Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
Across the Bridge
Come, take my hand
and walk with me,
hushed within the winding paths
and vines, spell-binding.
Come take my hand.
Come walk with me;
escape to days when ways
were gentler, softer, loftier
than they seem today.
Come, walk with me.
Come reminisce, step back,
into the past, across the pastel bridge
of sighs and billowed, rising
from lily-laden pond below.
Come, reminisce.
Come, breathe with me.
Inhale the cool, moist mist
emoting from floating
lily pods below.
Come, breathe with me.
Come walk with me,
two once-young lovers, still content
to, hand in hand, review
and gay renew their grand affair.
Come walk with me.
Photo Friday: #walk
While dining, waterside, at Rat’s, located on the Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton Township, one cannot help but be transported to Claude Monet’s exquisite garden in his beloved town of Giverny, France. This photo is one of many I shot that lovely afternoon – each scene more evocative than the last.
Sheffield Fog
Across the glistened, grassy glens
of verdant, fertile vales and dales,
she drapes her flimsy fronds.
I’ll meet this day in my own way;
not seized but gently swayed.
Allayed, I view, through lens of misty grey,
Nature’s stirring from the ebon night.
Inevitably, as comes the waking day,
her cushioned folds will warm.
She’ll rise, grow thin – then silent fade away;
nudged aside by day, as if to say:
“Now go away”.
Hibernation
Our planet
steeped in sequestration, segregation
from the fateful, faceless foe,
unreal shunts from normal,
Pervading every place
and sacred space
where voices are no longer raised
in praise.
Instead,
Inside, we shelter, seeking safety,
safely burrow’ing deep
within each
tenuous, burst-able bubble.
Huddled close, yet ever distant,
shy away from
those we now need,
those who now need us
most.
Hope,
A solitary bloom
upright, soft and quiet on the sill,
Thin window pane away from fatal frost,
Delicately strong,
As if to say: Be gay – the chill will soon away,
Together here, we (surely) can survive
and thrive
and strive to bloom
anew.
Photo Friday: #black_and_white
America … reconsidered
I republish this post, in consideration of the horrible actions and events of January 5th and retrospectively, in reconsideration of the sense of awe and respect I felt while standing beneath the dome. I couldn’t imagine that day, that one day there would be some who would not be similarly inspired.
Blooming outward, scrolls ‘tween swirls embed,
Simplicity of form each rounded side,
In shades of palest blue and pastel red,
Each going its own way yet unified.
Symbolic of the majesty it hides
beneath its vault, the chambers of our state,
Tempestuous tempers, diff’rences magnified,
But always striving to elucidate.
Through sessions bearing witness: freedom’s fate
enwrapped in fervent promises fulfilled,
‘t was touted loud – the people’s common slate,
Debated endlessly t’ward laws and bills.
This dome inspires all who pass beneath,
A prayer is raised for wisdom’s wreath bequeathed.
While en route to a Seton Hall – Georgetown game, we stopped at the Capitol. I was speechless viewing the dome, and thought how unifying it seemed. These days we need a unifying message. I hear it and I share it here.
Published: October 12, 2019
Fallen Feather
White, well mostly,
bright, as night recedes to dawn’s entreaties,
Resting, softly lain upon the tide-moist shore.
Grains of sudsy sand,
rushing, gushing in with shifting tides,
flinging, clinging grains between my toes.
Leaning closer still,
beneath the feather, delicate and clean,
I spy the remnants of a furious scene.
Each day, at break of sun,
the fluttering flocks dramatically compete,
completing nature’s vast dramatic scheme.
A snow-white feather,
ingeniously designed, balanced and sublime;
Awesome, grand, exquisitely Divine.
Photo Friday: #white
Auto-gravure
Today, I was reminded of our 2017 trip to Indianapolis to cheer on our Seton Hall Pirates as they challenged the Butler Bulldogs at Hinkle Fieldhouse. As we geared up for the big game, which our Pirates won in an exciting last second play, we spent the previous day visiting The Indianapolis Speedway. I’d not been much of a NASCAR fan, but a drive around the historic track and the visit to the museum afterwards, gave me a new and totally unexpected perspective. I use this week’s Photo Friday theme (#car) as an opportunity to share a few of the gorgeous beauties we saw that day.
Photo Friday: #Car
Mirror Glass
Having just returned from a walk in my garden, I grabbed a vase, filled it with water and placed my harvest (two Lilies of the Valley) into the vase.
Then I saw it!
The beauty of the flower sprigs notwithstanding, before my eyes was a miniature artistic marvel: capturing the vista of tall oaks stretching toward the cerulean blue sky, reflected and re-reflected in fine-point detail.
I was focused on the lilies and nearly missed the bigger picture, and the revelation that each is an exquisite masterpiece of God’s creation.
Photo Friday: #glass
Outside my Window
Yesterday,
sun-risen summer shores
were dressed to kill, but now
lie gray and chilled
by high surf’s crashing, glancing blows.
.
I spy from window’s sill.
Rewards
lie there, to be ensnared
at water’s edge, if not delayed,
waylaid or swayed
by bed sheets’ soft entreat:
Forego the beach – surcease!
Today,
Instead I rise and shine,
to seize the sand scape scene,
agleam and cleaned
by tides receding, there I’m greeting
night’s retreating.
Another spectacular sunrise at Cape May – an autumnal reminder of summer’s end. Dawn was breaking when I asked myself if it was worth leaving the comfy bed at the Peter Shields Inn, to brave the morning chill. As these photos indicate, sunrise with the sea gulls is always worth it!
Resurgence
The unwrit page
lies blank, unmarred
by words expressing nothing,
or maybe something daft,
irrelevant.
A stoppered voice,
in this confined space, unheard,
and in its place,
the blank and empty face
of silence.
A toe dipped cautiously
into the placid lake
of deeper-than-appearing
fathoms
of my mind.
The choice,
to sing, to loud opine,
is mine.
To give it voice,
that still, small voice,
within.
Shifting Horizons
From here, we thought we knew where blue sky met
the ever stolid earth terrain below,
Sun rays break through wisps one can’t forget,
Each day unique, and ne’er a hint of snow.
From here, each new horizon seemed to show
If troubles or fair weather lay ahead,
Red skies or not, we’d plan, then off we’d go,
Without a second thought of fear or dread.
From here, these near horizons formed a thread
of fortunes to be won, or games well-played,
But blinded by its light, we were misled,
We failed to know, we were in retrograde.
We long for days of innocence and calm,
Up here, afar from earth, a silent balm.
Photo a Friday: #horizon
Horizon is defined as “…the line where the earth seems to meet the sky : the apparent junction of earth and sky.” (Merriam-Webster). And that apparent junction is viewer-dependent. These days, our horizons, both literal and implied, appear to be limited and often misleading. But up here, soaring over the Grand Canyon, our horizons can appear to be limitless – a soothing, hopeful thought and welcomed respite from these troubling times.
Focus
It’s all a blur, a caravan of days
and endless nights of faceless frights,
When did it begin; when will we phase
Into a healing call: emerge to light?
Acceptance comes, though focus isn’t right,
We turn to note the beauty ‘fore our eyes,
Observe instead the detail in our sights,
Perspective dawns, our goals are crystallized.
I should have known, and yet I was surprised,
In brilliant sharpness, camera shadows tell,
The greenery and buds are but disguised,
Still there to see within our bubble shell.
A photo frame of shadows, dark and light,
Grants clarity and hope; we’ll be alright.
Capture 52 – Week 20: Minimalist
I posted this photo in response to this week’s photo challenge, which inspired my thoughts on the forced isolation and uncertainty imposed on us by COVID19. I realized that in our constant emphasis on what we’ve lost, those things we took for granted that now seem a blur. We may be failing to appreciate all that we’ve gained; solitude, simplicity, serenity. This shadow of a single flower, cast upon a rather ordinary flower pot, spoke to me.
Cape May Beachway
Bandit
September Song
Partial to “Red Heads”
