Whispers of Whiskers: Odes to Cats🐈
Exploring the Enigmatic Charm of Feline Friends🐱
In the moon's gentle glow, whiskers aglow,
Silent hunters prowl, with grace they bestow.
Eyes like emeralds, secrets they keep,
In shadows they dance, while the world's asleep.
Purring melodies, a soothing song,
Cats weave a magic that's never wrong.
Curled on warm laps or high on a ledge,
Masters of comfort, a fur-covered pledge.
They saunter with elegance, rulers of poise,
Lives full of mischief, yet silence their noise.
In sunlit spots, they stretch and they dream,
Guardians of home, a royal regime.
With every paw print, a story unfolds,
Cats, enchanting companions, in tales untold.
THANK YOU FOR READING !!!🙏🏻😸
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
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