Parasol skies
Late summer — and dawn is finally making an appearance again at a reasonable time.
Some mornings, sunrise unfurls like a parasol
Made of blue silk;
Sometimes the dawn
Is an orange burst;
But my favourite kind of sunrise
Is one of peace and reflection,
A canvas ready for colour
And the signature of three small birds in flight.
For more skies, please visit: Skywatch.
Golden thread
If I had needle and golden thread
I’d weave you a glorious tapestry
Of clouds
And colour at dawn.
For more tapestries, please visit: Skywatch.
Clear light
There is beauty there
In that ribbon of clear light
After the storm.
And, of course, there’s always
Swimming for Oscar!
For more lit up skies, please visit: Skywatch.
And Camera Critters.
Golden bowl
The longest day (and shortest night)
Threw the sun against
The golden bowl of the sky
And wrapped up the lake
In ribbons of cloud.
Gone half past ten at night
And still light.
An infinity of reflected beauty.
For more golden poems, please visit: Skywatch.
Sleepless in Stockholm
It’s hard to get sunset or sunrise shots at the moment with only three hours of night.
But a couple of days ago, as I was falling into a deep sleep at ten in the evening,
A loud hissing filled the bedroom. I ignored it.
Another loud hissing.
So I dashed outside to catch the second balloon on the horizon.
It hung there in stillness
Before swooping down and disappearing.
All that was left
Was the delicious pink swirl
Of another gloriously light summer evening.
For more stories – with or without hot air – please visit: Skywatch.
The old mill
You would probably walk right past this humble old cottage
If it weren’t for the sound of rushing water.
You’ll be happy you took notice —
The house is unusually tall and narrow
With marvellous old wood that speak of its age:
Three centuries in existence as the old mill house (Olhamra Mill)
That used to distribute water to the lands around it.
Nowadays, it’s a summer house
Where the owners look as if they stopped painting one of the doors
To enjoy the delight of the singing water.
Before following the bend in the road,
Make sure you turn around one last time
To enjoy the hidden beauty of this age-old jewel.
For more hidden treasures, please visit: Our World.
S is for Summer…
… S is for the social butterflies that gather by the lake.
(Look to the left of the photo – I love the joy of that man laughing.)
… For the serenity of another dazzling sunset.
… And for skipping stones in pajamas on a warm summer night.
For more summer (or winter) shots, please visit: My World.
Humble reeds
Have you noticed the way water reflects the sky
As blue silk
Or how the sky lends even unnoticed reeds
A golden glory that is all their own?
One of the miracles of nature is the fact that even
The humblest of places are filled with beauty.
Just as in life.
For more humble beauty, please visit: Skywatch.
My street
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.)
Who says what?