Featured

Afterglow

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photo credit westcoastwoman ©

“Everyday a new picture is painted and framed, held up for half an hour, in such lights as the Great Artist chooses, and then withdrawn, and the curtain falls. And then the sun goes down, and long the afterglow gives light.”

Henry David Thoreau

Afterglow

Every night they come, the watchers of the sun-set, drawn down by the need to see the light extinguish behind the islands and the sea.

I want to share with them as they slowly rise and disperse that the setting of the sun is only a prelude to the experience they had been called to witness, but I stay silent.

It is this time between the setting sun and rising moon, this short extension of the day, this in-between-time when my heart and mind settle for just a moment.

I watch as the sky paints itself with each night’s original palette, wanting only to share with those who can look out from the same place and feel the colours as they appear, understand the need for silence.

In these moments when I am neither here nor there, anything is possible, magic is afoot and I am caught in the afterglow of another original creation as it slowly fades from sight.

The darkness takes the light, the starlings swoop once more in perfect unison over the water, I share with all who stand watching… being neither here nor there, a silent good night.

westcoastwoman 2019 ©

Written in response to GirlieontheEdge’s  Six Sentence Story Word Prompt
Prompt word : Extension 

 

 

Without Despair

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photo credit westcoastwoman “Rock formations Newcastle Island”

Write a little everyday, without hope, without despair“* Isak Dinesen

Without Despair

Rough, yet ever so gently
Water on Stone
washes in, out
softening edges of
Body and Breath
Slow inhale
Surrender
Audible sigh
Release

Water on Stone
Stone to Surrender
Surrender to Release,
Sweet longing, caressing
our lives carved open as
“without hope, without despair”*
we float, we whirl,
a single leaf riding
a wandering stream.

©westcoastwoman 2019

 

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unknown photographer
Sculpture “Break through from your Mold” Zenos Frudakis
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

 

 

Fully Loaded

DSC_0239photo credit westcoastwoman

“We drag expensive ghosts through memory’s unmade bed”    Paul Hoover

Fully Loaded

Coming, ‘fully loaded’
sporting this years options,
last years designs
illusions, gimmicks, tricks…
all previous short cuts
eviscerated, overhauled, upgraded.

New thoughts, emotions,
technologies implanted and borne
on hands and knees moving
forward in darkness,
trusting, begging, opening,
blessing, praying for release.

Duality blends into
hope of wholeness,
Reuniting shards of
repressed memories,
rolling out the newest model
of one’s unlived lives.

No cherry picking of
options that appeal.
Movement forward to
one truth, this roll out
is all or nothing
large deposit, no refunds

or prerequisites.
Operation best suited
to those experienced
with similar models.
Not for beginners,
a ride you will never forget.

 

 

“Ridin’ on a Freeway…..”

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©photo credit westcoastwoman

I am a gardener. A number of years ago while studying Garden Design I was asked to do a project on garden ornamentation.

I started by scouring the better parts of the city looking for aesthetically pleasing displays, they were easily found but something was lacking. I wandered collecting the photographs but as I walked I felt like I needed something more. Yes, the gardens were lovely but that was it, they were ‘just’ lovely. All trimmed and ornamented  everything in it’s place….. this would not do, I needed some meat, something interesting.

That is when I stumbled upon the Adam and Eve of Cadillacs, pink and blue, male and female, here in a rather dishevelled display I could almost see the yin and yang of life. I was so taken with the partially interred Pink Cadillac I almost completely missed her blue mate in the background.

Standing in awe of this rather strange spectacle I was joined by one of the neighbours who shared with me that the brake lights on Eve were lit up every night. I assume in a show of ‘Respect’ and a reflection that there was life in the old girl yet.

Obviously there was great affection for the ‘deceased’ vehicle (although she could have used a bit of a wash). I like to think that perhaps parts of Eve had been used to keep Adam up and running and that he paid her homage each time he backed out of the driveway.

Now this was garden ornamentation! perhaps gone wrong, but certainly never forgotten. My completed project consisted only of what I considered wacky garden art, gardens on the edge and they were easier to find than one would imagine. The Garden Designers, the ‘people’ on the edge of the garden, now there is a story waiting to be told.

I think there are a couple of Aretha Franklin songs in here somewhere.

“We’re going ridin’ on a freeway of love in a Pink Cadillac”  Aretha Franklin”

©westcoastwoman 2019

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Featured

Stable

 

Southern Magnolia
©photo credit westcoastwoman

 

Morning light streamed through the shutters, she awoke finding herself hovering somewhere between content and completely unhinged.

Thoughts flitted from place to place never sure where to settle these days, the cocoon of certainty and safety broken open long ago.

The garden provided refuge but even insects only stayed temporarily taking what was offered in the moment as blooms and nectars ebb and flow.

Relationship offered comfort as long as undeniable incremental changes were factored in, together and apart nothing ever as it seems.

Illusion of control was obvious, nothing to hang on to, thoughts, garden, relationships all morphing into their next incarnation with no action required but Witness.

The New Normal beckoned her with a smile, her thought finally settled:
“Precarious is the New Stable”

©westcoastwoman 2019

 

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©photo credit westcoastwoman

Written in response to Girlie on the Edge  Six Sentence Stories
Word prompt: STABLE

Featured

You can’t get there from here……

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unknown photographer

          “Sometimes we plan a trip to one place, but something takes us to another”
                                                                         Rumi

No one would have mistaken her for a leader, or perhaps she was a leader without any followers.  Her hair hung to her waist, the last foot of which was a tangled mass of dread locks and beads. The beads appeared to have been threaded in so long ago that any hope of retrieval would have had to involve scissors. Every inch of what remained from head to bead was dyed various shades of neon red, green and purple.

Her body was covered in exquisitely drawn and coloured tattoos enhanced by piercings that appeared on various exposed body parts. The finished effect resembled a moveable human art piece. If she had been a bird, she would have been a Macaw.

Our paths intersected when we both chose to attend a two-hour Labyrinth workshop that was offered as part of a weekend yoga symposium. I smile every time I think about the unlikely bond we forged when it all went ‘terribly wrong’.

For the uninitiated there is a difference between a Labyrinth and a Maze.  A Maze is designed as a problem to solve and a Labyrinth can be walked to solve a problem. Previous experiences walking a Labyrinth had revealed that there are points as you move forward where you have a sense you may have ‘taken a wrong turn’ or ‘lost your way’.  Trust the path even though you may feel lost and eventually you will spiral your way to the center  and out again with new insight.

Our group of ten was led to a large gym where a canvas Labyrinth had been assembled.  Encouraged to start walking it when we felt ‘called’ there was initial awkward glances and shuffling.  Sudden movement and a blur of color swept past; the Macaw had been ‘called’ she would be our leader.

I followed behind, gave her space and stepped forward…

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unknown photographer

Having previously walked a Labyrinth alone or with one other person I was unprepared for the delicate dance of meeting and passing others on such narrow pathways.  This interaction became not just a metaphor for life but an enjoyable physical exchange. Approaching another person on an adjacent pathway would compel you to turn completely to the side, arms out, sometimes face to face other times turned away.  When three of us would intersect on parallel paths we all moved and turned in unison.

I was enjoying this immensely until I noticed a short distance ahead our ‘Leader’ had stopped unexpectedly and appeared confused. Coming up behind her I could see the dilemma, there did not appear to be ‘a clear path forward’.

With military precision she sized up the problem, the canvas Labyrinth was comprised of three pieces that were held together with velcro. The larger outer paths matched up but the center did not, it had been put together incorrectly.

She looked at me urgently  “We have to tear it apart, turn it around and start from the beginning.”  The Facilitator standing on the sidelines started to mumble things like “we don’t have time to fix it….. it takes a long time to assemble…..it is not my fault”….. the Macaw would have none of it. Taking orders from no one, she was now in charge and failure was not an option!

Without further instruction I followed her to the edge of the canvas where we found the points where the two seams met. The sound of ripping velcro filled the gym. The other participants moved in to help and within minutes we ripped it apart turned the center piece and reattached the seams.

The Macaw was now back in her rightful position at the entrance to the properly assembled Labyrinth. The dance this time as we turned and moved forward was that  much more joyful now that we knew we would be taken both in and out and to the all important center.

She and I parted that afternoon with a nod of mutual respect.  I caught a glimpse of her the following day as she flitted across the campus en route to another workshop.  Silently I bid her ‘safe travels’ it will be difficult for her to fly under the radar with such bright plumage.

Human error and the inability at some points to see and take action appears to be a frailty that may well be our undoing.  The planet we depend on for our survival is starting to wither with our demands that she give more and more with little given in return.
We appear to have lost our center.

There comes a point both personally and on a planetary scale that things appear ‘FUBAR’, to steal a military term my feathered friend would approve of…. when that point is reached the only solution to an obviously wrong course or path seems to be:

“Tear it apart, turn it around and start again from the beginning.”

And from there we will again find our Center.

© westcoastwoman 2019

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unknown photographer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hand to Heart (Street Photography 1)

(while working on another piece this morning I found this in my drafts, I meant to go in to delete, but in the end my hand and heart pushed Publish)

I am going to try a short series of poetry inspired by (my second love) street photography, a series I took last year at the Easter Sunday Parade in the French Quarter, New Orleans.

 

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photo credit westcoastwoman

 

Each step you take, from here to there

each hand you hold, they’ll sometimes care

some filled with light some fighting dark

you’ll find what’s right, you’ll make your mark

your heart will break, can’t help you there

you’ll find one hand that let’s you care

but in the end, your hand to heart

is what will lead you home.