Sunday reflections.

Sunday reflections.


I saw something strange this week.
In the dewy green grass by a bench and beneath a morning moon, lay abandoned this beautiful fresh white rose, long-stemmed and in full bloom.
I had been thinking a lot about grief; and lives and seasons ending. This rose lay underneath a light in the sky appointed for signs and seasons.
I left it there, untouched.
It spoke too much.
For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday.

A rainy week in London.

For Debbie’s One Word Sunday.
#OneWordSunday

I’m a watercolour artist and I’ve been studying this photo I took of the setting sunlight bouncing off the clear ocean. The reflections and ripples are mesmerising.
For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday.
#sixwordsaturday

There are a few trees that I can see outside my window. This is the tallest one. It’s a conifer and its topmost branch is fairly bendy and reaches upward, meaning a large bird would struggle to perch on it.
But a small bird can. Can you see it?
I love how it is the smallest bird here that gets the best view of the orange sunset, and can sing the loudest from the highest perch.
For Debbie’s One Word Sunday.
#onewordsunday

For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday
Sunset on the beach in summer
Where the world shimmers in love
Fiery light bounces off puddly footprints
Ripply waves whisper generous, abundant peace
Joy springs from sandy, bare feet
And youth is eternal and free
#SixWordSaturday

This is a photo I took of an elephant on the Chobe River in Botswana only a few weeks ago.
I love the wrinkles on the skin and the extra long eyelashes. The herd let us come very close as they stood deep in the river and munched on fresh wet grass.
They are enormous and often dangerous. They are intelligent with rules of engagement. As with Africa, be still and listen; engage and you’ll learn wonders; disrespect it and you’ll lose it.
I love the happy contented look in her eye as the sun set.
She seems to say: come closer, it’s ok, listen, be still, feel. Life is good.
For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday (if the contraction is permitted!)
Splattering and spluttering,
Shoes stammering and stuttering,
A delicate drip on the window pane,
A deluge for the runner on the muddy lane.
Dirt sucks like a monster,
Wakened from its slumber,
Pulling at each pink stride
Plastering its print on purple hide.
Both warm and cold,
Feeling young and old,
Both watered and thirsty,
Washed and dirty,
She bursts through the door
and has a shower.
