There was a smudge of navy blue painted onto a peachy sky. Nothing had changed but the eery manifestation of fading light, on a winter's evening. The drama of moments passing. And WE were there. My lens captured the scene. But the sound of the moorhens cooing, and of our footsteps through the darkening meadow . . .
“All water is holy water.” ― Rajiv Joseph There are five layers. What is in front of my eyes; this pool. What is floating on the surface; these leaves. What is reflected in the pool; some trees. What is lurking underneath; the deep. What is over my head; diffused light. There is colour, shade and . . .
"There is human time and there is wild time" Clarissa Pinkola Estes This year as part of the Waterford Imagine Festival I will be hosting a Sunday morning walk on the wild side at Carrickavantry Lake. The numbers are very limited and you can book here. The walk will be a real life, real world sharing of contemplative . . .
The highest goal one can achieve is amazement. ~ Goethe My first design experiments involved selecting snails along a narrow garden path. Lining them up in rows, I would talk kindly and invite them to take part in games. I would be their big sister, telling them stories and giving them . . .
Today I'm re-posting these tiny dewy rainbows from 2012. Would you like to join me in a moment of reflection? While we both take a slow deep breath? And while we continue to breathe, here are some explorations of contemplative photography practice And while I was breathing deeply I won Silver in the Blog Awards for photography . . .
There is human time and there is wild time....... Clarissa Linkola Estes This morning it's wild time. A slow motion sunrise, where nature's spinners have draped everything in layers of lace. Barely present. Fragile and momentary. Later when the day fully arrives, dew drops are blow dried from the faces of leaves. Webs disappear into the . . .
"If you don't love things in particular, you cannot love the world, because the world doesn't exist except in individual things" Thomas Moore The ditches are a jumble of briars, a tangle of weeds, a mess of curling browning leaves. They cascade onto the lane, in the subdued light of early autumn. A heady scent draws you into the . . .
Up the wide stairs onto the platform of Bruxelles Nord Station. The clock said 7.43, the train would arrive and leave by 7.55. In the golden light filled space there were constant comings and goings. For twelve minutes I am pure presence. Absorbed in what I miss most about city living. Straight lines, . . .
Blue is never more blue than it is when paired with orange. And the orange is never bluer than when eaten on a cloud in the sky. Jarod Kintz It started from the first view of the Montbretia filled hedgerows along the Dingle Peninsula, now orange is everywhere..... Opposite . . .
You are on your knees in a lavender patch, following the music of bees. In the distance a harvester is droning, and the evening sun highlights wings and petals. You are obsessing about the need for a soft bed and a warm hearth as the autumn sets in; for a safe place to pause, for a warm . . .