As the temperatures drop,
The colours in the sky intensify.
When the ice reflects back
The perfection of a pink and lilac dawn,
You know you’re lucky enough
To be enjoying a slice of heaven.
For more heavenly shots, please visit: Skywatch.
I had planned to take my big camera into Stockholm to photograph the sakura, or Japanese cherry blossoms,
But the hail and rain meant that the camera stayed dry at home. (All these photos were taken with my iPhone.)
I decided to revel in the pink beauty of the blossoms anyway,
And I’m glad I did.
The blossoms on the north side
Remained curled up in bud
While the flowers were blossoming on the south side,
Looking so fragile and pretty against the rain.
My spirits soared at the sight
Of a dreamy pink canopy weaved
Of dreams and petals.
“In the cherry blossom’s shade,
There is no such thing as a stranger.” — Issa
For more beauty – pink or otherwise – please visit: Our World.
If I were to cut open the pie of heaven
And serve myself a slice
It would be a glorious golden canopy
Served with a dollop of dog, laughter and kids.
I’m away at the rented summer cottage (or just relaxing at home) and playing with the anklebiters and my niece and Oscar and just enjoying life, so I’m posting a little less. Only two more weeks of summer holiday – so have got to make the most of it!
Remember to click the photo to see the larger (better) version!
Time for my annual check-up at the dentist today. She has moved premises to somewhere nearer home. My husband tries to cheer me up (because, folks, I suffer from severe dentophobia) by describing the new dental surgery like this: “Honestly, you’ll love it. It’s got stars in the floor. It’s like you’ve died and gone to heaven!”
Anyway, so there I am in the new surgery. The floor does indeed have sparkling silver stars in it so that it is like walking on a starry heaven. But guess what? It still feels like the waiting room to hell.
After an excruciating delay, I am shown into a room which is all windows, white floor and shiny new equipment. First off, the X-rays. Then the dental hygienist comes in and starts excavating for lost relics, digging deep down between the teeth with an enormous brush. “You’ve got tartar,” she explains. “And that’s my area of expertise!” she exclaims with glee as she continues her archaeological dig.
I try to watch the synchronized diving because each room has got its very own TV on the ceiling. It’s not easy because now she’s polishing my teeth with a lemon-scented liquid (rather like the scented wipes you get on a plane) and it is squirting up my nose and all over my face.
Then the dentist herself comes in, prods around a bit and looks at the X-rays. I wait for my doom: as long as I can remember I have always always had to have work done on my teeth. Always.
She delivers my sentence: “Your teeth look good! Come back in a year!”
That’s when I think I have died and gone to heaven.