The Lemurian Hermitage

New Season 2007

2006-12-30T20:42:00.000-08:00

Happy Creative New Year To All!

(image adapted from 1930's New Year Greeting Card.)

Green Season

2006-12-27T17:50:00.000-08:00

Holiday Season Wishes

2006-12-23T06:22:00.000-08:00

Greetings for Christmastide across the Miles!

(image taken from 1930's Christmas Card.)

Solstice

2006-12-20T16:39:00.000-08:00

Christmastide Approaching

2006-12-18T22:23:00.000-08:00

Sun and Snow - Christmas Around the World.

Season of Exchange

2006-12-15T06:24:00.000-08:00

New Elm

2006-12-15T06:19:00.000-08:00

Season of Light - Nature Lanterns

2006-12-12T17:32:00.000-08:00

" Songbirds Gather on a Warm Summer Night"

2006-12-08T03:47:00.000-08:00

Last night on Thur 7th Dec'06
we met at my home for an evening meal,
23 singers of the Heartsong Choir
A group formed 3 years ago
A group of women who loved to sing
4 Part harmony was the norm, sometimes 5.
One could find their place in this group
no labels,singing in harmony seemed easy

Maryanne had lost her love of singing
keeping the group together was hard over the past few months
She had no energy,she did not want to disappoint us
she struggled on ...
We read the signs without words
Her year had been a brutal one
She nursed her young Brother John
who died in August from a brain tumour
A young man of 41 years
A teacher of History/English ,a musician ,a traveller
a left wing activist
Heartsong sang at the celebration of his life

We gathered one last time to be together
We shared a wonderful meal
We sang songs favourites,christmas hymns and carols
Tears were shed ,laughter of fun times ,disasters remembered
We come from all walks of life
Nurses,shop owner,care workers,geography teacher,a worker with
guide dogs,a young blind woman,a student,a disability worker
and her client who loved to sing and laugh,a female lay preacher
who works as an outreach worker, a chello player & on and on it goes

We sat late into the night and talked of our path for 2007
Maryanne will sell her flat and buy a house with a garden
a place of privacy where she can feel at peace
A room for music to teach, and learn to play the chello
Take a year off just for herself a year of low earnings but a year of need.
We will wait, we 23
We will keep in touch with each other,time permitting ,comittments permitting.
We will hope another choir is formed when Maryanne is rested

Some of us will look at other choirs
in our neighbourhoods
Choirs that don't have too many requirements
Choirs that don't say "You must be able to read music"
Choirs that don't say..." You must have an audition"
We 23 are not into too much professionalism
We sing because we love to
We sing because Maryanne was able to bring the best in us out
She nurtured our voices
She is a special singing teacher
She reminds me of Heather
One who is a rare & special teacher
A teacher who has that ability to allow
us to give and give without constraint.

I am priveledged to have met
two such teachers
They are teachers not met in my days of education.
Perhaps they are rare
So rare we need to keep them safe
In the circle of care and love.

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 8.12.06

Light for Heather and Darryl

2006-12-07T04:06:00.000-08:00

Red Energy

2006-12-04T19:40:00.000-08:00

Illawarra Flame Tree Blooms

Urban Nature

2006-12-04T05:29:00.000-08:00

Our Day

2006-12-03T07:35:00.000-08:00

Our Day

Shreds of cloud
with pink
and silver lining.
Birds resting
on the roof ridge—
a feathered convention
chirping excitedly
as
upper breezes paint the sky
with broad strokes
dipped in passing clouds,
curved like horns of plenty.
Pink glides into
silver, then antique white
set in blue as
the sun,
a brilliant pulsating orb
appears on the stage,
commanding attention
as a diva commands
her audience
before lifting her voice
to the heavens.
Life giving energy
pushes the night away,
and the darkness,
before announcing that
another day has dawned
with light to see
each other
for what we really are—
travelers on this ship of hope—
this Blue Planet.
Revel in the music
until the final note
fades in the western sky.

It is from here,
my friends,
that we will spread our wings
and fly into the unknown,
beyond our sun—
.
We are the People of the Dawn.
Our day is yet to come.

Vi Jones
©December 1, 2006

Bellezza Bambina

2006-12-01T19:54:00.000-08:00

"Melaleuca Nesophila"

Golden Palm

2006-12-01T02:08:00.000-08:00

Golden Palm...

first of summer.

Green Palm

2006-12-01T02:05:00.000-08:00

Green Palm...

brings renewal.

Early Summer - Cicada Song

2006-12-01T02:01:00.000-08:00

Cicadas shrilling

in plane tree leaves...

early summer song.

Happy Birthday, Vi

2006-11-28T16:46:00.000-08:00

Hope you had a wonderful day

on the 22nd!

Sequoia

2006-11-26T17:44:00.000-08:00

Remembering Brian's Birthday today...

Grand Tour

2006-11-25T03:29:00.000-08:00

Green Light

2006-11-24T20:11:00.000-08:00

Pines in the Sun

2006-11-24T20:07:00.000-08:00

Bright Chorus

2006-11-19T05:02:00.000-08:00

Linseed Flowers

2006-11-19T04:57:00.000-08:00

Cocoon - Endless Quest

2006-11-14T02:54:00.000-08:00

"The further on I go, the less I know..."

lyrics from "Us" by Peter Gabriel.

The Path Well Trodden

2006-11-13T05:10:00.000-08:00

That's me walking down a well trodden path... a path that brings us within. This is a path that one must walk alone... with death waiting at the end of it. What is beyond death I cannot see from here, but I can see enough to give me the courage to continue walking... at least for now... I continue walking because in walking I put a part of myself back into life... in walking I hope to show someone that a path exist beyond the limits of our sight.

This path can only be seen with the vision one's spirit... a vision that is born out of a desire for clarity. It is a path that leads within... towards the heart. It is a path beyond the sight of our eyes... a path that is audible only to the ears of our hearts. It is a path that quakes to the alternating beats of love and fear. It is a split in reality that reveals the possibilities beyond. It is also a split that epitomizes the fine border between the genius and the insane. Both stands out for they are genuine, but only one of them is productive and persuasive.

The other is lost in a separate universe of his own construct... a world that is just as real, only isolated. The rest who are neither genius nor insane are… well… simply sane. Our world is full of sane people, living in their own world but no longer aware of it, for they now wear the uniform of conformity, put on a tie of restraint and hide their emotions behind the mask of diplomacy. These are the ones who belong... to a shared vision... of relentless growth... driven by the rules of economics and politics…

The further I go, the more isolated I am from reality as I used to know it. The path within starts out wide and bright but soon becomes narrow and chaotic, leading me into darkness. It was in this darkness that I came face to face with my fears. I wanted to run away... to wake up from this dark dream, but the only way out of the darkness was to go through it...

It was during theses hours of desperation that I finally turned toward the light and love within and realize that no matter how dark and depressing it is around me, I have within me sparks of light that hold the potential to start a great many fires of passion.

I found myself laughing like a lunatic and out of my laughter echoes of light are born, cutting through the cold darkness that has been enveloping me. A fiery fire of passion emerges, giving the forest a golden luster that glows through the blanket of darkness. Shadows appear in various shades, dancing around me like a million daggers.

I am again besieged with fear. Rejection hugs me in its bosoms, suffocating me. The light was illuminating the forest, bringing out the shadows of those who have been lurking by the peripherals. They turn away from the light for their eyes are so accustomed to the darkness. Their shadows fall in front of them and they become aware of aware of the darkness that have been surrounding them.

There is a moment of clarity. The fear that is hugging me is no longer the same fear. This time I recognize that it is not my fear. The love and light shines forth with a greater intensity than before. The bodies of the trees are scorched and burnt by the heat... but with their return to ashes, their leaves are released from bondage… free… rising into the sky like feathers of a heavenly phoenix.

Love, Light & Laughter!
Namaste,
(c) 2006, Forest Spirit (a.k.a. Alex Chua ;-)

Homage to Blackbird

2006-11-11T21:24:00.000-08:00

For Brian

2006-11-11T21:15:00.000-08:00

Daphnia - a new Sparrowgirl Story

2006-11-10T20:12:00.000-08:00

Just finished this one today.

Excerpt:
After we had moved to our second apartment in Hoogvliet, and my father had finished his studies, we suddenly started collecting pets. We had a dog, Cerbie (Cerberus) since I was about two, a half chow half wolf puppy, ferocious to others but my very best friend. Dogs are the sort of friends only children value above all others. I could dress him up in clothes or endlessly throw the ball or a stick. Because of his fierce loyalty to my well being I could go anywhere in the neighbourhood if I took the dog. The dog was a given, he was family, not really a pet.

What was new was my father's self indulgence of collecting up birds and fish. The first bird was Oliver a handed down canary my dad brought home from work one day (for mom, said he, but...), It was a lovely yellow bird with a ring of black around his little head like the hairlines of a Franciscan monk.

Read the whole story at www.sparrows.wordpress.com or http://aletta.org/Sparrowweb20.shtml

The Bus Station

2006-11-04T20:46:00.000-08:00

I havn't posted is a while but Thrusday night we went to the bus station to pick up my daughter
and I had the chance to people watch of a couple of hours since the bus was late. it inspired the following poem.
Im not real sure where to post at this point but I hope this is the right place

The Bus Stop

where are they going
where have they been
what's their story
from bus to bus they go
their stories left untold
their secrets kept within
they travel for good and bad
they are out to explore the world
meet a loved one
say goodby
what are they doing
where are they going
their stories ,left untold
left to wonder by all who watch
they travel alone
in pairs
in groups
familes
but they travel
stories untold
secrets kept within
who are they meeting
what are they doing
is it a secret
or just a journey of the soul
will they tell if you ask
will they share their life with a stranger in a bus stop
stories untold
secrets unknown
life goes on
the bus goes on

Rose for Phyllis

2006-11-04T03:24:00.000-08:00

Brian's Favourite Green

2006-11-04T03:18:00.000-08:00

I take I hope with permission, another's words of wisdom

2006-11-03T18:33:00.000-08:00

I pass on this poem/wise words & wisdom, often to those who
have loved and lost another
I tell it, for, there is a moving on.
Not in days,weeks or months but years
I type this for many whom I have met
on my journey
My ten year journey
and I ask Robert Frost for permission
and in asking I thank him for his brilliance in writing
The Road Not Taken, which for me
is my "MANTRA".
One can read into this poem what one wants to take from its words
To me it expresses the way that at a time were wise and meaningfull,
and most certainly what I needed to hear.
I know it by Heart.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
******************
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry,I could not travel both
and be one traveller.
Long I stood,
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth
Then took the other,
just as fair
and having perhaps the better claim
Because,it was grassy and wanted wear
though,as for the passing there
had worn them really about the same,
and both that morning equally lay
in leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh! I kept the first for another day.
Yet knowing way leads onto way
I doubted that I should ever come back
I shall be telling this with a sigh
somewhere ages and ages hence.
Two roads diverged in a wood and I !
I took the one less travelled by
and that has made all the difference
- Robert Frost-

Lois (Muse of the Sea) Sat 4th November 2006

Brian's Favourite Red

2006-11-01T23:05:00.000-08:00

Bougainvillea for Brian

2006-11-01T23:01:00.000-08:00

Fireworks for Brian

2006-11-01T22:52:00.000-08:00

Finally Rain

2006-11-01T22:34:00.000-08:00

Transformation Trilogy

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

For Monika....

2006-10-13T12:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Monika:

May you find peace and strength during this difficult time.

Love,

Lori

for Monika

2006-10-13T09:27:00.000-07:00

with prayers and love for you
Carol

2006-10-13T03:17:00.000-07:00

A Mandala for Monika

By your side Monika

2006-10-13T03:09:00.000-07:00

By your side Monika
protecting, shielding you
on your final journey with Brian
my love
Heather

and the riders came
one by one
beating time
to the sad still drum.... from Traveller

Welcome Barbara

2006-10-12T03:54:00.000-07:00

We have a new member who will be posting at the Lemurian Hermitage and I will let her introduce herself, and I know without saying everyone will make her welcome!

Japanese Stillness

2006-10-10T04:01:00.000-07:00

Make Schroom

2006-10-10T01:50:00.000-07:00

I had some faerie visitors in my maple tree

Dappled Light Plover

2006-10-08T02:39:00.000-07:00

Rush of Light

2006-10-06T07:56:00.000-07:00

Cypress Light

2006-10-05T08:18:00.000-07:00

Garden Light

2006-10-04T04:37:00.000-07:00

Gold in the West

2006-10-03T03:59:00.000-07:00

Chatter of the Aspens

The Aspens Quake in mirth and prayer,
a mystery as to what they see –
yet bound to me in youth’s memory.

The Sierras are grand in boulders of granite,
and trees that scrape the heavens;
but when all is but remembering,
I am called by these simple trees…

as gold comes early –
just for me.

Moving in...

2006-10-02T22:42:00.000-07:00

It might as well have been another country for me. My ears were not adjusted to the dialect and I had no idea what anyone was saying. The furniture was in the house, and it looked nearly empty. From our three bedroom apartment in a polder to a lovely company owned townhouse with five bedrooms and our own back yard. Not one of those tiny inner-city yards either, but the whole garden plus lawn and a vegetable patch by the kitchen thing.

The village was small and all it's citizens seemed to be each others long time friend. So when we moved in from the city, at a time that most were moving to the city , not away from it, we were news. My ears were straining, and my back was quite literally to the wall, our new brick wall, right by the door. I tried to be as small as possible to not get in the way of the moving men. Mams was inside with the baby. I kept looking inside with great apprehension. It was too big, I was used to my smaller more compact world.

Any wishes that my parents would change their mind and take me back to my old world evaporated as the moving truck pulled away from the curb. I watched with great sadness as it became smaller and finally turned the corner. Daddy was at work, mams was busy with the baby, and I was standing by the curb, wondering why there was horse poop on the street. Stranger still, the neighbourhood women were scooping it into pails and running home with it. This was a very strange world we'd moved too, and just then I did not think I would like it at all.

I sat at the front steps for a while, just looking at my feet and trying to find some familiar words uttered by the women who stood gossiping within hearing range. I did find a word or two. It gave me courage to consider stepping up to the grassy boulevard where a few children near my age were playing. So I moved a little nearer. The kids pointed at me and giggled. I had bit my lip so hard it was starting to hurt, and I tripped.

I could feel the blood moving to my head, my cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and the tears were starting too. I did not deal well with embarrassment. I turned around and ran into the house. The big oversized monster of a house, with it's cold floors, the echo that comes with empty spaces. I sighed, and although I very much wanted to play outside with other kids, I lacked the courage to face them again. So with some sadness and a very red face I took myself two stories up to my little pink rooms with the big window that opened outwards and sat dangerously on the edge and looked down the group of children playing. I wondered which might become my very best friend.. The side of the window was hard to sit on and eventually as my red face became it's usual colour again, I took my favourite book from the box in the corner and curled up on the bed to read, but fell into a long and tired sleep.

Bloom

2006-09-30T02:00:00.000-07:00

Stately Raven for Heather

2006-09-30T01:57:00.000-07:00

Winter Has Gone - Summer Coming

2006-09-27T17:19:00.000-07:00

Summer is coming!

Orange Spring

2006-09-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

Seasonal Change

2006-09-27T06:52:00.000-07:00

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

faucon
..................................................

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.

Spring in Lemuria

2006-09-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

Enchanteur signals that spring has arrived in Lemuria

Earth Curve Horizon

2006-09-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

Seaside Wilderness

2006-09-23T01:39:00.000-07:00

Lilly Pilly Spring

2006-09-22T08:16:00.000-07:00

For Darryl - Collected Thoughts

2006-09-21T07:20:00.000-07:00

"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

For Heather and Darryl

2006-09-20T21:30:00.000-07:00

A touch chilly this morning

2006-09-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

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.

papa

The Awakening of Enchanteur - A Tale

2006-09-19T15:32:00.000-07:00

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

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

2006-09-19T08:32:00.000-07:00

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

Blue Wave of Happiness

2006-09-18T06:55:00.000-07:00

Simple Geranium Art

2006-09-18T06:52:00.000-07:00

The Vine ... For Monika

2006-09-17T07:49:00.000-07:00

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,
delicate,
but fiercely determined—
the vine
that grew outside my back door.
It was an invader,
conqueror,
traveler,
explorer.

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,
trussed
like a fly in a web?

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

Watching Honeysuckle Climb

2006-09-17T04:12:00.000-07:00

Positive Energy

2006-09-14T21:52:00.000-07:00

Plane Tree First Spring Buds & Leaves

Council House 2 - Enlightened Design

2006-09-14T21:43:00.000-07:00

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

Melbourne:

CH2 -- http://www.melbourne.vic.gov.au/info.cfm?top=171&pg=1933

(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

2006-09-14T06:48:00.000-07:00

"A Peppercorn Story"

2006-09-12T20:34:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-12T04:05:00.000-07:00

Caught in a Flashlight's beam

2006-09-11T09:05:00.000-07:00

Alder for Bobbi

2006-09-11T01:17:00.000-07:00

An Alder Tree to lean on...

take care Bobbi.

For Bobbi

2006-09-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-09-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

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.

Bobbi

Death of a Tree

2006-09-10T10:41:00.000-07:00

The Palo Verde - A true Story

2006-09-10T10:32:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-10T02:36:00.000-07:00

Off to seek the Elixir of Creativity...

copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Rain Art

2006-09-06T02:32:00.000-07:00

Spring Tracery

2006-09-04T06:33:00.000-07:00

Dream Season

2006-09-04T06:29:00.000-07:00

Hold Fast And Brave

2006-09-03T07:24:00.000-07:00

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.

Facing Joy

2006-09-03T07:20:00.000-07:00

Honey Season

2006-09-02T05:29:00.000-07:00

Star Groups

2006-09-01T00:38:00.000-07:00

Earthy Roses

2006-09-01T00:35:00.000-07:00

Rose Leaf Tapestry

2006-09-01T00:32:00.000-07:00

Sunny Yellows

2006-09-01T00:26:00.000-07:00

Balmy Summery Day - Coastal Scenes

2006-08-31T00:47:00.000-07:00

An early taste of summer?

It was balmy today, as if time

had shifted to the tropics,

and winter was suddenly over.

The air is sweet with blossoms

and fruits, now, a heady time of

year. Memory of the dark

at once forgotten.

Spring is in the Air

2006-08-30T20:08:00.000-07:00

I love Spring
I love the buds on all in the garden plants and in
the parks the Poplars .
Their new shoots like green arrows
They seem to be stretching toward the sky
to salute the changes in their limbs.

My park has Lombardy Poplars,
planted there in 1928
Over many years they have been pruned
Badly ,very badly,quite disastrous pruning
And as my frind Angie and I walked this morning
They were there again " Those Abourists"

We tried to keep calm ,we tried to be pleasant
we tried not to sound know-alls we really did try
2 young men names on their overalls COPP. Arbourist
Mark F. and Dwayne E.
We asked the question.....WHY are you cutting off those branches now at this time of the year
Their answer " They are across the path they might fall on someone:" The council can be sued for millions.
These trees are meant to have cascading limbs

We advised them that a meeting on the 20th of September
with the MAYOR of the City of Port Phillip and we concerned residents
was to ratify the Heritage Listing of the Park and the TREES as well
They knew nothing of this meeting ,they had not heard of it from
their supervisor who would also be at that meeting.

They then left the park after Angie had quoted where these(Using the Botanical name)
trees come from,and that they are not even in the Heritage listed Melbourne Botanical Gardens.
I came home and opened up my computer
Sent them an email as to the details of the meeting on the 20th
Perhaps I should not have done this ,going over the head of their boss
But too late its done
Lois you are sometimes,perhaps,only perhaps
HOT HEADED.....
Think Girl,think before acting emotionally.

I open up Imogen's site at the Hermitage
and look at her beautiful photos
and I am calmed
Do these 2 young men see trees in the same way
I doubt it...but I am open to my mind being changed

Lois (Muse of the Sea)31st August 2006.

Spring Maiden

2006-08-30T05:49:00.000-07:00

In Spring she

is white,

dusting off

the dark,

resplendent

in pale

finery.

Going Green

2006-08-29T04:55:00.000-07:00

Glowing, going green

a hedge in the sun,

surfacing, rising,

coming out.

Bright to the eyes,

after the dark earth,

the sun warms

the green and it

glows.

Black Wood Light

2006-08-28T05:12:00.000-07:00

Persephone's Seeds

2006-08-25T04:31:00.000-07:00

Eve's Apple

2006-08-25T04:28:00.000-07:00

Adam's Life

2006-08-24T03:44:00.000-07:00

Rich Bounty

2006-08-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

Shower of Stars

2006-08-22T07:07:00.000-07:00

I saw a shower of stars,

in the sky and on

the earth.

I saw a shower of stars,

expertly placed,

and artistically worked,

and they were

just so.

No hand had made

them so,

they were expertly

placed.

There was a shower

of stars in the

sky and on

the earth, no

human hand had made.