Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
Buddies
This photo was taken one languorous, dewy morning at the Polynesian Village, WDW. DMan ( #2 grandson) considers this to be his own private beach…sitting lagoon side, watching morning birds and talking about everything and nothing, the teachable moments are plenteous and precious.
“Wishes…”
This entry is in response to Trifextra weekend challenge which asked for 33 words of our own, inspired by the following quote:
“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.” ― Paulo Coelho
It had been a painful time.
‘Neath the erupting canopy, strains of “Wishes..” seeped into her brain.
Suddenly, impulsively, he squeezed her hand.
As a silent tear escaped, she knew they’d be okay.
Rain
Haiku Friday: “Les Baux de Provence”
Swan lake gliders slide
beyond our Provence picket fence:
Bucolic “Les Baux.”
This photo was taken while ‘en Provence’ last April. While staying at “La Cabro d’Or”, we would stroll from our garden terrace to the manor house, around this lovely lake, and the proudly displayed, regal structure of the poultry cage. Swans and duck spent their time sliding and gliding through the water, accompanied by an intermittent chorus of croaking toads.
Photo Friday: Natural Light
This photo was taken, after having just been seated for breakfast at Ponte Vedra Lodge at the end of March. Our window table afforded us the spectacular view seen here. Shades drawn just enough to shield our eyes, the sun’s rays shone on us and our linen covered table allowing natural light, shadows and reflections. In this setting – overlooking the morning beach scene, salt and pepper shakers, glossy menu and jelly jars, were remarkably transformed. If one looks closely one can see the beach scene reflected in the spherical vase. It was stunning!
Sun ‘brellas
I’m drawn once more
To wind blown, ebbing shores
To feel the sand-grains ‘neath my soles
Bear silent witness to the quest of gulls,
And fill my head and heart with surf-salt breeze.
I rush on past the shore-side ‘ brellas,
Treading hard the path between the dunes.
But stunned and shocked, I flinch in pain!
Spirit willing; bones and tendons strained.
I whimper back to lounge-side trees.
Still, sunrise slyly, cloyingly calls to me,
I cave, this time with chunky, clunky clogs.
Strength and strategy renewed; my quest rejoined,
Pockets overflow with shells and sea-glass!
Soul overflows with joy!
I wrote this poem as I recalled my disappointment last month upon realizing that I couldn’t romp on the beach as I used to, after recovering from a severe leg break before Christmas.
Now that I was free (i.e. no cast and with permission to actually walk on my repaired leg again) I expected that a walk on the beach would be great, rejuvenating and wonderfully rehabilitating.
It wasn’t! It was painful, and I thought I actually may have done some damage.
Once I decided I should wear shoes (ugh) I was able to get out the next morning for a sunrise – a lifelong passion.
This poem attempts to capture the sheer happiness I felt walking by the water, joining the morning gulls, collecting shells and such, and of course, taking pictures. Where there is a will, there is a way.
The unopened, colorful umbrellas, captured for me the essence of the calm and quiet of a seaside morning, before the rest of the world awakens .
Made with Love by Mom
Mom will be upset. Now that was an understatement, considering that Mom had devoted so many hours to complete the difficult, double-knit afghan.
The pattern was called “Kelmscott Throw”, her Mother’s first adventure with the technique of double knitting, by which the knitter actually knits a two blankets at once, with two ‘right’ sides. Done in two colors, and usually involving a complex jacquard design, one side was blue with white pattern, while the reverse side was white with a contrasting blue pattern. Two blankets, knit together and attached at each row edge by a simple twist of the two strands of yarn. It was challenging but well worth the self-taught effort and time.
Last October, after many months of undercover knitting (Grandma’s was a daily stop-off) it was with love and pride that the surprise anniversary present gift was given. The family loves that blanket! It serves equally well as a TV throw for chilly nights as it does as a patio warmer on a fall evening, snuggled in front of the fire pit. It is well-used and appreciated; and that makes Mom happy.
So it was with dismay and regret that she now surveyed the damage. All she’d done was to throw it in the washing machine, as she had with so many of the boys hand knits! It mattered little now, as she pulled and tugged at the wooly mess in front her. The “Made With Love by Mom” label was now affixed to a tangled mat of shrunken pattern remnants, tightly pulled in together. What strange alchemy caused this ‘heirloom’ to become an unrecognizable, misshapen, stinky, piece of blue and white animal fiber?
Just as she was certain that the unfortunate transmutation was irreversable – she was equally certain that her next step was unavoidable. Reaching for her cell phone, she flinched as it nearly jumped into her palm, announcing an incoming call…from Mom! She tapped “Answer” …
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This was written in response to Trifecta Challenge to use the third definiion of the word: ALCHEMY (noun)
1: a medieval chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of the base metals into gold, the discovery of a universal cure for disease, and the discovery of a means of indefinitely prolonging life
2: a power or process of transforming something common into something special
3: an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting
Chasing the Steeple
Why do I turn away?
Centerpiece of this bright day,
A Far Hills fete: “The Steeple Chase”.
Autumn brilliance sets the stage:
Whilst grassy-tracked steeds sling muddy sod,
Orange-framed oval, strewn with spectators.
Trumpet’s blare calls to all: “ta ra ta da”!
I focus not on race or chase.
I choose instead a steeple;
Back-dropped by brilliant, cerulean blue-sky canvas.
Siena-shingled dome, chalk-washed silo, copper-crackled cupola;
Structures from a century past.
Their purpose, now belied by single steely spline.
Peaceful purity punctuated by techno-times.
Maestro
I write this poem today, after having attended a concert at Lincoln Center, where Andras Schiff, not only created wonderful artistry at his fingertips doing two Bach Concerti, but also, and surprisingly, almost more impressive was his conducting of the Medelsohn and Schuman. it was as if the orchestra was his keyboard…wonderful and extremely enjoyable and inspiring!
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 