Come away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o
Chichester cathedral has a beautiful metal screen ,between it and the vaults, the treasure awaits, some of the Cathedral’s silver!
Caught between two worlds, almost as if an invisible sci-fi force field is wrapped around the people inside.
A flower for two bees to share between them.
Click for a bigger view and visit,
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/between-danielle-hark/ to join in.
floral parasol
sheltering all with pleasure
rosy aroma
My Wordless Wednesday this week was an odd looking machine – but all machines are odd to me! For those wondering what it was, here’s the answer!
The ‘Vita’, was Vita Sackville-West, an English writer, poet and gardener, best known for her affair with Virginia Wolfe and the wonderful garden she created at Sissinghurst, Kent.
Here is the opening section of the poem ‘Sissinghurst’ as in the photo above.
A tired swimmer in the waves of time
I throw my hands up: let the surface close:
Sink down through centuries to another clime,
And buried find the castle and the rose.
Buried in time and sleep,
So drowsy, overgrown.
That here the moss is green upon the stone.
And lichen stains the keep.
I’ve sunk into an image, water-drowned,
Where stirs no wind and penetrates no sound,
Illusive, fragile to a touch, remote,
Foundered within the well of years as deep
As in the waters of a stagnant moat.
Vita Sackville-West 1931
The garden at Sissinghurst, in Kent was created in the 1930’s by Vita Sackville-West and her husband, Harold Nicolson. Now a National Trust property, it is looked after by a large team of gardeners and is divided into ‘rooms’, each with a different style, planting scheme colour theme. Here are some photos, I have masses of flower shots but for now I’ll show you general views of the garden.
Sissinghurst was beautiful, it totally lived up to my expectations. There were a good few plants I’ve rarely or never seen, and many dark purple flowers which are my favourites. It was the last day of my holiday and I was suffering from garden burn out, they were all running into one, but I hope you like this little glimpse.
It took me a while to think of an answer to this weeks photo challenge, I kept going back to this pic that I took on Saturday at Penshurst Place in Kent. Eventually I got it, the ‘extra’ isn’t an object, but rather the dreamlike quality of the image, what do you think?
You can still join in at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/extra-extra/
Have you missed me a little? I guess not, but since last weekend when Christine and Stuart were over from Dadirri, I’ve been away for a few days. I’ve taken around a thousand photos and these are the first few I will show you.
Entrances, doors and thresholds, they always fascinate me and I know I’m not alone. The gallery has pictures from Kent and Sussex, mainly National Trust properties, I hope you enjoy them, click for a bigger view.
Erigeron delights
Delicate bounty
tenaciously full of cheer
beauties of the rock
This is a scheduled post, be back soon!
This is a scheduled post, be back soon . . .
‘Run Gill’ Linda and Delamie shouted in harmony.
I bent to tie my shoe lace and then dawdling, stood again, turned in the direction that all the noise was coming from, hand to my brow to shade the early evening sun from my vision. Then a stillness settled and that strange crescendo rose from the silence, just like it does before a storm is brewing. I watched as if outside myself. The biggest boy picked up a stone, weighed it in his hand.
‘BLACKIEEE’, he shouted. There was just him and me, at least that’s how it felt. That’s how it felt, him, me and the missile, cruising, impossibly slowly towards my third eye.
‘Come on, it’s going to hit you’ Linda Wright’s voice pierced my stasis, and in a split second the target became my brow bone instead of my eye. But it couldn’t have hit me, he was too far away. The red rain told a different story as it rippled through my lashes. In disbelief I placed my index finger to my head, saw the trickle of blood, and finally started running blindly, away from the building site, where we shouldn’t have been.
So very close to blinded.
A pale blue and cream police panda car took me to hospital, to three stitches and a scar I still bear. I don’t suppose the racist bully remembers. No-one punished him, a little nigger girl didn’t matter much in 1967.
Written in response to Bastet’s prompt,
”One of my favorite lines written by Maya Angelou is this:
If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.
I’ve said that she’s best known for her autobiographies, so what I’d like you all to do is write a small autobiographical piece.”
http://wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com/2014/06/05/short-story-prompt-june-6-2014/
Lucid Gypsy 