I hear music, a familiar song whispering under my pillow. My soul wanders, a spirit across the plains to the evening rose sky or is it the sun that rising…
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.
“… Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime – with the fairy tales of science, and the longest result of time; When the century behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed: When I dipped into the future far as human eye could see; Saw the vision of the world and all the wonder that would be…”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The childhood sandwich that I grew up with and never thought that it would one day become an international culinary. A “fast food” that one could consume anytime of the day. Put together with a baguette spread with paté, layers of roast pork filet arranged over with a sort of thinly sliced Vietnamese ham called “Cha Lua”, topped with slightly pickled carrot, cucumber, coriander, scallion and fresh chilli. Splashed with some light soy sauce and voilà a delicious sandwich!
I was delighted to find Banh Mi was in the menu on one of my flights, served by Neil Perry cuisine for Qantas. 😊
Today there was a real spring weather feeling that I took the beach with my picnic. Wish you all were here. Bon appétit!
“… And I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense of sublime. Of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of the setting sun. And round the ocean and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man: A motion and a spirit that impels all thinking things, all objects of all thought, and rolls through all things…”
“…By the seashore lie wild sweet peas, pink, blue and purple weaved like Irish lace, the sweetest bloom of the day. Though I have no poet’s conviction but only colours wash on paper. Hoping to capture a few moments of your dreams in the sunshine. For a new day is dawning and here is with love just for you…”
A 2.5 acres of landscaped garden with hundreds varieties of roses that suitable for Seattle climate, and being a pesticide-free garden, the gorillas of the nearby zoo can enjoy the gourmet treats of the spent flowers.
This beautiful rose garden is within ten minutes walk from where I stayed. It is not only a sanctuary for the birds and the bees but it is a great place for me just to sit and contemplate, letting each breathing to exhale and inhale the perfume fragrance of the roses, a perfect place for daydreaming!
“All things uncomely and broken, all thing worn out and old – The cry of a child by the road way, the creak of a lumbering cart – The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould – Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deep of my heart.
The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told – I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart – With the earth, the sky and the water, re-made like a casket of gold – For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deep of my heart” W.B.Yeats
“… One of those days we went out for our early morning walk even before breakfast and found the rose sky that reflected on the river as we stood on the pier. How perfect this gentle atmosphere that surrounded us…”
As I stood by a hill that almost touched the sky, I thought I saw “ten thousands” poppies, scarlet red dancing in the breeze. By the time I finished this painting, there were but few.
Happy winter/summer solstice!
“O gentle vision in the dawn:
My spirit over faint cool water glides,
Child of the day,
To thee; and though art drawn
By kindred impulse over silver tides
The dreamy way to me.”
(Harold Monro 1879-1932)
In the gentle morning light, silence floods the river’s bend and ducks are not yet awake; I could hear your voice…