When one does look up at the grand trees growing up almost to the sky, one does always have longings to pray.
And this I have learned grown-ups do not know the language of shadows. - Opal Whiteley
And this I have learned grown-ups do not know the language of shadows.
- Opal Whiteley
Potatoes are very interesting folks. I think they must see a lot of what is going on in the earth - they have so many eyes. - Opal Whiteley
Potatoes are very interesting folks. I think they must see a lot of what is going on in the earth - they have so many eyes.
It is such a comfort to nestle up to Michael Angelo Sanzio Raphael when one is in trouble. He is such a grand tree. He has an understanding soul. Aft… - Opal Whiteley
It is such a comfort to nestle up to Michael Angelo Sanzio Raphael when one is in trouble. He is such a grand tree. He has an understanding soul. Aft…
When one does look up at the grand trees growing up almost to the sky, one does always have longings to pray. - Opal Whiteley
The matter of making christening robes for caterpillars, it is not a difficult one; the difficulty is to get a frisky caterpillar to keep still while… - Opal Whiteley
The matter of making christening robes for caterpillars, it is not a difficult one; the difficulty is to get a frisky caterpillar to keep still while…
And all the times I was picking up potatoes, I did have conversations with them. Too, I did have thinks of all their growing days there in the groun… - Opal Whiteley
And all the times I was picking up potatoes, I did have conversations with them. Too, I did have thinks of all their growing days there in the groun…
I like to sing when I have works to do - it does so help. - Opal Whiteley
I like to sing when I have works to do - it does so help.
By the wood-shed is a brook. It goes singing on. Its joy-song does sing in my heart. - Opal Whiteley
By the wood-shed is a brook. It goes singing on. Its joy-song does sing in my heart.
The wind comes creeping, it calls to me to come go exploring. It sings of the things that are to be found under the leaves. It whispers the dreams of… - Opal Whiteley
The wind comes creeping, it calls to me to come go exploring. It sings of the things that are to be found under the leaves. It whispers the dreams of…
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