Ode To The Wind

“Less than the cloud to the wind,

Less than the foam to the sea,

Less than the rose to the storm,

Am I to thee.”

“On Chelsea Bay” Watercolour

“More than the star to the night,

More than the rain to the tree,

More than heaven to earth

Art thou to me.”

Sarah Teasdale

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Song Of Songs

Watercolour on paper

Sing me at morn but only with your laugh;

Even at Spring that laugh into leaf;

Even at Love that laugheth after Life.

 Sing me but only with your speech of day,

As voluble leaflets do; let viols die;

The least word of your lips is melody!

 Sing me at eve but only with your sight!

Like lifting seas it solaceth; breathe so,

Slowly and low, the sense that no songs say.

 Sing me at midnight with your murmurous heart!

Let youth’s immortal-moaning chords be heard

Throbbing through you, and sobbing, unsubdued.

 Wilfred Owen

Count Your Blessings

It’s the third Christmas since the day my beloved husband died (990 days to be exact). Although each day had been as long as an eternity yet, it seems as though he only passed away yesterday. This year I am learning to appreciate time on my own, I am also learning to be happy facing the misery of being left a widow instead of, running away from it as I did the last two Christmas

I learnt to count my blessings, and that I did not have to plan a big Christmas dinner for anyone, and definitely counting my blessings that I did not have to shop with thousands of other shoppers. I smiled watching how people rushing around buying as though the shops would be closed for weeks and not for just one day. Anything but to do with the real spirit of Christmas: Shouting the insults at one another, fighting for a spot in the car park that already full. So many dramas that being put into one day of the year for families to connect or to disconnect? And if Christmas comes once a month, would families have enjoyed each other more without too much effort? We’ll never know.

Perhaps I envied those, who have families gathering around them?  Who had to get up on Christmas morning and in a hurry to get “things” done? Perhaps I should have felt guilty that I did not have any worry making sure the family Christmas dinner is up to the usual expected standard; like the turkey might be too dry? Or the pork is not crispy enough? And what happened to the pudding?  But instead, I did not have to rush out of bed, and then I took my meditating time wandering through my herbs garden, listening to a birdsong,  picked some fresh herbs to make a creamy omelette that would turn into a soft fluffy scrambled eggs for breakfast. How perfect! Not to mention the aroma of my favourite freshly brewed organic coffee, just the way it should be on Christmas morning and I better get used to it.

Well, like a bear, I decided to hibernate this Christmas, in the luxury and abundant quietness, away from the hustle and bustle of the festive season, allowing not, the crowded loneliness and the loud misery affecting my soul. I am counting my blessings indeed, for a lovely Christmas morning, totally alone. And yes, I did turn my phone off just for Christmas.

“Christmas Roses”
Watercolour

A Dinner Of Herbs

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;

Remember me to one, who lives there,

For he once was a true love of mine…”

With green mint, cool parsley,  sweet basil, and sunny thyme made a perfect dinner of herbs added with refreshing coriander and common chives, all from the garden herbs box he built for me on the deck.

“…Where I may sit and rightly spell. Of every star that heaven doth show, and every herb that sips the dew. Till old experience do attain, to something like prophetic strain…”

A cracker of herbs

Parsley that you can smell with your heart and rosemary for remembrance of you and of love, while sage gives me the wisdom and courage to change the things I can. And thyme! O thyme of sweet aroma, for my cup of tea.

A bouquet of herbs
A soup of herbs

Earth, Sky And Ocean…

This painting was inspired by Shelley’s poem that we read together. I used the aboriginal art creating a story of love separated by heaven and earth between oceans, rivers… and never the twain shall meet.

Acrylic on canvas by Thai Peck

“The fountains mingle with the river 

   And the rivers with the ocean, 

The winds of heaven mix for ever 

   With a sweet emotion; 

Nothing in the world is single; 

   All things by a law divine 

In one spirit meet and mingle. 

   Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven 

   And the waves clasp one another; 

No sister-flower would be forgiven 

   If it disdained its brother; 

And the sunlight clasps the earth 

   And the moonbeams kiss the sea: 

What is all this sweet work worth 

   If thou kiss not me? “

At Sunset

To-night the west o’er-brims with warmest dyes; 
Its chalice overflows 
With pools of purple colouring the skies, 
Aflood with gold and rose; 
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine, 
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.

And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,
As ashes follow flame.
But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies
Call tenderly my name;
It was as if some priestly fingers stole
In benedictions o’er my lonely soul.

From a poem by Pauline Johnson

Sunset on Chelsea beach
Watercolour

Le Réveil Du Printemps

A stroll around the neighbourhood and I found these beautiful blooms. It’s a promise that the warmer weather will soon arrive. Although the fresh chill air is still in the wind, in the sunshine one could not help but feel bright and blossoming as if the flowers across the fence turned and smiled at me.

Making my way across the dune and down to the beach, the sea sparkled like diamonds floating on the water of cobalt blue while the cerulean sky shined above. And in the spring of the year… feel my joy where ever you are.