Archive for October, 2010

The art of forgiveness

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” — Mark Twain


I’ve been thinking about the nature of forgiveness.

How everyone says what a release it is finally to forgive; yet it is one of the hardest things for us to do.

Is it the pain that holds us back? Or is it simply the fact that we have to learn to love ourselves more than we think we deserve before we can love others the same way?

Forgiveness won’t change the past – or the resentments we can find there – but it might, perhaps, transform our future.

What are your thoughts on the art of forgiveness?

 

 

 


Sun dogs

Seeing double…

A sun dog reflected in the lens,

And one swimming in the molten sunset of the last golden days of September.

(I entered this photo in a competition recently and was very surprised to see it on a page of its own in our local newspaper.)


The true pleasures in life are simple: a friend, a stunning sunset, a humbled spirit.

For more golden skies, please visit: Skywatch.

By the way, these photos (and more) are available on my new Red Bubble site. (Red Bubble is where you can share or buy art, photos, writing.)


My street

Falling snow

Nothing – and everything – happens on my street.

Lives are lived out in tears and laughter.

Seasons enjoyed and wondered at.

First hard frost

 

My street is just that – a street with twenty-one houses flanking both sides.

Some of the houses are right on the lake – but not ours. (Which is probably just as well as I would be glued to the windows with a camera in my hand!)

I can open the door and find myself by the lake in a few seconds flat – ready to document the first snow that arrived only five days after the first hard frost – and which sadly disappeared only a day later.

 

First snow

If you walked with me by the lake, we might stop to admire the rickety old jetty with its view of the farm on the other side of the water.

We could laugh with joy as we watch the melting snow bouncing on the path to create rainbows.

And, if we’re really lucky, we could catch those magical snowflakes and appreciate the beauty of our seemingly mundane lives.

For more magic, please visit: My World. (And remember to click each photo to enlarge it.)


Snow cone

On Friday, I woke up early to a carpet of white and a whirl of snowflakes.

After a while, I could stand it no longer and roused the anklebiters so we could go outside and dance in the snow.

Just around lunchtime, the sun came out so Oscar and I went out in search of dazzle and diamonds and snow.

He caught some – right on the nose.

For more adorable creatures, please visit: Camera Critters.


Delicious autumn

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
— George Eliot

There is something special about the blue weather of October with its intense skies. The leaves glow as if they were part of a Monet painting.


The very light of autumn makes the treetops sing and the grass shine.

The falling of the leaves whisper to the living, of new beginnings hidden there in the ending of things.

And there, up in the blue, a single leaf takes wing – the butterfly of autumn – to remind us that life is change.

For more stories, please visit: Skywatch.


The stuff of memories

Memories are like small children wandering along a shore

Or running down a sunlit path towards adventure.

You never know which pebbles they might pick up to store away in their treasure chests.

It might an outing, like this one in summer when we went to England,

Days full of laughter and family and weathered houses over 400 years old.

I feel as if the days are slipping through my fingers so quickly.

Yet in childhood time stands still, even as it is flying past.

Life is a series of moments – both past and present – and what matters most is, perhaps,

Not how many moments you’ve enjoyed, but how many of those moments took your breath away.

For more stories, please visit: My World.

I’m also linking to Jillsy’s Challenge.


The moral of greener pastures

The grass may be greener on the other side of the fence…

… but it is not always better

(or tastier).


I used my imagination to make the grass whatever color I wanted it to be. — Whoopi Goldberg

For more tales, please visit: Camera Critters.


Libertad

It’s easy to take freedom for granted if it’s never been taken away from you.

As I watch the Chilean miners slowly being lifted up to the surface again- to safety and their loved ones,

The tears running down my face,

I wonder if they feel as if they are up there in the sky

Flying free in the tangled ribbons of the heavens.

I imagine that sunlight and air and freedom never tasted so sweet.

For more stories, please visit: Skywatch.


Around my world in four seasons

How to sum up my tiny part of the world  in order to celebrate My World’s two-year anniversary?

Let’s take a walk through the four seasons…

… and feel the warmth and light of those long summer evenings by the lake.

Cup your hands and drink in the misty serenity that is autumn.

As the riot of leaves dies down, find yourself floating in the soft pastels of a glorious winter landscape.

And finally, as the world wakens again, find the joy in a world bursting with new life.

The cycle is complete, yet never ending. The same moments repeat themselves in a familiar rhythm.

The key is to live these moments differently.

Click the photos – they look much better that way!


Hope is the thing with feathers

I caught this bird basking on the golden branches of a tree and it struck me

How large the bird was, and how slender and fragile the branches.

Sometimes, life feels like that: the heavy weight of a burden

Sitting on the fragile tree of life.

You don’t think you can support the weight. But you do.

Because just like that lovely tree, we are stronger than we realize.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all.

– Emily Dickinson

For more stories, please visit: Camera Critters.


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