Camphor Laurel Study

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Season Wheel

The season wheel is turning.
Light, bright, crisp air.
New things, shedding old
things, dry things, odd things,
unnecessary things.
The season wheel is turning,
high sky, bright sun, mellow light,
and harvest.
New things come to replace the
old, the things that were
worn out, useless;
the new comes to settle
in the space left by the old.
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

A Sunday Walk in the Polder

Some families spent their Sunday's going to church, we didn't, we took a long walk. If the weather was particularly good we would bicycle. Well, more specifically my parents would bicycle, to some new place to explore at leisure. This was a particularly bright and sunny day in the middle of summer. A real scorcher by Dutch standards. I rode with my father in a child's bicycle seat, one that would have been met with gasps of disapproval by today's standards. It was black metal and red vinyl and collapsed when not in use. Moms bicycle had a large wicker basket in which the family dog rode. Not one person we knew well owned a car, there was always those days a very small number of motor vehicles comprised mostly of the cheapest of Citroens and Volkswagen bugs.

I could smell that we were coming closer to the sea, it was in the air. Sea gulls screeching with delights as their extended wings caught every warm air current, endlessly gliding along. Everything here was either sand coloured or sea green. Only tall patches of grass broke the very flat landscape, all of it an extended quilt of sandy lifeless polders and squares of grass, just occasionally a patch of houses. One such patch of houses was Spijkernisse. There were no new buildings like the ones in Hoogvliet where we lived. Here the air no longer reeked of the refineries. The quiet here was quite shocking to the system. Our normally chatty family was just now silent, we were blending in, at one with the calm.

We came to the very edge of a brand new polder, not a building, a road, or even a blade of grass, nothing. There was only packed sand dotted by small stones and decaying jellyfish. Seagulls were diving for any small thing that moved. As I was being lifted out of my kiddy seat...

the whole story at www.aletta.org/sparrowweb1.shtml#Walk_in_the_Polder

Harmony

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

The Tree of Many Souls

Out to the country, that’s where we were going. I wasn't fond of “the country”. There were nasty insects and outhouses instead of washrooms. Mams must have sensed I was displeased. I’d rather have spent this afternoon, at home, warm, playing with Lego. So she spiced it up a little for me. We would be going by car.

Only the wealthy had cars. My parents had their educations cut short by a war. Upgrading was done in their adult life. My father held down a jog at Shell Oil full-time and attended university on weekends and in the evening. In the midst of it all he also twice served in the military as a medic (as a pacifist/Buddhist this was agreeable). My mother had been a nurse and studied opera after I was born. At this point my father was at the end of his studies and my mother just starting her performing career. I can only imagine how tired they must have been. Most of our travelling was done on foot or bicycle or public transit.

Neither of my parents could drive, nor did they see a particular need to have a car. To want one would have gone against their deeply socialist sensibilities. Just occasionally we were offered a ride by someone more fortunate in their circumstances. To be so fortunate quite often meant that during the previous world war you had retained your considerable wealth by selling out your own countrymen. This is another reason that wealth was a source of embarrassment to many, and probably should have been.

My parents were devoted Buddhists with considerable interest in the paranormal. Their interests involved hypnotism, seances, bio-feedback, meditation and all other manner of psychic phenomena. My father's friend Wim was a respected psychic and hypnotist from Utrecht he and my father attended the University at Delft together.

He was a tall lanky dutchmen (as if there is any other kind), he had pale blue eyes and no eyelashes, his skin was very pink and he had waves of reddish blond hair.... www.aletta.org/sparrowweb1.shtml

White Ash Study

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Boab Tree

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Primeval Eucalypt

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Tree Divinity

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Some Honourable Ancestors

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Breeze Of Living

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Metamorphoses of sorts...

I guess I don't feel much like landscapes, too cold, too harsh and besides that, something else is pushing it's way forward from my subconscious. No time for fairy tales until I've allowed it entrance into this three dimensional world, and somehow tame it to two dimensions. The work is far from finished, I've barely begun, but I do think the heart of it has made contact with me.



I really hope my energies hold, past the banal housekeeping tasks that will no longer stay on hold. I've dedicate the rest of me, whatever there is of me to this work and to the exclusion of all other projects. I will get the housework under control and make sure the lavender continues to weather the end of this winter, as they have so bravely come this far. The sun is up another hour or so, enough to cover them and add a little compost. Considering the season the balcony is still quite green.

Slowly I think I might be coming to terms with not being as I once was. There is a great reduction in just how much I can accomplish in one day, one week, one month. I am as always lately painfully aware that there is only so much I can likely accomplish, so I set out to nevertheless accomplish ten times that. with any luck St. Jude has a little time left for me.

Valentine to Nature

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Back to that afternoon, that warm peaceful afternoon, when the fairies were swinging from poppy to poppy. The dog and cat were occupied chasing butterflies. the smell of weak bleach and laundry soap permeated the air. The fresh coat of white paint made her little cottage home sparkle in the afternoon light. The warm wind caused the leaves to make a gentle rustling sound. You could hear birds chirping and the occasional snap of a towel as Mrs. Millar hung the laundry on her clothesline.


The whole story at www.aletta.org/wingedtales05.shtml

Art Spider - Weaving Home

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Bloom Time

Bloom Time -

bloom when it's time -

no permission required -

Nature.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Cypress Walk

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Patch of Grass

Patch of Grass

It’s not much to look at,
worth hardly a glance …
yet this patch of grass
and blackberry brambles
speaks magic,
while, off in the distance,
the sound of the surf
with shore birds aloft,
and, after the fog,
the blue sky above.

I listen
as the breeze
speaks to the trees,
and wonder the message
that it holds for me?
Is it
that fairies exist
way back in the brambles,
or elves dressed in green?
Or is it that goblins and ghosts
hide out in the foliage,
ready to jump out,
to scare and to frighten?

Why was I drawn
to this patch of grass
with blackberry brambles,
and off in the distance,
the sound of the surf,
shore birds aloft,
and, after the fog,
the blue sky above?

You’ll not find it in guidebooks
or colored brochures,
yet this patch of grass
may very well be—
The Goddess’ Garden.

Vi Jones
©February 5, 2006

Ancient Crepe Myrtle - Late Summer Show

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Dream Apples

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Walking under the Moon

One of those exceptional nights, that despite the cold, every step held a view worthy of the trip. The snow turned pink in the twilight of the sun. Ski slopes lit with lights that twinkled as did the stars above them. The grass grew crunchy by the time I was nearly home again. All the while a nearly full moon beamed, seemingly following me home. I'd had the good sense to pack my little camera. I am especially happy with the shots of the red and green light with scored of magpies sitting on high tension wires over the crossing. could not resist a vanity shot of myself as I passed the bank's mylar lined window. Now I am tired and will have to rest some. If any thing I will be doing my writing.

Rain on the Water

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Apple Harvest Study

The large apple is shop bought, and the other
two are from the roadside tree. It shows the
size difference, and variety, and the taste is just as good.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Wild Roadside Harvest

These apples were found in the countryside

by the road, lovely and ripe, tart-sweet and

crisp white inside. We were thrilled, and

they just fell into our hands. Their full size is

no larger than a small plum. We collected

them in old calico bags, leaving a good

number on the tree, and they were still

warm from the sun.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Autumn Blowing In

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Black Bean Tree Bloom

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Cape Chestnut Bloom

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Fresh and Breezy - High In The Sky

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Seeds for Des - In Memory

A dear old friend of ours passed on early this
morning, and leaves a lasting legacy of loving
trees, especially the Bunya Pines of Queensland. The topmost

seed is from one of these and they are very large.

This gallery is for his memory, and we know he will be planting
new seeds, just in a different way. His memory will

always stay. Thanks Des.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

On Returning Waters

Ah, the Lotus.
My wedding ring is a band of Celtic Lotus,
for which I wrote this poem ...

LOTUS RING

A caressed lotus flower breathes,
you know;
awakening in slight fluttered,
pulsed response
to heartfelt
whispered
words
that touch the mind and soul.

Then behold the showered
thousand
teardrop
petals
as nether dreams
and close-held fears
blend in yearning.

Such a gift!
Bury me then in white-rained kisses,
each an ever-mem’ried thought of love and heart.


I reach up – out – beyond
and
within heaven’s touch;

clutching, playing, gathering
a simple blessed few.

Bind them
by bold impassioned will and selfish need.
Forge each by each
and splendid reach
into unity
of cleaved wonder,
awe
and surrendered spirit.

Encircle my hand with a garland of silver light,
each fine petal a stepping-stone from then to now;
a symphony of gleaming notes of Lotus Song.

Returning Waters

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Chinese Dream Casket

copyright Monika Roleff 2oo6.

Sacred Bamboo

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

excerpts from The Weeping Lady

Under certain circumstances, fairies will just see a need to intervene. such was the case with Ms. Millar one warm springtime many years ago. It had not been long before that splendid day that Ms. Millar, they valley's school teacher had to bury her young husband. He had died in a faraway war, in another country far, far away. Ms. Millar was still living in a big city then, she'd just finished going to teacher's college. she was lonely and spent all her evenings in the darkness crying until she finally would fall asleep.

It was her cousin Elizabeth who invited her to come and stay with her in the valley, As it happens, and quite often it does, just then the teacher Mr. Rolf, decided he really needed to stop teaching after thirty years and open a candy shop instead. Perhaps it came about because after years of taking away candy from his pupils he decided he's just much rather make the most wonderful candy for children to enjoy. So he did, within weeks he's rented a store and was making the most wonderful candy.

The rest of "The Unseen" is at wwww.aletta.org/lukikoko.shtml