I love this time of year. The days are warm with a slight bite in the air. Everything seems brighter and clearer. Edges are sharply defined.Each minute holds a thousand memories. Memory slips into moment, triggered by the quality of light or the smell of burning leaves.
Light reflects from the sky onto a leaf and into my eyes. Cool air flows from a garden wall towards my arm. The sky is a deep autumn blue.
I would love to be a leaf. In autumn I will gently float on the breeze.
I have been hunting the sound of the wind rustling through leaves. My ears follow sounds. I listen and wait. Metaphors shyly emerge.
I would love to be a leaf. In autumn I will gently float on the breeze.
I have been hunting the sound of the wind rustling through leaves. My ears follow sounds. I listen and wait. Metaphors shyly emerge.
A car swishes down a wet road. Drops explode on the roof.
Leaves beating a melody become drops falling on the sea and beach. Branches dip and fall like waves.
From a Freestate lawn I once watched a flock of pigeons circling in the air above me. Their wings beat against the air like leaves and their bodies followed the pattern of branches. Their hearts are connected to their home like branches to a tree. Dancing in the wind, you gracefully float downwards. The earth’s warm moist embrace enfolds you until tree roots claim you back. Slowly you feed into cells. One day you push back out into the spring. At night you rest under the stars.
Today in mid workshop grumble I recognise the space I’m operating from. I am observing my world as a victim. I guard against slights, put shields up to keep rejection out and curl up when anger sweeps past me .
But I am free to react in whichever way I please. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. I recognise the emptiness of the moment. I can fill it with fear or a joyful power. The choice is mine.
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It might not sound like much but suddenly I am entering into a new unknown space. I am shifting a pattern. A million new ways of being presents themselves to me. I become a leaf trembling on the branch of opportunity waiting for the wind to sweep me up towards the stars.
Today in mid workshop grumble I recognise the space I’m operating from. I am observing my world as a victim. I guard against slights, put shields up to keep rejection out and curl up when anger sweeps past me .
But I am free to react in whichever way I please. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. I recognise the emptiness of the moment. I can fill it with fear or a joyful power. The choice is mine.*
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See more selfportraits here.
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ps. I will come visit on Friday - Long day, late night



































