ArtfulFairyTales...Musings...Poetic Artistry: Aldridge, in a Campervan

....Musings and Poetic Artistry gathered in a fragrant stream...i am spiritual artist, mommie, teacher, writer and interior designer composing an "ArtfulFairyTale"...and if i had to do it all again..i would do so... afloat a leafy sea dragon...and having a conversation with a whale i would most definitely wear my wedding dress with a strand of for-get-me-nots attached...EdenClare

...imagery and words, unless noted, have been reblogged....inspiring links...are at the very end of this fragrant stream.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Aldridge, in a Campervan

at 6:09 PM

sometimes one comes across

something wonderfully sublime...
and they just have to step in.

Aldridge, in a Campervan

3 comments:

Tammie LeeJanuary 22, 2013 at 11:00 PM
such lovely
and magical
images
thank you ~
ReplyDelete
Castles Crowns and CottagesJanuary 23, 2013 at 6:38 AM
Oh my friend, this reminds me of a magical place in Marblehead, Mass., where we lived. On the beach, this doorway opened out into a little park overlooking the bay..what wonder! THANK YOU for this beautiful inspiration today! LOVE! Anita
ReplyDelete
Castles Crowns and CottagesJanuary 24, 2013 at 4:44 PM
EDEN CLARE! YOU KNOW MARBLEHEAD! Oh how we loved that place!!!!!! Anita
ReplyDelete

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Maybe loving books is not so simple. Just like a healthy relationship needs work and changes with time, so too does our relationship with the things we own as we try to define ourselves and not be defined by stuff. Simply owning books didn’t make me a reader. What did make me a reader was an insatiable appetite for new stories and the things they have taught me. I would not be a better person for owning a library; I become a better person because I chose to read. — New Home, Empty Shelves (via booklover)

The thing you need to know, child, is that trees do speak, they do tell tales, they sing when they’ve a mind to, they are gigglers, gossips, grumblers cataloging every ache and pain, and yet they hold no grudges, claim no debts, speak ill of no creature. They have their tempers, yes, tantrums of branches lashed in gusts and gales, but then they come to rest in stillness, spent, humming contentedly. You’ve heard them child, just yesterday. You though it was only the wind. The thing you need to know is that by dawn-light every tree stands tall and chants its name, its history, its kinship web and lineage. You’ve heard them child. You thought it was the dawn chorus of birds. The thing you need to know is that the trees tell stories older than the oldest tales of humankind: by dusk, by night, by starlight, you have heard their midnight murmuring. You told me so. You thought it was just water running in the stream. The thing you need to know, child, is that trees do speak in their own language. They mutter with the rustle of old brown leaves, they sigh with the snow drifting at their feet, they utter exquisite arboreal poems as each new tender unfurls, they laugh in shivers of green and gold tickled by a passing breeze. The thing you need to know, child, is that the trees do speak, in the tree language. And yes, you will understand their speech one day, root child, sweet sapling.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Aldridge, in a Campervan

3 comments:

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