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Thursday, 7 November 2024
November arrived & with it, some slower days. I've been breathing, quietly organising this or that corner of the home, thinking about exhibitions to see, movies to watch, books to read. Landing in rest after months of so much going on.
A few glimmers of the season just around the corner. The first decoration arrived home with me from the department store, and it's only afterwards that I realised I'd pinned a similar one by Elsa Billgren – I really love her gentle and relaxed approach to decorating and all things aesthetically pleasing.
E.E. Cummings has the most beautiful words for this month that despite the dusk, shimmers:
"Peering from some high window; at the gold of November sunset
(and feeling that if day has to become night this is a beautiful way)."
And I say that I've been missing something of the old "blogging days". Things are of course quiet here these days, but a morning pointing the lens at small things that lift the heart is still a form of mediation for me I see. So I would like to continue. And if you happen to be meeting me here, I wish you a beautiful season ahead, with treasures in the dark.
x
Saturday, 24 February 2018
Today I'm flying low
& I'm not saying a word.
I'm letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping,
the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.
But I'm taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move
though really I'm travelling
a terrific distance.
Stillness.
One of the doors
into the temple.
~ Mary Oliver
Wednesday, 10 January 2018
"I'm looking at a life unfold
Dreaming of the green and gold
Just like the ancient stone
Every sunrise I know
Those eyes you gave to me
That let me see
Where I come from..."
Dreaming of the green and gold
Just like the ancient stone
Every sunrise I know
Those eyes you gave to me
That let me see
Where I come from..."
(named the post
& realised there was a song for that...)
A few green & old glimpses from where half of me
& my other half come from...
Lush plants in Hastings at the top,
Air & Space Hall in Manchester,
where we visited my brother & his family,
followed by a visit to my aunty and grandma
in the Midlands.
An ancient tombstone in the tiny village of Eynsford,
where the two of us escaped for breakfast
the morning after a village wedding,
where husband's 79-year-old aunt
was totally outshining us younger ones
on the dance floor :)
Late afternoon coffee in Brighton,
as the sun was going down.
Aunties, grannies, cousins, friends,
lovely little places...
Plenty of gold nuggets crammed into a week.
x
Monday, 20 November 2017
“Life cracks us into unrecognizable shards
of former incarnations.
Slivers of our hurt and our pain and our shame
nestles next to fragments
of our truth, our divinity,
our fierce reclamation of power."
"It is this very brokenness that allows us to knit together,
kaleidoscope style.
And we spin and shift and turn to the light
until we appear brilliant,
lit from within.
Suddenly we are revealed;
unexpected beauty born directly from brokenness."
"We have to be willing to break in order to become.”
words: Jeanette LeBlanc
Sunday, 1 October 2017
October the first.
Trees still mostly green,
but this last week
a definite shift in the air.
Although a tad apprehensive
about the increasing coldness that awaits,
I take pleasure in these shifting seasons,
a reminder of each moment having its own beauty,
its own soul.
And amid the constant changes,
I value what has remained over the years.
Family, old, steadfast friends.
As autumn gains a deeper layer,
in between the calendar entries,
I get an urge to huddle and quieten down.
In the best case,
give my all to each encounter,
then in the quiet moments
meet with my own soul.
In the autumn dimness,
have ever clearer eyes.
"Your hand opens & closes,
opens & closes.
If it were always a fist
or always stretched open,
you would be paralysed.
Your deepest presence
is in every small contracting & expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced & coordinated
as birds' wings."
~ Rumi
Sunday, 30 April 2017
The first of May tomorrow,
and yesterday it snowed.
I was cooped under the covers
with a spring flu
& didn't really mind
with all the glow
that arrived in the form of
writings on creativity,
photography vibes,
& a film with one of my absolute favourites,
Lena Endre,
transporting me
to the windswept coastline of Öland.
Today I fancied picking up the camera,
take away any excess.
Simple forms,
simple things
– honey, glass that reflects the morning light,
the drinking glass made by a friend,
who is a glass artist,
the caraf a souvenir from a market in France.
An attempt to catch some tender luminosity,
while the head is a soft, warm blur.
x
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