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walking squares (12)

“… ‘What is REAL?’ asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. ‘Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?’

‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.” ~The Velveteen Rabbit, M. Williams

Images and quote The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams submitted in response to Becky’s (The Life of B) walking squares.

windshield snow drops

“It’s because I’m depressed.”

‘About what?”

“The rain. It’ll stop soon.”

“When you’re depressed, it rains?”

“Yes.”

“Then when there’s a typhoon, how depressed are you?”

“That’s not me, … the earth’s depressed.” ~Guardian: The Lonely and Great God

Sony RX-1003 … f/4 1/640s 70mm 80 ISO

walking squares (10)

If I could do as I wish 
I could acknowledge more profoundly ~ The Sarashina Diary (1009-1059) *


*Translated: The sorrow of departing in Autumn. There are a thousand kinds of flowers in the autumn fields, so there are a thousand reasons for going to the fields.

Cited: Diaries of Court Ladies of Old Japan

Images submitted in response to Becky’s (The Life of B) walking squares.

lens-artists: flights of fancy

passing as I play

a swaying dandelion

on an autumn breeze

let’s take flight of fancy to where the fairies live …

Dearest Gwen,

I head a pigeon’s “coo coo” this morning. She was resting on the chimney. Her voice flew down the chimney, out of the fireplace, and up the stairs.

I can hear you say, “Grandma Brenda voices don’t have wings. They cannot fly.”

Yes, voices don’t have wings. But somehow they do travel from one place to another.

Let us imagine voices having tiny tiny butterfly wings.

Wings like the Western Blue Beauty or Monarch Butterfly. Other voices could be flying through the sky with miniature dragonfly wings.

Or maybe we could draw the “chirp chirp chirp” of the Robin’s song with majestic wings of gold that would glitter in the Spring’s morning sun.

I would like to see a voice’s wings knitted from spider silk. A silverly white that would carry the momentous sound of a distance crane in flight.

Oh our imagination opens us up to wonderful possibilities.

I love you.

Grandma Brenda

Thank you John (Journeys with JohnBo) for this invitation to play, to wander where fairies live, and yes imagine voices having wings.

wp anniversary … 11 years

The autumn moon

Shining so brightly

So I wrote this ~Sekkei

Upon reflection of the past 11 years with Word Press there have been virtual connections that inspire, moments of anticipation, exchanges of ideas; and most important, a sense of being heard through exchanges of posts.

These various connections feel similar to childhood exchanges with pen pals. As well as letters, sent and received, the umbilical cords that nourished the emotional connection with family and friends despite the separation of miles.

Pen to paper that silently reaffirmed “thinking of you.” The anticipation that accompanied opening the mail box, tossing the envelopes with business return address onto the kitchen table while sitting down with a cup of tea to open letters that were like gifts of validation … of love.

It is amazing to read statistics that tell of the global connections that have been formed through blogging and virtual meetings. The inherent joy that arises through people connecting through the internet.

The WP anniversary invites me to say: thank you for your challenges, positive and inspiring comments, sharing the tidbits of your life, and creative words and photographs. Also, I appreciate the lessening importance of the numbers of followers and “likes” in light of the continuation of shared interests and new acquaintances.

Yet, I’ve found that over the past eleven years and most notably over the past three there is an emptiness that is occurring with the sudden and unexplained absence of posts… Emptiness that becomes filled with grief and loss.

I miss: our exchanges of haiku, you…an amazing writer of life, jokes you posted that I shared with my grandchildren, the diary you shared after being diagnosed with cancer, your abstract sea landscapes, your reflections of aging, your travel photographs, your invitation to edit selected photographs … I miss the connection I formed with each of you over the years.

This journey with old and new friends…priceless.

lens-artists: flower favorites

Pale green night and flowers all melting into one 
    in the soft haze–
Everywhere the moon, glimmering in the Spring night. ~ The Sarashina Diary

Color of the flower

 Has already faded away,

While in idle thoughts

My life passes vainly by,

 As I watch the long rains fall. ~ Ono no Komachi

A fallen flower

Flew back to its perch

A butterfly ~Moritake

Since you went away

No flowers are left on earth ~ Sôseki

Within one memory is my mother sharing with me her favorite flower, Sweet Peas. Within another, is watching her caring for a Venus Flytrap.

This week Ann-Christine (Leya To See a World in a Grain of Sand) invites lens-artist to share their favorite flowers and plants and their silent stories.  

After I contemplated this week’s photo challenge, I find that I don’t have a favorite flower. I do though have private memories tuck away into blossoms. I also call upon flowers placed upon memorial stones to message grief that lives within the love that lives beyond time.

May all places be held sacred.
May all beings be cherished.

May all injustices of oppression and devaluation
be fully righted, remedied and healed.
May all wounds to forests, rivers, deserts, oceans,
all wounds to Mother Earth be lovingly restored to bountiful health.

May all beings everywhere delight in whale song, birdsong and blue sky.
May all beings abide in peace and well-being, awaken and be free.