remote", 2010.

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Whispers

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Love:

I never holds you more completely than in solitude. (No, no, it's not a convent talking to his god!) Your power on me is never greater than in the absence of: then I prefer you, choose you ten times a day and for many different reasons.

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The lover:

When you appear? A wave of further, put the focus on me, and in advance, I tremble under the striking, brittle ankles and wrists. With the heart (why why?) An unhappy stepchild.

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François Solesmes, The Murmurs of love Ink Marine .

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