The Sea Garden

'The Sea Garden'

Approaching a new novel, by an author whose books one has read, contains an element of expectation. Will it engage, absorb; will it live up to, exceed, previous works?

So, I opened my copy of 'The Sea Garden' by Deborah Lawrenson (her books 'The Art of Falling' and 'The Lantern' being favourites of mine). i had hoped not to be disappointed ... am hooked; am  held captive as I have not yet finished reading - have paused to write this post as I want to share the experience of Deborah's ability to draw in the reader. I admire the excellence of her writing.

This time, combining flowers, their scents and their hidden power, together with the mystery of a past and the creation of a sinister old lady (brilliantly conjured) immersing the reader in entrapment - that of dreams and horror stories ... need I write more?

At the end, I will post again. In the meantime thank you, Deborah, thus far!

...And now it's September!

Soon, Autumn will be unfolding its spectacular colours

'Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness'

John Keats

 ***

But, for the moment, here, summer still draws to a close, 

***

Some news. 'Snowflake Symphony' is now available on Amazon. What can I say about it other thanthat it is a book to be savoured. If you love the poetry of words and if the idea of  a symphony in words draws you ... then this may be a book to enjoy.

A lady, Bette Hall, whom I have never met said of it 'You gave me a piece of music. I heard it'.

Here is the completed cover and two extracts - one from each of the interwoven stories:

                  

'As a younger, smaller being I could feel the rhythm of my environment. It made me call out in delight with its tiny, hardly discernible nuances, doubling, tripling upon itself. It lulled me to sleep and lent me a sense of security. I rode its rhythm each day, becoming disturbed if the rhythm was interrupted, lost itself …. and reassured as it returned to the beat that is its essence.

Others rode the rhythm, tussled with it, pushed against it; some let it carry them through. I, Spindel, lived the rhythm, absorbed its perfection, discarded its imperfections. And so I made my way, discovered a path to follow, revelling at each twist, turn, emboldened as I skated long, smooth straights. As I travelled I developed, honing my senses, strengthening my being.'

*

'Suddenly, Maggie flung open her arms, tilted her head to the sky; shook it vigorously and began to dance, following the wind and the rhythm of spume crested waves. Sentinel stopped; stood mesmerised. His whole being ached. He longed to be a part of that dance; that movement; that rhythm. The wild movement subsided; became, for him, a melody full of grace; sorrow; and lifted again to soar, blend effortlessly with the elements; as if Maggie would rise and disappear.

He ran towards her. She paused, took him with her to move as one, conducted by the ocean; their combined sound blown to the rim of the sky.

Exhausted, they fell onto the sand, laughing; elated.

“You are ….,” began Sentinel.

She pressed her fingers to his lips, preventing more. They lay in silence until the wind beat more strongly and with bite.

Sentinel sat up.

“Come on,” he said, affectionately stroking wisps of hair from her face.

“Time to go.”

Maggie clasped him tightly. He felt the warmth of her tears touch his neck; controlled his breathing to stifle sobs welling within. As these subsided, he kissed her hair.

“Beautiful, Maggie. Your hair is beautiful.”

But it was Maggie who held the beauty; the entirety of Maggie. 'Today'. Today surpassed all other days before it; almost his hopes, his dreams.'

*

And now, I am excited to catch up on all of your posts, which I have glimpsed but not yet read.

... since February

Have just realised that I last posted in February!! Caught up in a tidal surge of time passing .... and it's landed me back here!

This is Hugo, who was not caught up in the surge, as you can see, and he loves to 'chill out' on our drive from time to time. He is either the father or the uncle of our cat, Sean, who was rescued at four weeks so does not know that he was previously destined for the street (or should I say hillside - as it is more of that than a street).

Perhaps Sean should feature here, too ....

...and here he is! An extra note - his Uncle Bob lurks down the street and round the corner. Sean walks with us in the mornings and meets up with Bob. 'Bob's your uncle,' we tell him, but we're not sure if he's saying,'Really?' or, 'I may be cross-eyed,' (which he is)' but I'm not stupid.'

'Snowflake Symphony'

I have completed my novel 'Snowflake Symphony' a portion of which I posted last year - in July, three posts back.

Here is a piece taken from a little way in, rather than the beginning, about Maggie, one of the few characters who appear. She and Sentinel are the central characters around which the novel forms.

            ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

One day, when she was almost fourteen, her father had gone.

“Gone where?”

Not a question to be asked.

“Gone.”

Maggie took it at its value – a word with no sentiment, not much significance; a flat, ugly word.

“So what?” she retorted.

“Don't care then.”

“I won't.”

Maggie turned and left the kitchen.

2

Now, he is dead; cremated; is nowhere. This she discovered in a few words spoken when she passed by her mother's house (for that is what it is) that he had left a cottage; 'more a shack' were the words.

“So that's where he went.”

“It must be sold.”

Maggie determined to visit prior to this event; made preparation, telling no one.'

     ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

Magic!

The magic of Florence

From the carts trundling market stalls 'medieval fashion' back home

to the amazing secret roof garden on the top of the hotel

the reflective peace of the river

the luminosity of water and sky

amazing art

creating jewels of the past

And, from Florence

on to the magnificent cathedral at Pisa, where Galileo, bored and in his teens, watched a chandelier swaying in the wind and realised the motion for a pendulum clock

Moments in time 

Having fun!

Check out my previous post as you view this one. Would welcome comments. Thanks in advance!

Snowflake Symphony

I am repeating a part of my last post as I feel that it became lost in the photographs of Ireland. When I look back, it seems an intrusion rather than an addition to the post.

My name is Spindel – or it could be Sentinel.

2

In one time, I experienced radius; double radius. It sliced and as it sliced, I parted; two personae out of one – to become one later, in a different place.

2

I was here and I was there at the same time; in both places at once …........ and it began to happen. It: I cannot tell what 'it' is – not yet – perhaps further on – maybe not at all.

2

'In the great scheme of things' is often said. I suppose that is where I am, but not in an exact space; not in an exact time.

2

Gazing above and around, from my far flung position, I hesitate. I see created, glass palaces breaking in upon the midnight sky. Drifting in through its vicinity, I cast my gaze upon the stars, a galaxy beyond, and back towards this strange city of glass; reflections of itself; a puzzle – what is actual and what a mirage: one palace reflected, or many palaces.

I pause; float towards the city, to discover what purpose it serves other than a sheer study in reflection.

My feet glide noiselessly over the surface of the streets; the silence intense. Resting, I note the intensity of silence, the significance of a pause – a space in time devoid of sound. I collect the memory; store it. In this time, in this space, I have no prediction of the future of this memory.

Reflected within this city am I, Spindel, multifaceted; each reflection as transient as myself. I am repeated as are bars of music; a chorus. Am I the music or the composer. Am I one and the same. I reflect upon this as I am reflected, thin as ice, in this glass.

I, Spindel, am a composer. I am searching for a symphony. In my mind it is a precious thing, perfect, unique. But it is not yet formed and so is an embryo, a nucleus, a speck.

My journey is as a discoverer, both as Spindel and 'mind of Spindel'; sometime Sentinel, although not now, not in this instance of resting.

2

As a younger, smaller being I could feel the rhythm of my environment. It made me call out in delight with its tiny, hardly discernible nuances, doubling, tripling upon itself. It lulled me to sleep and lent me a sense of security. I rode its rhythm each day, becoming disturbed if the rhythm was interrupted, lost itself …. and reassured as it returned to the beat that is its essence.

Others rode the rhythm, tussled with it, pushed against it; some let it carry them through. I, Spindel, lived the rhythm, absorbed its perfection, discarded its imperfections. And so I made my way, discovered a path to follow, revelling at each twist, turn, emboldened as I skated long, smooth straights. As I travelled I developed, honing my senses, strengthening my being.

For sustenance, I sought fragrance of taste, sweet on the lips; texture that pleased, rolling softly or riding roughly over the tongue; this from flora along the way.

I soaked in the warmth of each day, to its noon zenith and beyond, was soothed by the cool balm of evening. There are two parts to every day; one day with two contrasting parts. Each day similar in pattern …. until the path arrived at a divide as I passed round the curve of a bend.

Silence.

The rhythm paused. My heart a solitary beat with no sound.

I curled at the junction, as a foetus, on the ground, solid, a ball; metamorphosing to a steel thin disc, glinting, hovering just a small space up from the ground, settling to lie in disc form on the path.

The sudden appearance of an insistent radial arm, with a hand tense in the act of gripping a blade poised to slice, transfixed me. And slice it did, pinning my discoid self dead centre, slicing once from centre to circumference; my radius. The arm returned the blade to its pivotal position to slice an opposite radius; a cut direct and sure to complete my dissection, forming two parts. I, parted from myself, now two selves – geminal.

On that day, at that moment, I became two personae. I am Spindel, Sentinel my alter image. My form evolved diaphanous, film-like; light shimmered as it caught my skin. Sentinel emerged pushing, as does a chestnut bud about to sprout a magnificent leaf, strong, flexible, opaque; durable, sensitive, at one with the natural world and with an inner beauty of his own.

And so we were, neither acknowledging the presence of the other, but in the knowledge of being two personae; two beings before two paths.

The blade wielding arm had disappeared; no glint, no swish, no grinding point.

Peace

Choice lay both at our feet and in our minds. We remained motionless. And then came the call; I heard it from the left branch of the path. My mind and ears strained. My feet danced – a skip, a leap; I followed the call.

2

Moving with the motion of time, I progressed not in leaps and bounds as my feet desired but in soft pulses, light streaming, deflecting my vision. The only way forward was to abandon myself to the pulse, allow myself to be carried through the stream of light against which the pulse, with its call, led. That call came to me as soft brush-strokes of movement gently beating a surface, creating rhythm, enticing me onwards. I became distant to myself, as a watching figure disappearing from view.

¡Por fin! At Last! Plus, a Tuesday Taster

Here I am with a bit of a 'catch up'.

The cataracts are done away with so I can work on the computer once more. I shall post ... and then I shall catch up on my fellow blog companions.

Here we are in Ireland - Wicklow, to be precise. We used to live just south of the town and rented a small house near to the old gaol:

the main street:

the bar:

the jamming session

We caught up with friends and managed to join the Friday night jamming session at Ernie's Bar. It is fantastic to have the opportunity of playing alongside good musicians, some of whom are Irish Champions.

*****

As it is Tuesday, I shall leave you with this taster:

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

My name is Spindel – or it could be Sentinel.

2

In one time, I experienced radius; double radius. It sliced and as it sliced, I parted; two personae out of one – to become one later, in a different place.

2

I was here and I was there at the same time; in both places at once …........ and it began to happen. It: I cannot tell what 'it' is – not yet – perhaps further on – maybe not at all.

2

'In the great scheme of things' is often said. I suppose that is where I am, but not in an exact space; not in an exact time.

2

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: 

The questions are ...... would you read on and, if so, what draws you?

        evening draws in over the harbour

Be back soon!

I Still Exist!

I was beginning to wonder whether or not I did .... but I do!

This is because I am between cataract operations so my eyes are very differen,t which makeswriting and illustrating a chore. Besides, it was frustrating to have to behave like a convelescent!

As I am away for two weeks, shortly, I wanted to make contact.

Here is the first Bird of Paradise to appear in the garden. It looks rather nosey to me!

And here is Spare - a cat that turned up and has decided to make its home with us!

Hope you enjoy his efforts to be a tame cat!

Looking forward to catching up on all your posts.

The 'Violet Jelly Trilogy' book covers

Here are the three book covers:

And here is a tricky character ... the Hornswoggle

And now I am off to catch up on your posts. 

2013 ........... just waiting

Heading into a New Year, I am excited to see the variety of your new posts and am inspired to create afresh.

Wishing each of you a New Year of special memories

As you can see, I have finished my drawing of daisies, which is awaiting a frame.

But what I shall say is not so much to do with drawing but looking outwards from writing. In December I pencilled the final words of my 'Violet Jelly Trilogy'; it was with some satisfaction that I had seen it through and surprise that I had managed to gather the loose ends and the time differences to bring them to the end. There is now editing and the illustrations to create, but just to know that it is complete is an inside 'yes! I did it!'
I say that this is an inward exclamation as it is hard to share writing and the 'mind's experience' of writing until it is there ... even then, it is such an individual experience (all the 'x' words appearing here!) that I cannot find the words  ... and those words are humble words, more a thank you that there is creation within that pushes its way out, which have not yet formed a sentence.
However, I shall share some parts of my work with those of you who read my blog .... and to return to the 'drawing' side of things, I shall be showing you the cover quite soon as it turned out as I had hoped, which I had hardly dared to suppose.

2013 waiting to be discovered

Simply Christmas

I send these words and images to be uniquely absorbed by each reader .....

'The sun has burst the sky

Because I love you ....'

from'The  sun has burst the sky' by Jenny Joseph

'Love gives us the will to carry on,

Love tries and almost breaks us .......

Lapping us up, love soothes, protects and holds us'

Ann Sharples

'Every day is a fresh beginning,

Listen my soul to the glad refrain ...

.............

Take heart with the day and begin again'

from 'New Every Morning' by Susan Coolidge

Thinking of You All This Christmas

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