Comparing Trump to Hitler

 Yes, Trump can be compared to Hitler, since history shows both used the same methods, means and rhetoric to achieve their ends.

Aside from reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, I've read numerous other books and publications about the Nazis, including all of Albert Spier's books. Spier was his architect and then a minister in charge of production in Hitler's government.

So to begin documenting the similarities, let's start with Hitler's Beer Hall Putsch in the early 1920s when he led his private militia in an armed attempted take-over of Munich's government, which failed when the Army fired on the insurrection. Hitler was up front with a pistol, unlike Trump, who watched his January 6 insurrection on television like the man of action he is. Trump let his private militia, the Proud Boys, attack the Capitol with his attendance, but they were armed and it was violent. If only the Capitol Police had fired on the Trump supporters we might not be in this current dilemma. Hitler went to prison for his insurrection: Trump is charged and due to the rule of law we abide by, might never be imprisoned, since the rule to law is being horribly manipulated by Trump.

After Hitler was released from prison, he went mainstream. He wrote Mein Kampf, his outline for what he would do, while in prison, while Trump had the members of his first administration write Project 2025, which details his repressive plans for a second term, God forbid. Hitler manipulated the levers of power in German to become part of the government and many Nazis, but not a majority, were elected to the Reichstag, just as many conservative Republicans and election deniers have seized government posts. In an election with an unclear majority for Nazis, Social Democrats and communists, Paul von Hindenburg, Germany's president and venerated general from World War I, chose Hitler to be Premier, to his everlasting damnation. He and the other top leaders of Germany's government believed they could control Hitler and the Nazis: they were proven wrong. Hitler never won more than 33 percent of the vote, but ruled as a ruthless dictator from Day One, just as Trump has promised to do.

Once in power, Hitler made good on his pledge to rid Germany of the Jewish population, just as Trump has promised to rid the United States of immigrants, after blaming them for problems that don't exist, just as Hitler blamed the Jews for the imaginary problems he instilled in his followers minds. Hitler started his mass deportations of Jews, which turned out to be deportations to death in concentration camps. After all, the cost of deporting millions is astronomical. He decided gassing and burning in ovens was much more cost-effective and what he wanted to do in the first place. Why has no one asked Trump what it will cost to deport 11 million people and how he plans to do it? As a businessman, he will most certainly take the cheaper alternative.

Hitler, as Trump plans to do, also "took care" of his political enemies once in power. One of the great heroes, in my eyes, of the 20th Century, was German Jewish lawyer Hans Litten. Litten believed greatly in the German legal system and after a demonstration in which Hitler's thugs, like the Proud Boys on Jan. 6, killed members of the opposition party, he put Hitler on the stand and so badly grilled him that Hitler was shaken for months afterward and never forgot it.

Hitler devised the Reichstag fire and blamed the communists for it, which gave him the excuse to declare emergency powers, which he used to arrest and round up his opponents. Han Litten was one of those arrested. Litten was never charged but spent over two years in concentration camps, where he was brutally tortured and starved, until he committed suicide. His example should always be remember as what happens when political opponents are arrested without cause or without having broken any law.

And we say ho-hum when Trump says he wants to be a dictator on day one?

We must say, "Never again!"

I could go on and on about why Hitler and Trump must be seen as one and the same, for the similarities are too great not to. Hitler was thought of as a clown, taken lightly, just as Trump is described as all talk and rhetoric. Talk and rhetoric turn to repression and tyranny, as will happen with Trump if he is elected, and as did happen with Hitler.

Once you learn the history and see the similarities between the two, you can not help but shudder about what might happen to the United States should Trump be elected.

The Pineville Press - September 16, 2024

 The Pineville Press

Pineville is not a place, but an unstable state of mine

Trump opts in for more assassinations

Citing the successes of the recent assassination attempts against him, former president Donald J. Trump has called for more attempts on his life.

"Every time I get shot at, my poll numbers go up," Mr. Trump said. "I can't really feel I'm having a good day politically if I don't have bullets whizzing around my head. Bullets are more essential to my well-being than sunshine, which I never liked anyway. Sunshine is the worst. Bullets are the best. There has never been anything as good as bullets. So keep the assassination attempts coming."

Asked if he didn't feel his life might be in danger while he is being shot at, Mr. Trump simply laughed,

"Bullets harm me? You've got to be kidding," he said. "I've had Kamala Harris tossing rhetorical word-bombs at me during our debate, and I survived them. Now they were dangerous. The only thing I have to fear is truth itself, which always comes out when she talks about me. I'll never debate her again." 

Both assassination attempts against him have failed to kill him, Mr. Trump noted, and said there was a reason for that.

"God is guiding the hands of my would-be killers, and God is so old his vision is weak and he has weak hands," Mr. Trump claimed. "God needs new glasses and some sessions in the gym. One of my assassins was young and one was old, but the young one wore spectacles but the the old one didn't. Why not? Because they knew God was with me without his spectacles, so it was no use to try to shoot me. God just flicked the bullets aside like they were flies, which he is good at. Flies are good, they say, because they clean up shit and they're always around me. I like flies. God practices on them for swatting bullets away. I like having flies at my assassin attempts."

Mr. Trump also pointed out that his first young assassin was killed, while his second, older assassin drove off when the Secret Service fired at him. He was captured. 

"Why didn't the young one drive away?" Mr. Trump asked. "Because he was on a roof. He knew if he drove his car off the roof, he would hit the ground, so his second assassin lay on the ground to shoot at me and then drove off. The second one learned from the first one. I don't know why God let him drive off, but they got him, and my poll numbers went up, they got both of them. I love it when my poll numbers go up, so keep on firing. Maybe I'll make that my new campaign slogan. KEEP ON FIRING!" 

 When it was pointed out to him that both his assassins were private citizens and a professional hit-man might have better luck in killing him, he scoffed.

"That doesn't matter," he said. "I've had professional hit-men shooting at me since I was born. My parents hired them. Even when I was a baby they were shooting at me. Nobody had any luck, except my mother, who once put a bullet in my brain when I was a toddler of twelve. She said I was babbling, always babbling, and she couldn't stand it any longer, so she shot me in the head, or so I'm told. It didn't hurt a bit. I don't feel a thing in my head, and I never have. So, you see, I'm not afraid." 

Mr. Trump said that at his next campaign event he was going to dress only in a loin-cloth in honor of Native Americans. He said he'll paint colorful targets on both his chest and back.

"I'll let them try to shoot me on both sides, both sides, although I prefer to be shot in the back, so that I don't have to see it," Mr. Trump said. "That'll be me at my next campaign event. I'll wear only a loin-cloth with targets on me, although I will still wear my famous black shoes and socks. I have to wear both because there is so much horse manure at my rallies and I only like flinging it, not stepping in it."

Mr. Trump said he plans on making himself an honorable member of every Native American tribe in the country in the hope that he can garner their votes in the upcoming presidential election.

"I don't much like getting tomahawks thrown at me, so I have to say how much I love red-men all over the world, although I think it's a mistake the colonial people didn't kill them all off, although they tried," he said. "They tried hard but the Indians are still here to throw tomahawks at me because the colonial people were kind to them and didn't kill they all off. I hope the Indians don't throw tomahawks at me, unless that makes more of them vote for me. I guess it would be all all right then."

Mr. Trump went on to say that there were always hordes of weasels nipping at his ankles at his campaign rallies and that was another reason he wore socks and shoes. 

"Weasels are bad," he said. "You never know where a weasel is going to bite you next." 

 *

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B002NU5M0S In a Circle of Stars

 

 

 

The hope and joy of Kamala Harris

 

Out of the darkness comes the beauty and light of Kamala Harris.

Never before has such a dark presence settled over the American political landscape as has that of Donald Trump over the past ten years. Now we have a possibility of emerging from that darkness into the light with the nomination of Kamala Harris as the Democratic Party's presidential nominee. 

The darkness is deep and thick, ignorant and hurtful, wrong and destructive. Fight on the side of the light, for the darkness is still dangerous and must be reckoned with. 

Hope has sprung up in Kamala's smile and air of joy, but the darkness always seeks to destroy such things with lies and fear and hatred.

Fight on the side of the light. Hope with the light.

The darkness is dreadful, cruel and deep. Do not believe in the darkness.

Defeat it with the brilliance of joy. Learn to laugh in the face of the dreadful again.

Let her smile lead the way out of the abyss.

Tiger lily time

 

Tiger lilies are everywhere this time of year, but they're still worth a long look.

Looking forward to dragonfly season.

 

I'm looking forward to dragonfly season.

A blue-gray gnatcatcher building its home

 

This tiny blue-gray gnatcatcher is about the size of your little finger. Believe me, it was not easy to capture this photo of him hopping onto his nest high up in a tree. The nest is interesting. It's made of spider webs and lichen. Everything in nature is of use to somebody.

A great horned owl mobbed by crows

This great horned owl was surrounded by noisy crows flying all around him.

 The crows were making a heck of a racket as I entered the forest and headed up the trail. I knew they were mobbing an unwelcome visitor to their part of the forest.

I followed the crows' voices until I found their unwelcome visitor - a great horned owl up to no good, probably there to rob a nest.

The crows called out nosily and flew close to the owl, and he showed concern and even fear, but the crows were no match for him. The owl waited them out.

It was worth it to see this real-life natural drama in the woods and how the owl expressively reacted to the danger of the attack around him as he hunted for an easy victim.

To see a video of this incident go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f-RLDJ8Z7c

A sad tale warning climate-deniers

         I recently ran into an old MAGA friend of mine from high school. We used to race stock cars as teen-agers. He still drove as though he was in competition out on the highways, even though he was over 70-years-old.

I like riding my electric bicycle and suggested he might try it.

So of course the conversation turned to climate change.

“Oh, so you’re one of those,” he said, his face glowing red. “You’re one of those morons who believe cars are hurting the planet from spewing out carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide. What an idiot! What happened to you? You used to have some sense. I love my Cadillac Escalade more than my life.”

“Well, I just look at the scientific evidence that excess carbon within a closed ecological system raises temperatures beyond a livable limit, as over ten thousand reputable scientists have said after studying the issue. All the carbon we’re spewing out from out cars, several hundred-million tons a day, is creating all these terrible weather systems that we’ve never seen before and altering ocean currents by raising temperatures of the water. We’ve probably already gone beyond the point of no return.”

“Nonsense! I can prove you’re wrong. Carbon never hurt anyone. Life itself is carbon-based.”

“Well, okay, tell me how you’re going to prove wrong all those scientists and the observable evidence.”

A slick smile crossed his face.

“What I’m going to do is take my big old wonderful Cadillac Escalade home.”

“And?”

“Then I’m going to park it in my garage with the motor running. I’m going to close all the windows and doors and just sit there on my thick, plush, leather seat while all the “harmful” carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide pump out of the exhaust and fills the garage. There won’t be any tornadoes or floods inside the garage, and the next time I see you, I’m going to have a big smile on my face because I proved you wrong.”

“No! Buddy, don’t do it!”

“Why? Are you afraid of being proved wrong?”

“No, I just don’t want to see you or anybody else die from carbon – ”

“Oh, there we go with that baloney that carbon kills people. It’s a fallacy! Climate change is a scam to make liberals rich!’

“How on earth does believing in climate change make liberals rich?”

“That’s it! Climate change is not real! You’re an idiot and I’m going to prove it to you right now!”

With that he drove off in his big shiny Cadillac Escalade.”

“You’ll see!” he screamed out the window as he drove away.

I never saw him again. At first his death was ruled a suicide, but after the police found a note on his dashboard exclaiming that “Climate change is a liberal plot!” his unfortunate and avoidable passing was attributed to pure stupidity.

Keeping things dignified with a pileated woodpecker

 

A male pileated woodpecker looks up from his work seeking insects in a stump.

Certain politicians can't refrain these days from the devious practice of giving those who oppose them nasty or supposedly humorous nicknames. It weakens their opponents and makes those who deliver the derogatory blows seem tough or powerful when they're not.

It isn't in good faith. But with the pileated woodpecker above I almost couldn't stop nicknaming him.

You see, for a couple of years now he and his mate have been frequenting an open field I know of and have been pounding away at a couple of rotted tree stumps in search of insects. It usually happens in spring when their nestlings are as hungry as teenage boys and need all the delicious worms and other insects they can find.

So today as I was photographing him I came up with the name "Stumpy."

It just popped into my head, I don't know why. I mean, I don't know why it popped into my head. I guess I called him Stumpy because he's been feeding for years off of the insects in these stumps.

I didn't mean any harm by it. I didn't mean to establish myself as the superior creature. I am not superior to a pileated woodpecker physically or mentally or emotionally. I am not competing with him for a job in Washington.

Still, I felt I had insulted his dignity by calling him Stumpy.

I vow not to do it again.

I think that's the fair policy. Just because he has to live off of insects from a stump he shouldn't be called Stumpy. He's just trying to make an honest living.

He should be called by his name, Mr. Pileated Woodpecker.

Anything less would be an insult.

Now if we could only get the loudmouths who thrive on political insults to others to show such compassion.

Mr. Pileated Woodpecker looing for an honest meal.

How fascism and MAGA are destroying democracy

 I agree that all these things are being used by conservatives to destroy democracy by turning it against itself.

It goes without saying that Trump is a fascist who has espoused fascism.

MAGA, of course, with its red beanies, golden shoes and unquestioning belief in Trump has coalesced into mass insanity where no one is allowed to be different or have an individual thought and only fulfills the will of the leader Trump, who is unquestioned.

Freud pointed out that crowds think as one, which is the opposite of democracy. Fascists are excellent at using this human weakness against democracy.

The Supreme Court has no integrity but has become a political and monetary tool and currently sides with fascism more often than not because that's where the money is.

Voter ID is used to strip citizens of their right to vote and is espoused and put to use by fascism with regularity, as it has many times in the past in this country. See the three-fifths compromise in the Constitution.

Free speech has become so twisted by fascist propaganda use that is unreliable and unable to voice a lucid, believable position, since it is now based on money and politics and not reason.

Free speech is being used by fascists in a death struggle against democracy in which it intends for democracy to commit suicide, to turn it against itself and strangle itself with lies.

All this is done with the intention of destroying intelligence and making democracy into fascism. MAGA checks all the boxes of a fascist organization. It screams out freedom but then takes freedom away though lies and violence and group-think and twisted religious dogma.

An Early Spring Panorama of a Forest Overlooking a Creek

The forest above the Neshaminy Creek on the first day of spring hasn't recovered from winter.

 

A Young Bald Eagle Oddly at Rest

 

A young female adult bald eagle looks down at the people below.

The only explanation I can give for the bald eagle that I photographed yesterday being so tolerant of people is she must be young and foolish.

Who else would put up with humans just forty feet below her for hours and hours?

I realized when she flew in that something must be a little off about her. I was sitting on a bench by a wide creek when the geese started cackling and rushing this way and that, either flying away or rushing for cover on the bank. The eagle flew almost directly over me and the geese and settled on a thick branch. I got up and hustled to a spot where I could photograph her through the thick-but-still-bare trees.

She didn't seem to mind at all.

I hustled from point-to-point looking for different views. The eagle moved to another more-comfortable branch and then did something I was very surprised to see her do: she ripped up lichen off the branch and ate it. She did this several times. I had never seen an eagle eating lichen before, and I wondered if this was normal behavior or if she had gone totally bonkers.

After all, there were people walking by below her. Some had stopped to stand beside me to see what I was photographing. Still, she perched up there and ate lichen. We humans didn't make a bit of difference to her.

I thought at first that she was so tolerant of people because she must have just breakfasted well. Maybe she had stopped by a squirrel's nest or attended a fish fry somewhere up the creek and was satiated for the day.

She just sat up there eating lichen and ignoring the world below.

I had the odd thought that maybe that's how I'd end up, considering my opinions about humans in the current state of the world.

I'd end up nuts and alone and eating lichen.

Yest, she is eating lichen.

Uniforms destroy the individual in political movements.

 All political movements that put their followers in uniform are dangerous and wrong. Hitler and Mussolini had their brown shirts and Stalin had his cap with the red star. Put on a MAGA hat and you immediately erase your individuality and ability to think as an individual in favor of what the leader demands of you. MAGA is intellectual castration and erasure of the individual.

What is it about geese in flight?

These two geese must like each other to fly that closely.

Why do I even bother to photograph geese in flight?

It's been done a million times better than I can do it. It takes a lot of time and effort that I could have been spending on other things. And no matter how often I do it, I'm never satisfied with the result.

My geese in flight photo are never good enough. They're clichés. I almost hate myself for never learning that I'm not a very good goose photographer.

So why do I keep doing it?

Maybe I just can't believe I can't get these types of photographs right. It's too much of an insult to the ego.

After all these years of trying to take a good photo of flying geese, I still can't do it.

My camera isn't good enough. That's the excuse most photographers give for their failure. In my case, it's true. I never spent $6,000 for a camera body and $12,000 for a long lense. I took the photograph above with a used bridge camera that cost me $329. It's definitely not good good enough to take pictures of birds in flight.

So why do I keep doing it?

It might have to do with the ambition I have to fly. I've had that ambition since I was a boy, which was seven decades ago, and I've never learned yet how to fly.

Geese can fly.

I envy them. I think if I ever gave up trying to photograph geese in flight, I'd have to give up my ambition to fly. I see them doing it and think it's got to be possible for me.

I guess I don't want to give up my childhood.

After all, if you don't want to fly as a child you might as well give up on life.

I'm not ready to do that yet.

 

Waiting for the Bees and Crocuses

One of the first of this year's bees.

Every year I wait for the bees and crocuses to come out. It's about the same time each spring, with the crocuses flowering first, and then the bees waking up or growing up or whatever it is that bees do to come to life on the warming planet. 

It's one of the few things that makes life still worth living.

I've been at this apartment for nearly 22 years. I planted my crocus bulbs 20 years ago. Some of them have survived for that long, although most of those I see these days are offspring of my original plantings.

It is, of course, a miracle to see these two different symbiotic creatures emerge at the same time. I know their emergence has evolved over millions of years and was originally a result of happenstance. Flowers randomly came about out of the quad trillions of random atoms and life forms lurking about the universe, and then bees came along to service them out the the same mish-mash of a time too long ago to understand.  

Why do they keep doing it?

In my short stay in the mish-mash I've come to understand that I will never know, that even asking the question why is an absurdity.

This is simply how things turned out. Despite the absurdity of it, it's one of the things that makes me an environmentalist. It makes me want to wake up on spring mornings.

It's a beautiful thing for an old man to wait for each spring, and I hope it lasts forever.

Remembering Fascism in Spain

 I felt something sharp poking me in the back just about where my right kidney was.

We were having fun in Barcelona, my four new school-teacher friends from Chicago and me. I had met them in Paris in early July of 1972 as we were being frustrated trying to get a train ticket to the festival in Pamplona. All of Paris heads out-of-town on holiday in July and there was not a free seat on any train heading south. Diane, Pam and Linda were lovely, and Robert was middle-aged and seemed fun, so I had a great idea.

"Let's rent a car and drive," I said, hoping to spend more time with lovely blond Diane.

We rented one the next morning on my expired Pennsylvania license, which the young clerk couldn't read as expired, and off we went through the murderous Paris traffic with Diane driving first. We were going to visit the Palace of Versailles, but got hopelessly lost and took all day to get to Chartres, where we visited the magnificent cathedral and then had a wonderful dinner. Wonderful except for the Steak Tartar which Linda ordered, not knowing it was raw ground beef. We drove all night and then through the mists and peaks of the Pyrenees Mountains at dawn, where the local peasants were going out to their fields with their donkeys and lunch pails and wine skins.

The running of the bulls in Pamplona was a two-week orgy of drinking, partying and dancing that went on day and night. On the first morning there we tried to eat Spanish ham-and-eggs, but in those days fascist Iberia was so backward it didn't have refrigeration. Both the eggs and ham were rotten and we gagged as soon as our plates were set down in front of us.

"Is it better in America?" our nasty waitress scoffed at us.

"Just different," Tom, who spoke Spanish, told her.

She took our plates away in a huff.

Then it was off to Barcelona by train, where we visited the Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey in the mountains over the city and wondered at the unfinished fantastical La Sagrata Familia Cathedral by Antoni Gaudi. We were at the harbor photographing the statue of Christoper Columbus when I felt that nasty jab near my right kidney.

We stood innocently in front of some sort of government building. I turned around and there he was, a young dark very serious Spanish soldier still with his bayonet at the end of his rifle pointed at me. He jabbered something in his native tongue, which I could not understand. Since we were having so much fun, and I was a wine-sodden wise-ass, I gave him a glib response.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish."

He didn't speak English, but he did understand a smart mouth when he heard one. A torrent of Spanish curse words few from his mouth as he poked his bayonet at me in the air again and again.

The bayonet I understood. We moved on, this example of fascism in action the worst, but not the only, we had experienced so far.

The Festival of San Fermin in Pamplona, with the daily running of the bulls, had been two weeks of uninterrupted debauchery. It was allowed by the government of its fascist dictator, Francisco Franco. He understood that the uninterrupted discipline and terror of his reign needed needed an outlet when the people could cut loose. They were allowed their tawdry festivals celebrating the country's saints. That seems quite a paradox now, but not then.

The Spanish people were not much fooled by this, except for those who supported Franco. Still, they partied their faces off, because they had to or go crazy.

Franco had come to power in the Spanish Civil War of the 1930s, with the help of the church, Hitler's Nazi German and Mussolini's Fascist Italy. The Nazis bombed Spanish cities to try out their new techniques of aerial murder and supplied military hardware and advisors, as did the Italians. As all civil wars are, it was a terrible, brutal conflict with brother against brother and family against family. Hitler's and Mussolini's  assistance proved decisive. Hemingway wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls to document the atrocities by each side.

We stayed in Pamplona with a humble family that rented out rooms in its apartment during the festival to earn extra money. The Spanish people are warm and welcoming, at least the ones who aren't fascists are, and we were feted with their hospitality and kindness. I spoke enough pidgin Spanish to ask the head of the household what life was like under Franco.

He shook his head and lowered his eyes and gave an answer I did not understand.

"He said everything is in order and you can make a living but there is no freedom," Tom translated. "It is no good."

We moved on to other topics. 

We wanted to go out, so he said his son and his cousin would take us to show us the places Spanish people went and how they partied. The two young men, both portly and tall and proud as only Spanish men can be, led us from bar to bar. Their method of drinking was to enter one bar, order a round of glasses wine for all, drink them down and then immediately move on to another bar, where the same procedure was followed.

With my tongue loosened after several of these visits, I still wanted to know about life was under Franco.

"What's it like living under a dictator?" I asked loudly, in our sixth bar.

Our Spanish cousin looked as though he had seen the ghost of Torquemada, the Spanish Inquisitor during the Inquisition. His eyeball were huge and on the hot night sweat poured off his forehead.

"Is not a dictator! He is not a dictator!" he yelled out in English, looking around desperately.

What had I done? Was this man going to be arrested because of my simple naive question? I learned later that the Franco government still had spies everywhere, two men in every bar and restaurant, always, to ferret out dissent.

After our time in Pamplona and Barcelona, my teacher friends and I parted ways. I headed to Madrid to fly home and they continued their journey through Spain, but fascism wasn't quite done with me yet. I was sitting in a small park near my hotel on the night before my flight home when there was suddenly an awful racket. It was a band playing with about a hundred revelers cheering and stomping their feet as they followed the music. Television cameras were following and preceding, recording the event. This entourage stopped before a podium where several pudgy little men in suits with mustaches ascended to the stage and began speaking, one at a time. They raised their fists and shouted in anger. The crowd cheered and also raised their fists in anger, supporting them in anger, while the TV cameras filmed.

This went on for a while. Then the little men in suits stopped talking, thanked the crowd, ascended from the stage and walked away with the band following them while playing happy martial music. The crowd dispersed and silently went their separate ways. 

I realized I had seen my first fascist rally. The crowd must have been paid to cheer. The politicians were as false as the make-up and bleached blond hair of our current politicians.

I understood these rallies were taking place all over Spain to cement Franco's power and had been for years.

I had been poked in the back by a bayonet, put my friends in danger by asking rash questions about fascism and heard again and again how awful Francisco Franco was from his own population. And I knew about the horrors of the Spanish Civil War.

I had seen and heard all this and can still feel the point of that bayonet in my back, but by far the most dangerous thing I had seen during that visit to Spain so long ago was that fake rally.

I knew then and I know now the most necessary thing a fascist can do is take over the minds and hearts of the people with rallies, television and lies.

That still goes on today.

A Fox Talked to Me Today

Listen to your spirit guide 

A Lakota woman in Montana told me that my spirit guide is the fox. One ran in front of my car on the way to the park today, and then at the park this comely fellow posed for me in the sun far across an open field. I think my spirit guide was telling me to hell with grief and pain, come out in the sun and play. I will listen to my spirit guide.