Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
Sliding Door
What longtime ghosts loom large behind these blast
walls, and not-so-tall tales held within,
Since scores of decades long ago t’were cast,
How many personal stories have there been?
Beneath the ancient vines a clinging screen
of verdant growth, upon the crumbling brick,
Stands silent, cold and strong and anchored clean,
A beauteous bulk, hard-cast and hammered slick.
The alley’s seen a rebirth, high heel clicks
upon its cobbled stones, bistros and bars,
An upscale hot-spot drawing guys and chicks,
Who every evening come from near and far.
I almost didn’t see the massive queen
Until I turned to witness where I’d been.
*****
During a recent visit to historic Charleston, we found ourselves returning to this neighborhood known as ” Upper King”, to dine at our favorite, “39 Rue de Jean” and sample the French delights at “Macaroon”.
The alley in this photo, is now a popular and trendy area. The building that now houses many dining and commercial establishments, was one a storage and shipping warehouse. The architects involved in the renaissance, artfully maintained the character and gravitas of the original structure, while creating and unforgettable ambiance.
On our last night in Charleston, after a win by our beloved Seton Hall Pirates, we dined at “Vincent Chico’s” wonderful Italian restaurant. The high-ceilinged interior still purposefully exposes the original brick and mortar walls, and the entrance, though a welcoming glass-front facade, is guarded by a massive, man-made sliding door. It’s amazing a cold, metal, functional object crafted so long ago, could emanate sheer beauty and reflect a dramatic history.
Photo Friday: large
Winter Color
She nestles gently mid the leaf-shorn limbs,
Content, though berries scant remain in reach,
For bleak and dreary days have slow crept in,
Yet winter’s pale can in this moment teach.
As seen in passing glance, a soft-hued breach
Wherein a splash of color can be viewed,
Belying bland perspectives, colors reach
And wake my lagging spirits, hope renewed.
For though the icy frost has bare ensued
I feel it in my bones, the cold draws near,
So she, perched as in prayer upon her pew,
Instills a gladdening sense, subdues the drear.
Winter’s palette not a vibrant scene,
But rather painted veil lays soft, serene.
Photo Friday: Winter Colors
Transportation
Equipment designed to travel throughout the plantation, straddling rows of tea plants, to reap the harvest. Charleston Tea Plantation.
Photo Friday: Transportation
Objects d’Art
At last to view the changes to our “House”
Amid the tiki torches, falls and leis,
Where flourished once a rain-like forest doused,
Would we even recognize the place?
Attentions drawn instead towards the bay,
As floor space opened wide before our eyes,
The central lava waterfall erased,
And in its place bright, sparkling, marbled tiles.
How foolish were we, wondering all the while
If we’d be happy, as we’d been in yore,
For everywhere we looked we found new style,
And sleekened spaces welcomed us to shores.
Our faces then were raised to skylight vast,
Hung gaily, lit, adorned with arts of glass.
Great photography is about depth of feeling, not depth of field.” – Peter Adams
Glass
Sun-bathed
Flaming star that rises new each morn,
These billion years forever has it been,
Yet we, mere mortal specks amid the dawn,
Still marvel, as if vision ne’er had seen.
It casts it’s tint of fire on the scene
So e’en when face is turned away to shade,
Alas before our eyes, mid vales of green,
The resting Adirondacks, black do fade.
Instead, the face of building, mere man-made
structure, in the light becomes a torch,
A sparkling light-washed stucco, a facade
To dazzle warmly, Fahrenheit can scorch.
Distant star aflame, life-giving beams,
Grace sunward wall with splash of yellow gleam.
Photo Friday: Yellow
Our Daily Bread
“To see in color is a delight for the eye but to see in black and white is a delight for the soul.” – Andri Cauldwell
Inspired by the Photo Friday prompt (Rural) this week, I began a relentless search of my photo portfolio for the perfect illustration of Andri Cauldwell’s thought (and poetry) provoking quote.
Pause, delve beneath the golds and crimson reds
that oft adorn our verdant plot of earth,
Pause, understand this gift, our daily bread.
Though colors flood my lens with infrared
interpretations of the land and hearth,
Pause, delve beneath the golds and crimson reds.
For hidden deep neath shades of gray instead,
Are detailed grains; unopened eyes’ rebirth,
Pause, understand this gift, our daily bread..
The shadows of our mind’s unending threads
Continuum of trials, of toils, of mirth,
Pause, delve beneath the golds and crimson reds.
Our brightly painted shed becomes instead
A charcoal focal point, subdued in girth,
Pause, understand this gift, our daily bread.
For vibrancy distracts and oft misleads,
Masking differentials, nature’s berths,
Pause, delve beneath the golds and crimson reds,
Pause, understand this gift, our daily bread.
Birthday Treat
Who doesn’t love a birthday cake,
When kiddies gather round,
And grown up ladies laugh and blush
To hear their birthday song.
This year, ahead of family fun,
I was wined and dined,
A favorite French cafe in town,
I knew not what I’d find.
Surprised to see the table set,
With flutes and mums and phlox,
And lo, upon my plate did rest,
A gaily ribboned box,
With much ado and fuss unwrapped
And saw a gemstone treasure,
For this year was a special year,
With many decades measured.
And yet as sweet as sweet can know
(Despite the buds and bling),
The greatest pleasure of them all
The song my grandsons sing.
This is a photo of the table at Chez Catherine, where my husband treated me to a lovely, birthday lunch. Our quiet little table in the corner was set with the usual accoutrements, but today, there were a few extra special touches; a bouquet from Didier’s garden (arranged by Didier’s himself, who is not only a gracious host at this authentically French restaurant, but who is also and obviously, a true lover of flowers), and a beautifully wrapped and ribboned gift. I loved and appreciated the exquisite necklace and the entire experience.
As I sipped my champagne, I knew there’d be more in store for later I was to receive the true icing on the cake: hearing my grandsons sing “Happy Birthday, Dear Grandma…Happy Birthday to you!”
Indeed!
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/treat/
Sky Line
It’s not the silhouette of steel and glass
That breaks the line of sight ‘tween land and sky
It’s not the tallest spire, a gleaming mass
of condos, hotels glitzy, rising high.
It’s not the “Golden Gate” or “Bridge of Sighs”,
Though they are stunning, worthy of applause,
It’s not the Empire State or towers in Dubai,
Though surely they’re constructions without flaw.
It should be simply where the light of dawn
breaks first upon a sparkling, glassy blue,
It could be cloud of fog when sun’s withdrawn,
As fishers trawl, then cast their nets anew.
A skyline’s more like this (in my mind’s eye);
The wondrous merge of earth and sea and sky.
Delicate Balance
Astride she stands so tall, serene,
No waver in her footing,
The watery depths her safety net,
Her oar, sloped straight and wooden.
So strong and brave she takes her post,
So Innocent and sweet,
We stand ashore and marvel at
her calm and artful feat.
For once upon a distant day,
We, too, were fearless youth,
From vantage point we recognize,
A simple, honest truth.
That careful is as careful does,
And wisdom knows (it’s timely),
She, standing tall, surveying all,
Goes sailing on, sublimely.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/careful/
Shadow Landing
As we landed in Las Vegas on Wednesday, the glitzy skyline of the “Strip” was in our sights, and (I suspect) the primary focus of my fellow travelers. I noticed that as we neared the ground, the shadow of our plane grew larger and closer, until touchdown, when the shadow merged with the subject. This photo captures that penultimate, (extra) ordinary moment.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/extraordinary/
Mittens
Writing 201: Poetry, Day Nine — Cold, Concrete Poem, Anaphora/Epistrophe
Photo Friday: Color
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 