On Angels' Breath
I let the images dictate the text and this was the result, creating image prompted poetry.
A hermit is a person who lives apart from society. Traditionally, this has meant living alone and self-sufficiently, but not always. This House of Solitude is occupied by a Hermit who came from the Lemurian Abbey to connect back to nature and enjoy the serenity and tranquility. She welcome guests. (All images on this site remain the property of the artists and writers, and it is their exclusive work. All images copyright 2007.)
She was a special little dog
- click on the above link to go there.
A 'view' of Owl Island
Actually taken near the Antarctic by an unknown photographer
To be this tiny dancer again, unselfconscious, moving with liquid awkwardness from one newly attempted movement to another. Yet the sensation was more one of flying than dancing. It was not a series of movement, it was one heavenly period of movement untethered by the planet's intent to force gravity on me. No one can teach you to feel this, some do, some don't. I'd probably not have thought of the sensation being one of flight had I not (one a hundred dollars worth of dare) thrown myself out of an airplane over na old airfield in southern Ontario. I was seventeen, and age when rational thought only gets in the way of a good time.
In response to Monika’s Sinous Seaside Wood. Thank you, Monika, for the visual for my idea.
It was 1988,
After spending a few weeks sans artwork on most of my walls, I am bloody happy to have the babies back where they belong. Although, truthfully, I'd not have been hurt if a few of them had found new homes, and I was laughing all the way to the bank. However, I can at least add this to my CV, which hasn't had much to add since being sidelined. So, I am ahead, in that sense.
This was posted last year to Lemurian Abbey and to Live Poets, but I felt a re-run was in order, Monika, for you.
This one is for you, Monika, even though your Muse is constant, which means that you must treat her well indeed.