gone now...but it was really never even ever there.

So I wander and wander along,
And forever before me gleams
The shining city of song,
In the beautiful land of dreams.

-HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Light

Fall

She leant against the armèd man, The statue of the armèd knight;

Untitled

I hold you

How I broke my fingers to keep from slipping.

a song

Land of the Rising Sun

Jays first time overseas without his parents! but always knew this kid was destined to fly through the sky to far away lands.

This one I tried to keep alive but the forget-me-not was dying

There is another sweet flower down the garden path and again I beg myself not to do it but the begging is no good and again I think of the sweet thing as love long gone, as if back to visit for a brief time and without words speak of all that could not be said, I will look on it with eyes full of wonder and admiration for it’s beauty and those same eyes will cry that such a thing should have to die. Whether I beg it to stay or not it never makes any difference, it will be gone all the same and again I will torture myself and will watch it die and bury it and grieve for it and pray that soon too I may be the brief flower on this earth so that I may be sweet and be gone so my mind and heart may stop feeling everything, the beauty of this world.

Awaiting room.

And again I found myself in the corridor. I had been walking this same corridor for many years now, walking away from something I had lost or trying to go back to find what I had lost I could no longer distinguish and could barely understand now why I still walked it. There were always pretty distractions along the way, kind people promising they knew which way to go but I was led away instead to dead end rooms where fancy dress parties were never-ending. Returning to my corridor always, on the walls sometimes would hang nice pictures and mirrors that were reflections of ‘possible worlds’ and I would stop for long periods and take rest indulging in them and imagining life without a corridor. I was so tired of walking and so one day I begun to imagine a little too deeply whereupon the corridor finally ended and turned into a room. An empty room all but for two open doors, on one door read the word ‘Stay’ and the other read ‘Disappear’ but I hadn’t been given directions for which door to enter and felt the choice was not mine to make, so no door I would enter until the directions were given to me. In the room, much like every generous waiting room appeared some blunt pencils and musty colouring books and so I kept busy and instead of colouring in some one else’s design, I made my own designs, drawings of what I had lost and as I coloured the designs in I found little traces of what was lost and wondered, is this all the corridor was meant for? somehow understanding that within this room it would be the closest I will ever come to ever finding what was lost. It’s a nice place to wait I suppose, I don’t mind the emptiness and if my directions ever come I shall be on my way but if they never do I will sit here and draw and keep busy and will continue to think it best that I never knew.

Bird Gerhl

I’ve not ever seen them in town before now. It has been a joy to have their company this past week, they will soon have stripped my little ornamental pear tree and will be on their way, off to some other place. For creatures so wild and free, they do not seem to mind my company either.

So far away

but still so in focus.

‘I cannot see what flowers are at my feet’

-Keats

The end

I always Watch the sun set, but there was an evening once not so long ago where I had got myself into such a state that I actually Felt the sun set. It Felt like the end and the end was a beautiful relief.

And there she waited

She moved into a glass house so she could be found much easier. She did not know that his eyes had stopped looking for her so long ago.

Now-here

I stopped for a little while in the middle of somewhere.

In the midst of the mist.

Magic in the mountains and where the water falls.

Friends forever in the Blue mountains 2019

ANOTHER YEAR

It really wasn’t that long ago when what I saw was the child’s rope swing…

now all I see is the noose…and isn’t it funny how the sun just keeps on shining so brightly

mystify, mystify me

...words, music and pictures (1929)

A new diary for the new year, blessed with Everlastings from Louise and offerings of kind words, music and pictures. 90 long years she has been waiting for her blank pages to be filled and so only the dearest words I shall write within her. As like her, I have known what it is to wait long, unknowing if the dearest shall ever help ease the emptiness with words…just a few little words, music and pictures.