“…What’s in the name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet…”
These hot-house roses had no fragrance, but they looked just as sweet. And I could not wish for anything better but to be able to capture that odourless sweetness on my paper today, and dream that I could smell the rose…
“…Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made, and forgot to put a soul into…” Henry Beecher (1858)
In an ordinary suburb, by a concrete footpath I found these lovely plant, that would be impossible to capture the beauty of this bloom with my modest watercolour skill, I took a snapshot to share with you and hope it will move you as much as it did me. ♥️
I am very much settled back into daily routine after my big trip yet, the life journey is still miles and miles ahead and that I will have to continue on. I have learnt a lot during my recent travel: About myself, about other people and about what I valued and who I let go. I was fortunate indeed to have had that time just for myself and there was only one person that I would be grateful for. I could not help but to think that he might have arranged it all for me and I love him even more though he is no more, but he taught me to meet “life” with courage!
There was one sunny day during the past three weeks, apart from that it had been raining steadily for many days; the purple winter sky was dark and threatening. At times, the heavens opened and the rain came rushing down over the roof of the house, filled up the gutters, emptying itself on the ground turning my already soaking garden into patches of muddy puddles.
As a child I used to imagine that if I walked into the puddles I might be in another world. I did try, and another world came to me…
I seem to hear a bar of music float And swoon into the west; My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note, But something in my breast Blends with that strain, till both accord in one, As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.
Till the thin clouds wear away Into threads of purple-grey, And the sudden stars between Brighten in the pallid green;
As the day ends to rest The sunset does its best Setting on fire the lively waves Colouring orange the nature he saves its pure ancient glorious perfection.
The great ocean will receive The burning sun who’s going to leave. Slowly comes the night Devouring that magic light: we are still suspended in a great delight.
A poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
All night, the wind was howling outside, at times sounded like a whole army of tanks running down my street, other times it was like the roof of my house was about to take off. This morning the sun was out, I went down to the bay and saw not a soul, not even a lone seagull, she would not be so silly to venture out in this weather. It was not easy to walk on the beach, as the wind was so gusty my sunglasses covered with sand but I managed to hold my camera steady for a few quick shots.
“And in my dream, I went down to the beach again, to the calm clear bay and the vast blue sky, to the whispers of the waves lapping upon the shore. At the water’s edge, endlessly moving tides, so gentle in the light breeze. A lone seagull skipped, pecking and probing, looking for tasty morsels and giving out joyful trill.
In the distant grey mist of the sea, I did not see any “tall ship”, only an occasional vessel carrying containers of goods, quietly creeping across the horizon towards the port across the bay.
Gentle ripples brought in seaweed and tiny seashells; I seemed to hear a bar of music in the whistling wind and my thought wandered. My gaze focussed on the footprints where the soft sand was trampled on. Someone must have walked by with that same weird gait I smiled at the thought wondering if the gentle spirit was sending me a message.”
In the afternoon, the light was brighter, appearing through the clouds shifting and changing, through quick downpours and the gusty winds. The one afternoon that was better to stay in-door. The sweet music helped to sooth the restless soul looking for inspiration that almost within reach, I stumbled on an old yellow piece of cutting…
All night naked you and I – In love and sleep together lie – And as we toward each other turn – Our bodies make the darkness burn – Brighter than day: we touch and find – That flesh can see when eyes are blind.
Time stops: but still the night must fade – We rise into daylight’s shade – And like two strangers dress and move – As if unconscious of our love – But with our eyes we still embrace – And touch each other’s naked face.
If you have not seen an Australian comedy-drama film called “The Dressmaker” then you’d have missed out the most beautiful collection of Vintage Fashion.
I was fortunate to attend an exhibition in Melbourne at Rippon Lea Manor and it was such a delight to view these lovely feminine garments of an elegant era set against the background of a dry harsh Australian country landscape. I like to share these images with you.