#GoDoFly presents WTLA #12, #13 and #14

Hello #GoDoFly Lovers!

Here we are to present to you number 12, 13 and 14 on the Wonderful Team Leadership Award list! For more info – http://thealwaysbeliever.com/wonderful-team-readership-award/

It has been a great run and addition to #GoDoFly. We added up the last three to give you an extra taste!

All fourteen of these posts have been great to put together and show the world their talent. It is all true #GoDoFly spirit. From stories to powertalks, from always believing to enjoying the moment, we wanted to share with you the great writers and ways to continue with #GoDoFly.

If you felt inspired, if there is one that you loved more, if you have anything to say, feel free to write to us and to them!

Today´s post is:

These three artists, different and with their own point of views, have captured our hearts and eyes time and time again. We bring to you the following:

Alex Small – http://glipho.com/alexme

That Girl´s Words – http://thatgirlswords.wordpress.com/

Scott Bullard – http://glipho.com/writingbull

Thanks for the love and support,

The Always Believer


We do not own the land.

A friend has posted about a neighbour destroying a hedge. Now I have visited their house and remember this hedge well, it was full grown and mature, full of wild plants and providing a home for countless animals.  Basically, a diverse echo system that also acted an effective barrier between the two properties.
So over a period of time, the neighbour has ripped the hedge apart, first starting just before the blackberries were ripe, thus denying countless creatures a food source. Apparently the neighbour is in the process of now replacing the destroyed hedge with a line of uniform plants.

But this is not a blog about that particular incident, but more about our relationship with the land. Growing up on the North Coast of Cornwall the transient nature of man and his wishes was always in contrast to the Atlantic Ocean and all its beautiful wildness.
Cornwall is marked by the passing of many man’s lives, some hedges date back to the Stone age, harbours dating back to the Bronze age. It is renowned for the Engine houses that mark the landscape, signs of a harsher and far more industrial past. I grew up near  an old World War 2 airfield set high up on the cliffs, where at one end the  run off was just a two hundred foot drop to the sea …
Each new generation reinvents the past to suit the present, but one thing is clear, we need to start seeing how short our lives our in relation to the landscape. Yet often a few minutes of thoughtless action can destroy something that has taken many life times to mature.

The past has changed the land, and nature continues to try to regain a foot hold, reclaim what was once hers alone.
Perhaps now we can question every step and action, loose a little of the arrogance and gain a little humility.

We may think we own the land, but in essence we are just caretakers passing through…




When she goes out into the backyard, fingers intertwined with the one she loves, she looks up at the stars.

Shining specks of light, illuminating the night with a spectacular magic, night after night. They twinkle as she gazes at them, enchanting her with their eternal presence. Up close, they are ferocious fireballs, engulfing themselves. But from where she stands, they shimmer with delicate presence. The little luminous lights above mirror her – burning inside, but brightening up someone’s night with such allure.

She looks up at their glory and grandeur, or perhaps only the illusion of it. Millions of light years away, they may have ceased to exist now. They remind her of the futility of everything on the grand scale of time, exposing her to the truth the daylight overshadowed – forever was only an illusion she refused to accept. The stars would die, so would she. But she gleams with a flutter of hope – as the case may be, even after she departs from the world she has come to know, she might be looked up at and smiled upon.

She sleeps on the grass, gazing at the billions of specks of light whispering at her. She feels like a time traveller, glimpsing into what was, and perhaps what might be. But for the most of it, she understands who she really was – after all, she soothes her soul, we’re all stardust.


The Dog Who Believed

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Melanie who could not do a cartwheel.  All her friends could do it.  One day she was in her backyard with her dog, Rufus, when she finally gave up trying.

“It’s hopeless,” she cried.  “I’ll never do it.”

Rufus walked over and sat next to her.  He licked her face and said, “You can do it, Mel.  I believe in you.”

Melanie sat up straight, shocked.  “You can talk?”

“Not until just now.  You inspired me.  I know you can do it, you just need someone to tell you.  I believe in you.”

Too shocked to argue, Melanie tried again.  This time she did it on the first try.  “I did it!”

“Excellent.  I also believe you know where the treats are?”

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