Not exact matches
«All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the
flower of the
field; the grass dries up, the
flowers wither, if the breath
of God
passes over them.»
«Yes, man is as grass, he blooms like the
flower of the
field; if a breath
of wind
passes over it, it is gone; and its place knows it no more.»
One lovely summer day, an iconic vision comes to mind: you see yourself seated at your easel in a
field of flowers, working peacefully on a plein - air landscape painting as clouds float above and bees
pass by, humming in a friendly manner while searching for nectar or creating honey or whatever.