Leaves in a mist

 

Dreams of a jungle

Wandering through the moist air

Bliss, deep breaths in... out.

I am... not an old hippie

Many people think

Baby boomer means hippie

I wish it were so.

As someone who spent all my teenage years in a ballet studio during the day and many evenings and was in love with classical music, jazz, and Gregorian chant, I find it puzzling how many people assume I am an old hippie. I was 12 years old when Woodstock happened. 

And yes, my two sisters were more in love with the whole psychedelic vibes of that time, but they did this covertly and never let on to their far too-uncool younger sister.

Hope eternal

 

Snowy icy days
Yet, in my dreams spring bursts forth
I keep my eyes closed.

I am... a fan of K-dramas

 

diary entry

It is a point of disbelief.

Sometimes, endearment,

But only a few truly understand

Why I love watching 

Korean dramas as much as I do. 

Sick in bed

~ reading ~ sleeping ~ reading ~ snoozing 

~ a sigh here, a sigh there  ~ shifting the blankets 

~ sipping my sickness away

Photos by Brooke Lark and Kimberly Farmer on Unsplash

Northern Light

There is no sky light as magical as those countries up north. Ladyfi, who lives in Sweden, photographs one image after another that shows just that. The collage above is inspired from one of such images.

An Endless Autumn

The above is inspired/fired by a photo of Ladyfi. She kindly offered to let me use another of her marvelous Swedish landscapes.

Recently, a friend asked me whether she could make some postcards of my collages. Yes, feel free. Anyone can download any of my collages onto your computers. As long as you are not using the collages for commercial gain, I'm happy to let you use my images.

If you wish to make postcards of superb quality, I can highly recommend moo postcards (or business cards, mini cards). Their paper and colours are exceptional and the costs reasonable. If, for example, you order a pack of 20 postcards, you can upload 20 different images. Also, a plus, you can personalise the back of the postcard with your name and address.

A Woman with an Artist Eye

Ladyfi is a artist who has a fantastic eye for capturing magical moments. As a British woman living in Sweden, she possess the curiosity and unique perspective of someone who has come from the outside in. The images she takes on her daily walks inspire us all who read her blog daily.

She has also generously offered on numerous occasions to send me some of her photos to make collages. Here is the original of the collage above. These two collages (1 and 2) also come from her photos.

Ladyfi, thank you ever so much for your generosity.

Teatime

I've been thinking of doing a series of collages around tea... here's the first attempt at capturing what teatime means to me after 40 years of loving this drink in all its variety.

The Siren's Song

In Margret Atwood's poem, The Siren laments about the gullibility of humans. How we seek what we can never know... we yearn to hear only the one truth, the one song. A song that speaks not of truth, but simply expresses our deep yearning.

This poem makes me wonder about our gullibility in constantly seeking out experts to tell us how rid ourselves of our persisting malaise about what is to come. We yearn so to know… what is going to happen, how can we circumvent disaster, how can we come through it all unchanged?

Perhaps, just occasionally, we should just choose to turn off the television or not read the article. Choose not to listen.

Green Flash

Seeing a green flash is somewhat similar to sighting a whale or having an iguana silently approach you while you sit still and silent at its water source... it is magic.

I am not sure you can capture the moment, or even should try. The green flash is all about anticipation. How can that possibly be anything by flighty?

Homage to my Umbrella IV

To tell a story. To do so with self-depreciation and humility. To make choreography.

Heather McHugh does so brilliantly. I was going to quote the last words of the poem, the sage words, but that would be taking away the soul of the story. Do enjoy.

Homage to my Umbrella IV

There are no childhood memories more filled with sounds, smells, and touch then those summer days spent near water. Timeless moments with sand between my toes. Salt from the sea caked in the crevasses of my skin. The feel of the sun hard upon my scalp. Digging. Digging. For gold. For China.

Stopping briefly to run into the water. Quickly, secretly, I flip my bikini bottoms down so the cakes of sand can dissolve away from between my legs. Quickly. Joyfully. I dive deep down into the coldness. My breath sucked away. I struggle to surface. An intake of breath a triumph. The wind slaps waves into my face and up my nose.

Rushing back to shore, I plop back down in my hole to China.

Such memories are divine. They transport every cell of my body back in time.

Homage to my Umbrella III

Spending some delightful days in Amsterdam with friends. It rains. It shines. The talk flows. The laughter bubbles over.

This city holds many fond memories of youthful escapades I shared while visiting a South African dancer friend. Riding through the city on the back of his rackety bicycle in the wee hours of the morning. He'd rush into the company ballet class having consumed two cups of strong Dutch coffee. No sleep. He'd finish the day's rehearsal with an empty pack of cigarettes. Manage an evening performance, which he'd get free ticket for me to watch. Then we were off to a bar with theater friends.

Homage to my Umbrella II

The sound of the sea greets me in the dark hour before dawn. Salty foam from the white caps out at sea mingle with the turbulent sandy swirl of waves breaking over the coral reef just outside me open bedroom window.

There is a rhythmic intake of silence then a swooshing sound, and thankfully the thunder of a wave breaking below. My mind drops back into a dream on the plains of an Arabian desert. Sultans. Silk. Caravans. Salt. Spices. Images that jumped out of the pages of the book I am reading. It lies half open with my thumb marking my spot. The reading lamp draws night creatures even in the coming dawn.

Bird song. First tentatively. Chirp. Breep. Cheep. Then a sudden wild burst of abandonment. A symphony.

My breath changes. My limbs shift. My mind wakens again, but this time to the day.

Homage to my Umbrella I

Summer is here and the only thing I can say is, "Are you kidding?" I'm not going to talk about the weather, no matter how strange and horrible it might be. Instead, I've decided to do a series of "Homage to my Umbrella" collages, with little or no comment.

Long ago, there was a time when I loved nothing better than going for walks during storms. Ah, my early 20s, when primal fears and melancholic indulgences ran amok. Fortunately, I had some chums who would accompany me on these excursions. Snow, sleet, fog, torrential rains... all good elements to batter down my moodiness.

Looking back on those days, I imagine the me-then calling up today and asking the me-now to go out for a walk and the only thing that comes to mind is, "Are you kidding?"

Artemis Fowl (Book 1)

Just came back from a few days away down to southern Germany. Golden warm south,



Lovely. But, I missed the blues of north,



Spending this day making collages and listening to a wonderful reading of Artemis Fowl's first book.

I love this children's fantasy series. If you like fantasy books and do not know the series, or if you have children >10 years, do yourselves a favour and give it a try.

Modern Haiku

Don't know if I mentioned my journey with Twitter... here's the short version. Joined. Found some people to follow. Was followed by some of them and few others. Basically didn't get it. Basically, thought I felt as if I was sitting underneath a waterfall of rushing information. This left me with a sensation of pressure building in my head. So, I quit. Walked away.

Journeyed on with no twitter, though lots of friends kept saying come back into the waters. Decided that rejection is not always the best consequence of critical thinking or social activism. So, I started to tweet again. This time, as a poet of modern haiku. If you wish, my twitter name is shortshortstori.

I have followers. Most who I do not know personally. It is a puzzle how they found me. It is also a delight.

No Television Zone

Another collage in my television series. For someone who has not owned a television in her adult life, having diddled away many sunny childhood days in front of a television, I've used a television in five collages. Hmmm, what would Freud say about that?

Quiet Sunday

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon after a very busy week. Another very busy week. As many have been this year. Going to have to rethink this busy-ness, or this business of constantly being preoccupied with the white noise of purposeful professional endeavours. Instead, why shouldn't I just try to discover a mindfulness, an awareness for small pleasures and tender mercies that unfold each day. Such gifts.

Thank you for reading this blog.