Saturday, September 30, 2006


copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Stately Raven for Heather

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Winter Has Gone - Summer Coming

Enchanteur Winter Gone

Enchanteur Summer Coming

Summer is coming!

Orange Spring

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Seasonal Change

Whether your life is shifting to green or gold,
I am drawn to muse on the timeless rebirth theme.


Future Prance

I’ll leave footprints on tomorrow
if I can dance with you today;
to a tune plucked on our heartstrings
with a song born of memories.

We’ll waltz back unto our future
and sign the guest-book yesterday;
for what will be is created
by conducting past symphonies.

Our love brushed on eternity
with a stroke drawn on and when;
on a canvass neither if or done,
but held forever in both our hands.

Look back now to fading wonder
to see the prancing of our dreams;
as we step from art to music
and glide from when to ancient lands.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Spring in Lemuria

Enchanteur Summer

Enchanteur signals that spring has arrived in Lemuria

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Earth Curve Horizon

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Seaside Wilderness

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Friday, September 22, 2006

Lilly Pilly Spring

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

For Darryl - Collected Thoughts

"into caverns dark and to the morning"

“Behold the prayer of morning --
Earth's mem'ries teaching the stars
of man's dreams and fears;
echoed in the bursting voice
of eversong and quiet-light.”

“One can be so lonely in a crowded room,
or shielded in contemplative singularity

and hear a thousand songs,
of strangers met tomorrow, yes?”

“I am of the twilight hush --
swirling whispers
in defiance of entropic gloom.”

“Yes light, bonded here today.

Light to destroy the shadows of my cluttered mind.

Light to reveal the weeds of my despair --

that they can be plucked out.

Light to nurture my waning spirit.

Birth -- birth again in ever light.”

papa faucon

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

For Heather and Darryl

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

A touch chilly this morning

Too Soon

Too soon the fall,
with tomatoes left green,
peppers small
and summer chores
languid in a jar …

Where then the picnic planned
and bathing in the stream –
and evening walks to wave at strangers?

Too soon the fall
of graying hair
as cobwebs in attic dreams
of being more of spring’s promise
than fading light.


Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The Awakening of Enchanteur - A Tale

Once upon a time
Enchanteur slept
under a magic spell
slept for one hundred years

Tapping At My Chamber Door

and then one day
the ebony raven came
tap tapping on her chamber door
and she was awakened from her sleep


now everyone wonders
does Enchanteur ever sleep?

A Tale of an Eagle Feather Quill

A Tale of an Eagle Feather Quill

The green hillside sloped into a narrow valley where patches of wild flowers appeared as a colorful quilt in the morning sunshine. My tears fell like rain upon the earth. I fell to my knees crying out to my Goddess. I was getting old and wondered what I had to show for my passage through this life. I had regrets and yet … the years had not been that bad, had they? Life as it used to be was a potpourri of memories. Many were heartbreaking, but there had been joyful moments, too. I thought of the times I had spent on this very hillside, watching the butterflies and birds and making wreaths of delicate blossoms for my lover’s hair.

The eagle came again
as he had
yesterday, the day before,
and the one before that.
Flying low,
then soaring
in ever widening circles.

I watched with fascination,
drawn by a primitive urge.
I wanted so much to be
part of the eagle’s world,
to soar above life’s fateful challenge,
to leave behind the bonds of hurt
to find hope again—
to be an eagle
and fly, fly, fly away.

Then, to my surprise,
the eagle landed
just steps away.
His tawny eyes
burned into mine,
fierce talons spread—
wild proud, and free.

I stood curiously unafraid, knowing that he meant no harm. His eyes communicated though at first I failed to understand. Then, as I watched in awe he fluffed his feathered cloak until he was enormous, as tall as a horse and just as strong. I knew what was expected of me and climbed upon his back and clasped my arms around his powerful neck. Then supported by his mighty wings we rose far above the ground in ever widening circles.

I felt his eagle muscles
as up and up we went
on wings of strength.
His crown of white
a beacon
to show the way,
to light our path.

We left my valley far behind,
crossed mountain ranges
capped with snow.
Sprawling cities
shrouded in pollution’s haze
Prairie as far as eye could see
with endless seas of waving grain.
Small towns.
White grain elevators and church steeples
reaching for the hand of God.

We were joined
by a female,
my eagle’s mate
who flew beside us for a while
before swooping downward
and crying in her eagle tongue,
“May the gods bless you
and may your journey
bring you what you seek.”

The coast fell far behind
as we crossed the blue green sea.
Below, freighters, small as rowboats,
their wakes
watery trails of glistening foam.
Schools of porpoise,
those sea dwelling ballet dancers
slicing through the water
in joyful symmetry.

We flew above a continent
rich in history.
Ancient cities, quaint villages,
hedgerows, and stone walls.
Small farms tucked into
fields of green.
A mountain range,
grand cathedrals of rocky spires.
All this and more
passed beneath my eagle’s wings.
We flew, lower now and slower.
I saw ancient Athens
and there, the Acropolis
standing aged upon its hill.

My eagle circled slowly
over olive groves.
We soared, then down
to a gentle landing.
I had arrived
but where and why
I did not know.

I dismounted, as commanded
and stood and watched
as my eagle flew away.
I was alone
in the warm Greek sunshine
not knowing what to do.
This was a different Greece
from the one I knew.
Somehow I’d been transported
to a time so long ago
when warlords ruled
with pagan gods.

Nearby, a tiny house
stood upon a knoll.
The door opened
and there she stood,
dark of hair
and brown of eyes.
She wore a tunic
of deepest green,
a sash of yellow
looped at the waist,
with sandals laced up to her knees.
In one hand she held a scroll
and in the other,
an eagle feather quill.

I wondered if I was dreaming when she smiled and beckoned me to come. I approached slowly, a little apprehensive, expecting my moment to lose the vision that had appeared before me. The vision was me. I had met myself in another time and knew then that every lifetime is meaningful and precious. The woman had my DNA. I didn’t need to test it. Her genes were mine. Her energy was my energy. I was she and she was me.

I awoke upon my hillside
when the sun was setting low.
I had, it seemed,
fallen asleep
upon the grass
just a little time ago.

I knew then what I must do to make my life worthwhile. It had come to me in a dream so vivid, so clear I could have sworn it really happened. I had traveled to Ancient Greece on the back of an eagle and found myself. I sat up and there, clasped tightly in my hand, was a perfectly beautiful eagle feather quill.

Vi Jones
© September 19, 2006

Monday, September 18, 2006

Blue Wave of Happiness

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Simple Geranium Art

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

The Vine ... For Monika

This is a true story, Monika. It happened while we were still living in my beloved Oregon. I thought of it again when I saw your pictures.

The Vine

It was small,
but mighty,
but fiercely determined—
the vine
that grew outside my back door.
It was an invader,

Imagine when,
one morning I noticed
such delicate life
invading my kitchen.
Through the wall, no less,
it had burrowed—
a leafy drill
through stucco and wood,
dry wall and plaster.

I should cut it away, I thought,
tear it out by its roots,
seal its passage,
pull it out and destroy it,
but how could I
when all I could do
was watch in amazement
as little by little
and day by day it traveled
across the linoleum.

Where next would it go?
I wondered.

Would I,
one morning awaken
to find myself covered
with a blanket of leaves?
Or would I be trapped
in its vines,
like a fly in a web?

I moved on,
the vine behind,
and wondering
where next did it go—
where next did it go?

Watching Honeysuckle Climb

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Positive Energy

Plane Tree First Spring Buds & Leaves

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Council House 2 - Enlightened Design

They say it can't be done, but there it is, another
quality design project, connecting folks back to nature
right in the city. Praise for the architect, Michael Pearce,
who applied the logic of termite mounds to buildings in
South Africa, and then applied other concepts from nature here.
Bright new thinking, check it out in
(I don't normally post news things on the blog of
solitude, but I thought this fitted in with the
feel! Creative Energy lives!)

Wild Grove

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

"A Peppercorn Story"

They planted rows and rows of Peppercorn trees
along the railway line...
The first(the very first) steam rail line in Australia in 1852
They planted them on either side of the track
They stretched from the sea to the city,or the city to the sea
Some 3 miles in the old language of measurements
Protected by stakes and old flour bags
Tendered lovingly by Council garden staff

They grew and grew and grew
Over the years, many were lost to pollution
from the rubber factory along the line
Some cut down for development,
some died during the 150+ years
Trees like Peppercorns had a well known history
in the working class suburb
Never, no never cut them back ,
they are meant to flow, bounce in the wind,drop their pink balls

Now their roots are trimmed as they find their way
across the road lifting it up in large cracks
This is done every 10 years or so
Under the watchful eye of the Historical Society garden lovers
They are heritage listed
and if one is lucky to travel on the rail line
now no longer a steam or electric train
but....a light rail similiar to a tram as it
trundles along the same track from the city
to the sea...

If you are lucky enough to take this short journey
look to your left and look to your right
and take in or even count!
The Peppercorn trees
planted so long ago
Monika thank for for reminding me
of another bit of my history....

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 13.9.06

Peppercorn Spring

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Caught in a Flashlight's beam

 Posted by Picasa

Alder for Bobbi

An Alder Tree to lean on...
take care Bobbi.
copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

For Bobbi


Be assured that your mother's spirit has been guided to a very safe and special place, a place where you will be able to find her Bobbi.
with love from le Enchanteur - Spirit Guide

I've come to hide in the Abbey...

Forgive me for being away from you all for so long. Caring for my mother became a 24 hour labor of love the last while. I am desperately sad and sorry to tell you all that my dear mother passed away two weeks ago. I was at her side to the end, but her end seems to have been my end as well. I am lost and so terribly shattered that I don't know what to do.

If I may hide in the abbey maybe I can find my way back again.


Death of a Tree

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The Palo Verde - A true Story

It was one of the few really huggable trees that grow here in the desert country of Arizona. After all, one cannot hug a cactus. This tree, a Palo Verde, was just around the corner from where I live in this community of sorts. I passed it often and it beckoned, but I never did stop and hug it like I wanted to—I was afraid, you see, of what the neighbors might think and the fact that tree huggers are not very well thought of around here. Besides this particular tree was not very well thought of—it was in the eyes of many a dirty tree because it did what came naturally to it—it shed and messed up the neatly raked gravel. That’s what we have here, gravel. So much easier to take care of than grass, that’s what they say anyway.

But back to the only huggable tree—the tree that called to me whenever I passed by. The desert monsoon season came around as it usually does in July or August and one night a big wind—gusts of sixty miles per hour, they said. And when I walked around the corner the next morning, my tree, the only huggable tree in this community lay across the road—it had fallen during the night.

Too late now for hugs, I stood in the drizzling rain and looked at my tree lying there. It’s foliage seemed greener than ever as if it was celebrating its own life. I felt I had let it down, and for what—because I was afraid that others might think that this old woman was a little daft in the head, hugging trees like that. I went home and got my camera and though I never got a picture of it while it was standing, I would at least have a picture of its last moments. and I would remember it lying there … its foliage sparkling as if gifting me with something. Even though I never shared my hugs with this particular tree, I am a tree hugger and I believe in the power of trees and I’m open to their wisdom. I truly believe that this tree was leaving me with the message that I must never put off sharing love and hugs because one day it may be too late. It told me, too, that I must always be myself and forget about the unseen eyes of those who may not always agree with my philosophy on life. I regret that although I befriended this particular tree in my mind, I failed to reach out to it in the way that I wanted to and should have.

While I stood there photographing my fallen friend, the Tree People came by with their saws and chipper. I turned my back and walked away with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. Even from my house and for the next hour or so, I could hear the buzz of the chipper. It was a dreadful sound, but I tried to think beyond it to the tree that was my friend. The space around the corner is so empty now though I have the feeling that the tree’s spirit remains.

Vi Jones
©September 10, 2006

Journeying Again

Off to seek the Elixir of Creativity...

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Rain Art

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Spring Tracery

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Dream Season

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Hold Fast And Brave

Hold fast the time of
blossoms and blooms --
the colours emerging
from the dark winter earth.
There is bravery in
birthing, knowing not what --
the season may hold.
It has been said that
birthing is for the brave
and Spring is a craze
of rainbow colour, crispest green
and perfumery bold.
Perhaps the
tracery of the trees
responds to this crazy
display, enticing it to
shoot leaves again,
and be brave.
copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Facing Joy

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Honey Season

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Star Groups

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Earthy Roses

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Rose Leaf Tapestry

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Sunny Yellows

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.