Leonie Bryant's Corner of Lemuria - Hermitage Art

Paintings for a Newly Married Couple

2006-06-07T16:44:00.000-07:00

My niece, Brooke was married this weekend, these are paintings which are her wedding present. It started with the sentence I read in a book long ago (in German) "Ich bin geheirated um nimmer mehr allein zu früschtükken". (spelling may be off here, my German is a bit rusty) which means "I got married so I'd never have to eat breakfast alone again"

Crepe Myrtle - Venus Flower

2006-05-16T23:28:00.000-07:00

Especially for Luna

2006-05-11T05:06:00.000-07:00

le Enchanteur puts on a special birthday tea for Luna.

Setting Out Again

2006-05-10T18:19:00.000-07:00

Another group of travellers prepare to set out on an adventure with Le Enchanteur who is seen here, dancing on the amphitheatre stage at the Hermitage.

Final Surrender - April 14th 2006

2006-05-09T15:41:00.000-07:00

I am not sure whether I should be writing this post here or at The Land of the Standing Stones!!
It has taken me some considerable time to work out what to put in my surrender box.

The box I have chosen is a clear plastic box that can at any time tell me what is in there. It is interesting to me that I have chosen a box that shows all and not one that hides it's contents.
(h-mmm.)

I was driving myself mad trying to work out what to put in this blessed box. Why is it so hard? Thinking, thinking, thinking and analyzing with no clear result. After a week with this lack of success, I finally decided to surrender to my inner knowing and asked the question:
"What do I need to surrender?"

It took 24 hours, and I woke up knowing what I had to surrender. I knew it was right. I have felt so reassured to think that I knew all the time, even though I was hiding it from myself. And I am amazed at what I have learnt since. I feel that this is a big breakthrough which has been coming to birth for some time. Whoopee!
www.dailywriting.net/BryantStudio.html

The Unknown Rider by Leonie Bryant

2006-05-05T21:06:00.000-07:00

My goodness, I wonder what interesting experiences I am going to have today. Up to date, there have been some surprises along the way. There has been anxiety, excitement and at times sorrow, and I am certainly feeling the benefits of this experience.

Now, I am seated on this beautiful little donkey whose name is Augustus. He is old and clumsily treads along the way at his own pace. Luckily I am relaxed so I am very patient. He says that he knows where he is going and not to worry. So I sit pat. Before long we are into the forest. The gnarly old branches are hanging down, but Augustus seems to be able to tread a path past them without me being harmed in any way. My other friends are around me on their donkeys, so we seem to be all together.

Next thing, all hell breaks loose, the donkeys are braying and distressed. Before I know what is happening, I am whisked away from my faithful friend. A hooded rider takes hold of me and hoists me onto his horse. The horse feels enormous after travelling on my little donkey. My heart is pounding with excitement. I have never experienced the feeling of such power, riding on this great animal through the forest. I am holding on tight to my rider who seems to totally in control.

It is not until we come to a clearing in the forest that we begin to slow down. Coming to a standstill, I find myself being lifted down to the ground. My head is spinning, I feel so light headed and I hardly know what I am doing. I now have a chance to see the face of the hooded rider. It is a man, his face is handsome, but it is his eyes that are so deep and full of kindness. He is preparing a fire and soon the leaves and branches are crackling and the warmth entices me towards it. My rider sits on the ground and invites me to sit with him. I feel safe with him, so I ask who he is. He says that he is my spirit guide and will be there for me whenever I need him. I am surprised that he is going to be there for me, and part of me is having difficulty in believing this. He tells me he is Blue Heron, and that we will rest here for tonight and continue the journey tomorrow.

Comforted by his presence, I drift off to sleep. I am woken by the birds clickety, clacking around the trees and find that I am alone. Where is my guide? What am I going to do now? He did reassure me that he would always be there when I needed him. Keeping this in my heart, I picked up my bag, put on my special glasses and set off through the forest.

I can now see where I am going and know that I shall soon be arriving at The House of the Serpent. I come out of the forest to this beautifully tranquil water hole. This must be Blind Springs. There is such an atmosphere of peace here that I must rest here on the rocks. As I sit there, I hear a flutter of wings, and see a bird rising from the water and gliding off with such grace. It is the blue heron.I know that I am not alone.

Preparing for Christmas 2005 by Leonie Bryant

2006-05-05T06:51:00.000-07:00

These are a few Christmas Cards that I have brought to the market today.

My Visit to the Lemurian Market by Leonie Bryant

2006-05-05T06:49:00.000-07:00

I have wandered quickly through this market once before, so today I thought I would take my time and look closely at the stalls. There certainly are some beautiful wares on display.

On my table I am displaying one of my cards. I like to make cards sometimes for the local gallery.

I Come Before You Gorgon - by Leonie Bryant

2006-05-05T06:37:00.000-07:00

There once was a woman who was hard working, loyal, honest and modest. She cared for others, loved her family and was very hard on herself. However, a battle raged within her. She wanted to fly. She fluttered her wings, rattled the cage and then her fear and guilt won over. She would settle back down to her life which actually was a quite a happy one.

Time passed, many years later she discovered there were reasons she had stayed locked up. The need to fly became more urgent, she knew she could not fly while she was locked in the cage. So rattle the cage she did, until the lock was broken. There was freedom to fly, to soar high up into the sky.

She could not believe the freedom she experienced. Everything looked so different from up above. She spent many hours gliding around, allowing her dreams to come true.

This poem was written by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Fold your wings my soul,
Those wings you had spread wide
To soar to the terrestrial peaks
Where the light is most ardent:
It is simply for you to wait
The descent of the Fire – supposing it be willing
to take possession of you.

Silent Lotus offers'The Legend' to Leonie Bryant

2006-05-04T05:28:00.000-07:00

When

The paths

Leading down

The mountains

Are no longer calling

And in your eyes the valleys

Appear no more to be deep

The wind will whisper

The legend

Of the

Silent

Sanctuary

Revealing the love

Where the sun and the moon

Come to meet

silent lotus

Lotus Moon

2006-05-04T04:57:00.000-07:00

Go Gently, Beloved Sister

2006-05-04T04:39:00.000-07:00

TRAVELLER'S HEAVEN

We do not dream
Like the Settled People.
We dream of rolling hills
The perfect tober
Where fish fill the rivers
The grass is always soft underfoot
And the weather is always mild.
There is no end to the storytelling
And the company is good
Around the campfire.
Traveller’s dream
Of shelter and comfort
Not the heavenly mansions
Of the Settled People.

Precious Memory - Leonie Bryant

2006-05-04T03:05:00.000-07:00

Memory lives the longest.
Seek what you will, have what
you might, love who you will,
do what you will,
but memory lives the longest.
Memory is important,
good memories soothe the soul,
and are no less real than anything
else on earth...remember.

Remember, memory lasts
the longest. Memory is kept close
to the heart. Memory lives
the longest. Do not forget.
Leonie will never be forgotten,
now or forever. She will always
be remembered...

(with love, Monika - Imogen Crest - Hermitage)

Rebekkah by Leonie Bryant - On Caravanserai

2006-05-04T01:42:00.000-07:00

After taking a peep at Day 4 of the Advent calendar, and reflecting on letting one's emotions come out of their bottles, this story came to mind.

Rebekkah lived

with a fierce desire

to overcome those issues

that dulled her spirit.

She worked so hard,

she cared so much,

and yet, from time to time

those demons came.

They crippled her inside.

It was many years

before those demons

could be given a name.

'Twas Fear and Guilt.

Now when the demons come,

they can be named

and sent off on their way.

Rebekkah,

she has changed.

She still works hard

and cares so much,

and she is free,

free from the binds

of the damage done to her.

Her spirit is free,

she is dancing through her days,

no longer responsible

for other's ills.

Rose Spirt by Leonie Bryant - On Caravanserai

2006-05-04T01:27:00.000-07:00

I am swimming in a pool of rose otto
Intoxicated by the aroma
Body soothed and free
The walls around me
Delight my eyes
Fresh pink and cream
Colour divine
Emotions of such ecstasy
Sheer bliss
The Rose Spirit whispers
"You have a glimpse
Of your soul"

Farewell, for now

2006-05-04T01:18:00.000-07:00

Leonie, you will be sorely missed, and the candle lit to remember you by will never be extinguished in my heart, where the flame of those who touched my life burns in perpetuity. Lead the way my friend, travel with carefree abandon and in peace, where all of us will one day rejoin you.

Visiting the Isle of Ancestors by Leonie Bryant

2006-05-04T01:10:00.000-07:00

I wandered slowly down to the wharf where the ferry would take me on a journey that proved to be a momentous one. I am grateful for the invitation to go, as well as for all those dear friends who are accompanying me in words and spirit. My trip across the sea was a little tempestuous – I wasn't sure if I wanted to meet this person, or who it would be! I was reassured. The beautiful moon shone brightly over the waters. I felt nurtured and cared for. On arriving at the distant shore, I embarked from the barge and wended my way up to the stone entrance. As I passed by these stones,I was aware of the sacredness of the journey I was taking. Slowly I meandered down the path towards the red light, which guided me to the great hall. The hall was filled with a warm glow from the fire burning on the other side of the hall. Slowly, slowly I walked around to sit beside the figure and waited til I was ready to see who it was. My Father, who had died in 1981, was sitting there just as I had remembered him. I looked into his eyes and asked him why he had hurt me as a little girl, his beautiful daughter. He said that he was in the grip of the `demon drink'. He looked very sorry and said that he had loved me and had always been proud of who I was. The tears were rolling down my face as he gave me a beautiful rose to remind me of his love. He looked into my eyes and asked me if I could forgive him. I told him that since I had recently claimed how much I had been damaged by his actions, I did now forgive him. I had always loved him and protected him. He gave me a beautiful big fatherly hug which I had missed all my life. It felt so good. It was time to leave and make my way back to Duwamish Bay holding my beautiful rose.

A Thought Poem for Leonie by Aletta Mes

2006-05-04T01:02:00.000-07:00

transcendent life
through birth
existence,
experience
toil, grief,
joy
all the colours
of passion
presented
each moment
for the reaping
youth hesitates
considers
agonizes

death provides transport
to the other side
of a stony wall
the reaper
moves
gracefully
back and forth
delivering
essences
of friends
enemies alike
to the other side
fear wonders
what if I?

more fellow
travellers,
since passed
generations removed
from life newly made
taking spent mortal remains,
most sadly too
those with lives
far to short
grief will
wonder
why?

there
not so
far from here
stands a wall
a wall not there
when I was young
of cold dark stone
evoking fear
and nostrils
sensing the sweetly acrid
stench of death
I have learned the limits
of mortality

the wall of
stoney perception
what was
set in motion
is not mortal
but eternal
so I too shall pass
delivered by
my new confidant
the dark gowned
figure
through stones of
not stone
but ether
knowing
as we are grieved
we are also joyfully
received

as days pass
fear grows
the reaper now stand closer
rarely am I out
of the dark figure's gaze
time moves
only forward
and the stones of the wall
again reveal
they are but ether
after all

in the reapers gaze
I stand and now look back
without fear
he now is
a familiar
a companion
encouraging acceptance
now as age advances
all senses
and all colour
mindfully yet
unhesitatingly
mine

the wall while marking a line
between the mortal and
eternal
offers
joy
reuniting
spirits of
familiar souls
to continue in eternity
forward
here in the mortal world
the legacies
of lives lived
continue in ripples
eternity offers
no here or there
only forever

without fear
now
all senses
all colour
unhesitatingly
mine
each moment
a small piece of
the eternal
in body or ether
I am

aletta

For Leonie, till we meet again.

Leonie Visits White Owl Island

2006-05-04T01:01:00.000-07:00

From the moment I read Traveller's excerpts about The Wyse Wymen of the White Owl and the accompanying prayer, I have felt so at home with this story. Le Enchanteur's invitation to visit the Wyse White Owl encouraged me to come to the isle.

Sitting in the boat with the priestesses, and listening to the hum of their Creation Chant, I felt at one with the rythms of their song, despite the fact that I couldn't understand what they were saying. On arriving at the isle, the boat is moored and the priestesses invite me to follow them.

I am filled with excited anticipation as I follow the priestesses to the home of the White Owl. I watch in silence while certain rituals are performed around the Stone. As I approach the realm of The White Owl, I feel a sadness welling up inside.

The owl says "I am a mirror to those who come through the winding way. I vow to be the sealer as well as the revealer. What is your question?"

How would I manage if I was on my own?

The beautiful White Owl looks at me with those wonderfully knowing eyes and tells me that I have all the wisdom within me, and that I will know what to do when the time comes. She reminded me that I have always shown a resourcefulness and have known where to get support when I have needed it.

From my pocket, I take a beautiful gemstone and place at the base of the tree where the White Owl rests. I am filled with consolation and peace as I follow the priestesses through the labyrinth to the boat that will take me back to Duwamish.

Fountain of Forgiveness by Leonie Bryant

2006-05-04T01:00:00.001-07:00

I have been down to the Fountain of Forgiveness this morning. I donned my glasses and absorbed the atmosphere around the river. The birds were very busy as you know it is almost springtime here. They were dancing around, singing their mating songs and feverishly picking choice titbits for their nests.

I took with me Esmeralda my beautiful snake. She is emerald green with metallic markings all along her back. She slid along beside me guiding me to the fountain. As we approached the pools I once again felt this sacred space. I sat, taking in the peace and calm of the waters. Gently I stooped down and put my face down and drank of this crystalline water.

I was moved to write my letter of forgiveness in the peace and quiet. As a sign that I had forgiven, I took my letter and with fire let it rise up in flames.

Leonie took a Night Ride

2006-05-04T01:00:00.000-07:00

The stablewoman rushed to me as I came down the path. ‘Come quickly’ she said. As I walked into the stables, I could hear the commotion. I rushed down to see my beautiful mare champing at the bit. She had a look of desperation in her eyes. The stablewoman helped me to mount my horse and we tried to calm her down. But she wanted to be off.

We rode up the path, through the forest and up into the highlands. With ears pinned back, my horse raced across the grassy plains. The wind whistled through my hair, as I clung tightly to her neck. I wanted to ride, and ride onwards forever. I could feel all my cares and woes being left behind, as the wind continued to blow. The freedom is incredible. I have never experienced anything as exhilarating!

Finally we came to a spot where other horses were grazing. My mare had come home. This is where she belonged. Slowly I dismounted, and gently stroking her neck I wandered over to sit under a tree pondering my newfound freedom.

Appraising the Heart - Dedicated to Leonie

2006-05-04T00:48:00.000-07:00

Embroidered Journal Cover - A Gift from Leonie December 2005

An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth

Within the field of rushes
Lies the heart of one
Mother, daughter, wife, sister, friend,
Whose time in this realm is done?

Within the field of rushes
Lies the heart of one
Teacher, counsellor, advocate, imagineer, friend
Who took but gave an eye, a tooth, a shoulder

Earth to Earth
Ashes to ashes dust to dust

Within the field of rushes
Lies a heart of one
Who gave more than she took
Who returns to the source

As light as a feather

Heather Blakey March 29 2005

By Leonie Bryant

2006-05-03T19:29:00.000-07:00

Cards by Leonie

2006-05-03T16:09:00.000-07:00

These are the beautiful cards Leonie sent to me. I thought they should be posted here, in her corner of Lemuria, so everyone can enjoy them.

An Embroidered Retrospective

2006-05-02T15:02:00.000-07:00

L is for Leonie

B is for Bryant
Wearing a Hibiscus in her hair

Designs by Leonie Bryant - completed April 2006

The Last Dance With Me

2006-05-02T14:53:00.000-07:00

We had laughed and cried and said
we would dance for many more years Leonie
But... the fates intervened
with their scissors
snipping the thread of life so suddenly

So, I'm dancing for you now, as I have never danced before
Leading the celebration of your life
Here in the Gypsy Camp.

Form a circle everyone
And dance the last dance with us.

Dedicated to Leonie - by Megan Warren

2006-05-02T14:51:00.000-07:00

work of Megan Warren 2006

Reflection - Leonie Bryant - 2005

2006-05-02T06:54:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga has led me on a very interesting journey over the last day or so. In reading her story and struggling to write about my visit to see her, I decided to make my special doll. What a surprise this turned out to be!

To understand my surprise, one would have to know that I love colour and things more on the 'pretty' side. My doll has a very earthy feel, is rather shapeless and has a lovely big double chin. So I dialogued with her, telling her that I was surprised at the way she looked and wondered how she could help me. She replied that she would know what I had to do, so that all I had to do was to ask her in trust.

I was then led in a very mysterious way to read some words of wisdom in my book, 'Women Who Run With The Wolves'. These are the words that struck a chord with me:

"......A wise woman keeps her psyche environ uncluttered. She accomplishes such by keeping a clear head, keeping a clear space for her work, working at completing her ideas and projects.......because it is Baba Yaga's hut that Vasalisa sweeps, because it Baba Yaga's yard, we are also speaking of keeping unusual ideas clear and ordered. These ideas include those which are uncommon, soulful and uncanny.

......to cook for the Yaga one lays a fire - a woman must be willing to burn hot, burn with passion, burn with words, with ideas, with desire for whatever it really is that she loves. It is actually this passion which causes the cooking, and a woman's ideas of substance are what is cooked. To cook for the Yaga, one will arrange that one's creative life has a consistent fire under it. Most of us would do better if we became more adept at watching the fire under our work.........the fire bears watching, for it is easy to let it go out. The Yaga must be fed. There's hell to pay if she goes hungry. So it is the cooking up of new things, of new directions, of commitments to one's art and work that continuously nourishes the wild soul.

.....Women's cycles according to Vasalisa's tasks are these: To cleanse one's thinking, renewing one's values, on a regular basis. To clear one's psyche of trivia, sweep one's self, clean up one's thinking and feeling states on a regular basis and especially to cook up a lot, to feed the relationship between oneself and the wildish nature."

My doll is now called Clarissa and she has pride of place on my table where I do my work.

For Leonie from Carol Abel

2006-05-02T06:27:00.000-07:00

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle Autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning:s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

(poem by Mary Frye)

Leonie's Soul Hand

2006-05-02T02:16:00.000-07:00

Leonie's Arrival At The Hermitage - August 2005

2006-05-02T01:25:00.000-07:00

Monika, I have just arrived and am overwhelmed by the wonderful welcome you have extended to all. There are so many mysterious places and people around the Hermitage.

As I came in, I wandered around through the Garden of Earthly Delights. Along the paths past the most delicious and sensuous flowers, I came to a beautiful indigo hibiscus. As I walked past, I thought I heard someone calling. Psst...psst. Glancing around, I couldn't see a soul. Then I heard it again. This time I realized that the voice was actually coming from the plant.

I moved closer to this beautiful dark green shrub, covered in indigo flowers. It whispered in my ear that it wanted tell me a little story.

"Tiny seeds fall into the earth and when the time is right, they germinate and grow in their own time. Some grow a little, some are undernourished, some scraggy and damaged by the elements.
Others, despite the conditions continue to grow and produce beautiful flowers.

Seeds of wisdom are planted in all, and are ready to germinate when they are able to understand and receive this wisdom. Can you imagine yourself wrapped in a beautiful indigo cloak, listening to the words of wisdom that are ready to spring from your heart?"

Amazed by this story, I wandered down to the sea walk, and finding a large rock, I spent some time pondering the words that I had heard.
copyright Leonie Bryant 2005

Leonie Bryant - Embroidered Journey Souvenirs

2006-05-02T01:02:00.000-07:00

Leonie made some intricately embroidered ATC's to illustrate and

tell the story of travelling the roads in the realms of Lemuria.

The Cave of the Enchantress was a great experience for her.

A Poem - by Tennyson - for Leonie

2006-05-01T15:03:00.000-07:00

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

-- Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sent by Aletta Mes

Candles for Leonie from Fran Sbrocchi

2006-05-01T05:36:00.000-07:00

Gaia Welcomes Leonie Home

2006-05-01T05:15:00.000-07:00

Her daughter returns home.
with love
Heather Blakey

I have blended with the earth
I bear fruit
I absorb the dead
I swallow the nail
I catch the bullets
I resurrect myself
I return
I cannot be destroyed
I am nature
I cannot be controlled
I am sacred
I am a healer
Experience me -Become Gaia
Audrey Flack 2000

Rose for Leonie - A Tribute

2006-04-30T22:38:00.000-07:00

*A Tribute*

It was lovely to have Leonie at the

Art Room closeby, and she will be

very much missed. She was always

posting beautiful artworks and

adding comments to others' works.

May she rest in peace and contentment.

(Monika - Hermitage)

The Call of the Rainbow Serpent Priestess

2006-04-29T00:32:00.000-07:00

From across the mountains drifts the sweet call of the Rainbow Serpent Priestess who sits, playing a lilting tune, calling travellers and serpents to come home to the House of the Rainbow Serpent for awhile.
Footnote: I am experiementing with pastel pencils to achieve a different effect.

Autumn Impatiens

2006-04-28T00:17:00.000-07:00

Blue Fairy Wren

2006-04-27T06:41:00.000-07:00

Easter Moon At The Hermitage Regions

2006-04-14T21:59:00.000-07:00

Pond Mosaic

2006-04-12T03:02:00.000-07:00

Firewheel Tree

2006-04-12T03:00:00.000-07:00

Art By The Sea

2006-04-09T01:34:00.000-07:00

Painting Away

2006-04-04T18:20:00.000-07:00

Most recent updates on what is still on the easel.

Lurking in the shadows

2006-03-24T17:57:00.000-08:00

This is from some freelance work I did last month. I am keeping busy. I miss you all!

Inspire Me Thursday

2006-03-11T04:04:00.000-08:00

This is a piece of 'Sense-less' art for the Inspire Me Thursday project. Thursday's portrait has been done with no narrative in mind and I gave myself complete freedom to use in my intuition rather than my senses.

Portraits at Riversleigh

2006-03-09T04:20:00.000-08:00

Enchanteur at Riversleigh
by Heather Blakey

Do you, or the characters in your fiction, feel like puppets on a string? Does it feel like someone is pulling ths strings? How can you or your characters be released from the eternal dance on moody Mr ChangeAbout's srings?

A Reading WIth Intuition

2006-03-09T04:15:00.000-08:00

In the Land of Spells and Enchantments Intuition, one of the guardians of the Lemuria Mysteries, offers to look through her third eye and do a reading for you.

All wound up --- what?

2006-03-08T18:56:00.000-08:00

Having an inability to sit still and do nothing, and too little energy to do something large (away from my recliner) I struggle to find enough to do with ever declining visual and sensory limitations.

I bought a small bag full of crystal hearts, not sure what to do with them, but thought I'd string them into this and that. Well, turns out they did not have a hole drilled through them for stringing. So using some steel wire I cam up with this "all wound up in love" personal collection of beadwork. I stand back sometimes and gasp, "why?"

I like these best:

Clearly it is time for a better camera with a macro lens. Some day.

A Sunday Walk in the Polder

2006-02-28T12:38:00.000-08:00

Some families spent their Sunday's going to church, we didn't, we took a long walk. If the weather was particularly good we would bicycle. Well, more specifically my parents would bicycle, to some new place to explore at leisure. This was a particularly bright and sunny day in the middle of summer. A real scorcher by Dutch standards. I rode with my father in a child's bicycle seat, one that would have been met with gasps of disapproval by today's standards. It was black metal and red vinyl and collapsed when not in use. Moms bicycle had a large wicker basket in which the family dog rode. Not one person we knew well owned a car, there was always those days a very small number of motor vehicles comprised mostly of the cheapest of Citroens and Volkswagen bugs.

I could smell that we were coming closer to the sea, it was in the air. Sea gulls screeching with delights as their extended wings caught every warm air current, endlessly gliding along. Everything here was either sand coloured or sea green. Only tall patches of grass broke the very flat landscape, all of it an extended quilt of sandy lifeless polders and squares of grass, just occasionally a patch of houses. One such patch of houses was Spijkernisse. There were no new buildings like the ones in Hoogvliet where we lived. Here the air no longer reeked of the refineries. The quiet here was quite shocking to the system. Our normally chatty family was just now silent, we were blending in, at one with the calm.

We came to the very edge of a brand new polder, not a building, a road, or even a blade of grass, nothing. There was only packed sand dotted by small stones and decaying jellyfish. Seagulls were diving for any small thing that moved. As I was being lifted out of my kiddy seat...

the whole story at www.aletta.org/sparrowweb1.shtml#Walk_in_the_Polder

Carnival

2006-02-28T10:17:00.000-08:00

these are some carnival themed ATCs I made for another swap. They are collages based on photos I have taken.

Metamorphoses of sorts...

2006-02-15T17:26:00.000-08:00

I guess I don't feel much like landscapes, too cold, too harsh and besides that, something else is pushing it's way forward from my subconscious. No time for fairy tales until I've allowed it entrance into this three dimensional world, and somehow tame it to two dimensions. The work is far from finished, I've barely begun, but I do think the heart of it has made contact with me.

I really hope my energies hold, past the banal housekeeping tasks that will no longer stay on hold. I've dedicate the rest of me, whatever there is of me to this work and to the exclusion of all other projects. I will get the housework under control and make sure the lavender continues to weather the end of this winter, as they have so bravely come this far. The sun is up another hour or so, enough to cover them and add a little compost. Considering the season the balcony is still quite green.

Well, enough rambling, just so you don't find me rude because the replies to your emails are long in coming, or when they do they seem overly brief, please understand, I am not as I once was, there is a great reduction in just how much I can accomplish in one day, one week, one month. I am as always lately painfully aware that there is only so much I can likely accomplish, so I set out to nevertheless accomplish ten times that. with any luck St. Jude has a little time left for me.

Summer Flower Show

2006-02-10T01:50:00.000-08:00

Wild Apple Study

2006-02-09T01:11:00.000-08:00

excerpt - The Weeping Lady

2006-02-01T19:16:00.000-08:00

Under certain circumstances, fairies will just see a need to intervene. such was the case with Ms. Millar one warm springtime many years ago. It had not been long before that splendid day that Ms. Millar, they valley's school teacher had to bury her young husband. He had died in a faraway war, in another country far, far away. Ms. Millar was still living in a big city then, she'd just finished going to teacher's college. she was lonely and spent all her evenings in the darkness crying until she finally would fall asleep.

It was her cousin Elizabeth who invited her to come and stay with her in the valley, As it happens, and quite often it does, just then the teacher Mr. Rolf, decided he really needed to stop teaching after thirty years and open a candy shop instead. Perhaps it came about because after years of taking away candy from his pupils he decided he's just much rather make the most wonderful candy for children to enjoy. So he did, within weeks he's rented a store and was making the most wonderful candy.

*** a note: The Unseen is now finished ad posted on my website:www.aletta.org/lukikoko.shtml

Red Chinese Veil

2006-01-31T18:38:00.000-08:00

Happy Buddha

2006-01-31T00:58:00.000-08:00

The Feast of St. Nicholas, December 2005

2005-12-05T18:19:00.000-08:00

St. Nicholas lives in Spain with his steadfast companion, Black Piet. Every December for as long as anyone can remember, the old bishop and his friend take their boat to the Netherlands.

During the long trip preparations are made. Letters are written, gifts wrapped, and rows of burlap bags full of candy are stored in the cargo hold. Black Piet brushes the beautiful white horse, and the Saint checks one more time, who gets gifts and who gets a lump of coal.

After the long trip they finally see the Dutch shore. It is much colder here than in Spain and the Saint and the Moor pull on warm woolly underthings. His horse gets a warm blanket, and an extra thick layer of hay.

For several days they make stops all along the shores of towns in the Netherlands where cheering children have gathered to welcome the Saint.

Black Piet throws handfuls of candy and traditional pepernoten into crowds of delighted little children. Children have the chance to see and speak with the Saint and ask special favors. Black Piet can sometimes be talked into performing magic.

From one town to another the Saint travels, hearing the songs of children. Before you know it it is the Eve of St. Nicholas day, the feast that honors the Saint for being the patron of all little children everywhere.

This is the night the Saint, with the help of his good friend Black Piet and his faithful horse, travel from house to house leaving gifts and candies to good children and lumps of coal to bad children. He moves so fast he cannot be seen except if you are lucky a brief flash of his gown, his horse's tail maybe?

All in one night, from town, to village, to farms and apartments, they travel as can only be explained by magic, to each and every child's home. Where a treat has been left alongside a waiting shoe, a shoe is filled with goodies or a lump of coal. Sometimes the Saint leaves a letter asking for improvement, or remarking that good effort has been made, and other comments he wishes to make.

The snacks, suck as carrots, cookies, apples and warm milk, are much appreciated, as they work the long night at magic speed so no child shall be disappointed. Even the poorest child shall have some chocolates, and maybe a new pair of socks or small toy in the morning.

As Children everywhere delight in finding gifts in their shoes that morning, the Saint is already arriving back in spain for a well deserved break on the day that bears his name.

His gift is knowing that there are children who, thanks to his efforts, are just a little happier this day.

Sunset Flight

2005-12-04T01:53:00.000-08:00

This is a design I have machine embroidered on handmade paper.

Life Deflavoured

2005-12-03T20:40:00.000-08:00

Cold is not cold for me as it is for you. I don't register "cold", oh, no, my stupid (actually damaged) brain registers the feeling on my skin as pain.

I don't develop goose bumps, I don't ever shiver though to touch me I might be a block of ice. To me it feels as if an army of small creatures armed with cheese graters are scouring away at my flesh.

I stopped registering "cold" quite suddenly about three years ago, before that the body was slow to react, but eventually my teeth would chatter and I would shiver. One snowy night walking my dog I came to the strange realization that it did not feel cold to me, but reasoning how cold it was and how long I had been outside this was not right, not in any sense. I couldn't sense heat either, but heat, other than scalding water, was unlikely to do much harm. It doesn't fritz out my nerve ends like cold does, if anything ambient heat makes my nerves pleasantly numb. I use a candy thermometer in the bath and shower to avoid scalding. I suppose that doesn't come under the heading of "normal" either. Short of living in the amazon exhibit at the aquarium there is nothing I can do except cope as best I can. Medication to bring the pain levels to bearable (where the cheese grating gnomes will sit far away from me for a while), clothing and heat sources, like steaming coffee and tea, clothing (lots of it). When it rains, or I'm in the shower the top of my head feels nothing, very odd. Contact burns which normally would blister, don't, just leaves a scorched mark, but no blister. Nothing, but nothing is normal. As each passing month more and more is abnormal I am uneasily reminded that this is a progressive deterioration, and for each change millions of brain cells have gone, poof, and you can't reanimate dead tissue, hell, they can't even pinpoint the damage.

The cold also makes my muscles rigid, blood vessels constrict to protect the inner organs, lack of bloodflow makes muscles crampy. The damaged brain often sends signals to contract and forgets to tell those same muscles to relax. My face which hasn't any insulation left (looking kind of gaunt) and hands are the first victims of the cold, I wear a grimace and my hands unless kept moving shape themselves into something that looks like a chicken claw. At least my grimace looks like a smile, but can be inappropriate when I cannot wipe it off my face.

The cold makes my nose run a and my eyes tear (well, just one eye), but lacking the muscle coordination to prevent a shower of nasal drip can become quite the embarrassment (in desperation when going out I pop a decongestant to dry things up a bit and walk with hanky to my face).

I do pull it together for an hour or so a day to walk the dog, run and errand and the rest of time drag myself about between lie downs. Friends who see me remark how well I look, yeah, that one hour a day. When the remark is made it devalues just how totally rotten I really feel. No appreciation for the work and sacrifice to put myself out there for and hour of kinda "normal".

Unless you've been there you cannot know how it feels to know your body is rapidly losing anything of "normal". I remember shivering, teeth chattering, goose bumps, swallowing without having to make it happen. I remember having the energy to spend a few hours with friends after a full day at work, and still my house sparkled. I remember planning meals according to what we'd like, not what I can manage to swallow enough of before becoming stone cold and unpleasant to eat. I use memories of taste to taste with, if I don't put out the effort to remember everything is uniformly flavourless. Digestion provides body heat, well that's out for the most part. See how nothing is normal?

I valued my complete complement of senses, smell, taste, touch, hunger, thirst, sleep, oh, sleep, honest to goodness real human sleep. sleep complete with dreams after some cosy warm time drifting, warm. The feeling of being full and warm after a meal. Feeling energised by exercise, not feeling near dead after a few minutes of rushing around my tiny apartment.

I've given up driving (slow reflexes, faulty depth vision), walking in high heels (balance and feeling the ground), a drink now and again (some unexpected reactions, not a bit pleasant), movies (just cannot sit still that long without getting rigid and cold), and forget about having sex (no details, but let's just say too scary, won't be doing that again). Sigh -- but I look well?

Is that really what it comes down to? Pity the wretched because of how they look, don't pity the attractive, because it is really only important to look good?

I know that everyone with ideas on how to keep warm has the best of intentions but I haven't a clue how to convey, succinctly, that my body just does not work as you'd expect.

As bad as dealing with the cold is, even worse is the level of functioning with limited mobility and cramped hands. Not because it is painful, the worst is that I cannot do what I'd like to. Millions of worth while ideas every day and I cannot execute but a couple of them at best. There is a heap of bright shiny ideas and inspired artwork clogging up my brain, stories, paintings, poems, correspondence, and if I'm lucky I can manage and email and a bit of knitting or crochet work.. If, that is, I've managed to get the necessary everyday hygiene, keeping the body warm and housework out of the way and have an ounce of energy left. Ghastly, I finally haven't got to work at a soul sucking job, but now have even less left to work with. I'm looking for a silver lining and am coming up with burlap. I feel apologetic to the cosmos for falling short of my potential. Honest I tried very hard. Not quite good enough, sorry.

Forgive the whine, forgive me if I am over explaining, but you see, there has been no indication that anyone outside the orphans with the same brand of dysautonomia, actually "gets it". I'm living in this body, it still feels entirely unlike my body to me, rather like having been taken out of my perfectly tuned former body and given this total jalopy which only looks the same. some things in like you just cannot get used to, rather like losing a breast or a limb. I suppose I have only phantom senses.

Mindful

2005-12-01T23:18:00.000-08:00

Spirits in the ether
mix, though never have they met,
perhaps never will.

Of importance is the moment,
this moment, and every
contact in either or blood, alters.

Spirits in ether, seeming nothingness
touch, move by, and through,
intentful and thoughtful.

The spirit moves about
on particles created through the energy of one soul,
moved to react by having touched the other.

Demonstrations of affections,
endearment, are every bit as real
as those our primitive senses would witness.

All is not made of flesh,
all does not need flesh,
spirit is eternal, sentient.

Spirit makes us players,
in the eternal theatre of this universe
delicately balanced, the good, the bad.

Nothing we do, or intend,
no thoughts, emotions are
ever inert.

In this universe, each spirit
holds the same power, and responsibility
as the hand of the divine.

Sparrow Girl - Meeting Death

2005-12-01T00:39:00.000-08:00

People die. People we know and love eventually leave our lives forever. As a child my naivete was often abruptly brought to an end and death was no exception. Old people were going to die, life came to an end in the aquarium, then my cat died, but people, well that was much harder to accept.

The first death of a person in my life came when I was near four years of age. Maya was a beautiful woman, tall, elegant with long black hair and exotic green eyes. She was my mother's friend. Once before I was born my mother had been a nanny to her young sons. The youngest son, Robert was about six when I was three and whenever Maya came to visit she would bring Robert. He would politely play with me, because that is what his mother expected of him, but he did it with great sweetness and I adored him.

Maya was in my young eyes the ideal of what I one day hoped to be. She sat on those occasions, perfectly dressed in the latest of haute couture suits, silk stockings and Italian pumps. To watch her cross her legs, sit back and tilt her head to one side while her clack hair cascaded over the edge of the chair was an all out performance, you could hear the music that should accompany such a perfectly choreographed movement. No surprise, Maya was after all, a very well known and highly paid fashion model. She would come to visit after the shows and Paris and Milan on her way back to her flat in London. Her sons attended school in England where their pianist father lived. She was not married. I am not sure why my mother impressed that detail on me when I was so young, I don't think it had anything to do with the morality. It had more to do with a level of envy my mother felt, I think my mother would have been happier had she been single, but she lacked inner strength to say no to my father's proposal.

A letter with a black rim came to the door by courier, and my mother without opening the letter sunk to the floor in our vestibule. I sat by her, feeling oh so terribly clumsy, not knowing if I should hug her. All I could do was sit, when mams was upset hugging could be exactly the wrong thing to do. I'd been shoved away a few times and barked at. I loved my mother as we all do, so I sat by her gingerly, just barely touching her dress, her dark blue dress. She bit her lower lip and cradled her face with her free hand, her short curled hair stuck to the tears rolling down her face.

We sat for some time on the floor. Mams became quiet the moment suspended until the tearing open of the envelope. She hesitated to pull out the card. Mams had lost so many people in her life, more of her friends and family had died during the last year of the war and still more afterward to disease neglected medically during wartime. In my brief lifetime I had lost no-one I knew. Until now.

She moaned it, and screamed it, sobbed it, gasped it. Mams is dead, over and over. Later mams took me and had tea with a neighbour, and there I heard the story of Mams, her brief twenty eight year old life. The eldest son was fathered by a pianist in England, the other son the product of an anonymous affair, with a shady character according to mams. She was a fashion model from the age of eighteen and lived a glamorous lifestyle afforded her by being one of the most desirable ramp models for various haute couture houses. She lived hard, loved many times and was heartbroken every time a relationship ended. I remembered the many crying times during her visits to our house.

The mams I'd known was glamorous and kind, loved her children and was very generous with considered gifts on important occasions. She was a good and supportive friend to my mother and helped her set her singing career on course. Often they were like schoolgirls all gossip and trying on each other's clothes. I think I felt superior to all that nonsense and was slightly embarrassed by it as was her Robert. She hugged me when she came and left. I could not imagine her never again dropping by.

This same woman at twenty eight lacked the support in her life to deal with a profession that was less than accepting of advancing age. She'd already had cosmetic procedures and worked very hard at maintaining the perfect figure. She'd had dangerous silicone injections. She'd become depressed when she felt she was losing her status in the fashion community. she needed the income to raise her sons and could not transition to another profession, all she knew and all that mattered was modeling and being the most desirable arm-piece receiving the most extravagant gifts from the most wealthy men in Europe. It was ending and she had no idea how to deal with it. Maya had tried to land a position and a chance at a new life in Australia, but when it fell apart for reasons I don't know she "stuck her head in the oven" as my mother put it.

Sticking your head in the oven was not something I could picture or understand. For one thing we never had an oven, and I'd no idea what that would look like. We had a wood burning stove in our apartment, it had one spot to put a pot on, but no oven. I knew bakers had ovens.

I did not understand how an over would kill you or why you'd put your head in there. Surely that would hurt, it would burn. Clearly this was not accidental, something had been very wrong here.

Suicide was not understandable to me. What I could understand is that Mams was depressed and desperate with too many responsibilities and not one person willing to help her with the boys and a new career. I did know even at that age, the very importance of people in your life who love you unconditionally. I was so incredibly sad that no-one, not the father of her children, not her employers, and for that matter not my mother, could keep her from being so sad that she died.

It affected my mother. Mams became more focused on her marriage and home and perhaps a little negligent of her singing career. I think she was scared that if she lost my father, she too would end up with her head in the oven. What also happened was that my mother felt, as Maya must have, trapped in her own life, unable to decide on the basis of what she wanted and thus settling for the safest choices. Maya's death was one of the pivotal experiences in my mother's life and she kept it all inside. Sadly, rather than recognizing that Maya's not calling out for help led to her death more than anything, my mother often in great psychic pain shut others out and herself in. These were beautiful and talented women, delightful company and I cannot think that no-one would have stepped in to help, and oh, how different life could have been.

So at age four I had learned you could die, young and beautiful, loved by her children and friends of misery. The oven was not important, that no-one helped when she needed it was important. My mother being sadder than before mattered. The death of a person affect everyone profoundly. It matters that they die, also how they die, how young, how much promise. All lost. All gone. Life even when it seemed to be most perfect, was not. How horrifying that no one could just sense what was going on, because she did have friends and she was loved, and she left a sea of tears behind. I doubt she knew just how much I admired her and wanted to be like her, her independent spirit, her talents. she was not just a runway model, she was a mother, an accomplished pianist in her own right. It is beyond belief that no one noticed the pain she was in.

Lord Anhelm

2005-11-26T23:02:00.000-08:00

With my new watercolour pencils (love'em!) I made this portrait of Lord Anhelm, my hooded raider from the journey to the House of the Serpents.

For Shari

2005-11-26T13:56:00.000-08:00

The wise, all knowing crone, holds a secret in her hands. She tells the young maiden who has sought retreat in the Hermitage that 'every life so given mysteriously bears within it the seed of its own death'. Life given and nurtured by Mother Nature is finite. Mother Nature gives life which ends in death. Not taking life for granted in the face of this mortality is an acceptance of this truth Shari. Each of us need to spare a moment to meditate upon how to live and nourish and nurture ourselves and those whom we love. This action is life affirming.

Prayer Lights - For Shari & Family

2005-11-26T00:11:00.000-08:00

Twilighting with Camera

2005-11-25T19:17:00.000-08:00

Standing out on the balcony gazing at a distant eagle crossing the sky. I grabbed my camera, but snapping away I did not once capture the eagle. Nothing lost, however, as the ever changing twilighting mesmerised me.

I had a need for a pint of milk, so using that as the excuse and jumping out with camera in hand, I made it my mission to share this wonderful night-sky with you. I can't walk very fast so taking the two blocks to the store recorded the sky over a one half hour period.

This might give you some idea of what a wonderful place Vancouver is geographically. Though winter is expressed many places by heavy snowfall, ours are confined to the ski slopes nearby. We haven't yet had a frosty night.

This very inexpensive camera I bought with my Christmas money several years ago never ceases to delight me with reliable quality, without a doubt it is one of the best purchases I have ever made. I was in such pain and feeling heavily nauseated, then came this sunset and for a time it was all suspended, truly, art therapy with a vengeance. Now I am going to do some serious warming up in my electric blanket with a toastie (grilled cheese). Life is good.

Juxtaposed

2005-11-21T23:52:00.000-08:00

This milky haze pulls together the discordant vision of the trees and the transformer towers in such a hauntingly beautiful way.

One can almost forget that the towers are not organic, but one will not forget which is the Creator's work.

Faerie Faces

2005-11-20T02:49:00.000-08:00

Fog Lurks

2005-11-19T20:21:00.000-08:00

Adding a dimension to the otherwise everyday sights of this wrecked little crackhouse and a park where dealers do business while others walking their dogs in the same park. Suddenly the sound has damped and the world slows to a crawl. God gives permission to see the world a little differently, hazed and not quite real.

Carousel Memories

2005-11-08T02:56:00.000-08:00

Today I spent hours sitting with Darryl in the Oncology day ward as they dripped chemotherapy into his veins. As I sat I drew and we remembered the days when we were young and went to Luna Park together. The Carousel bought back memories of carefree days, of the giggle palace, mirror maze, river boat ride and old ghost train. These days we ride a far different carousel and wonder when the ride will end.

First Snow

2005-11-07T14:46:00.000-08:00

A fresh light dusting of first snow on the ski slope on Mt. Seymour as seen from my window this morning.

Studies in red

2005-11-06T03:51:00.000-08:00

These are three spreads I did in Rachel's book entitled "Miss Scarlet goes on her travels"

this one is a picture of the doll Miss Scarlet against a background of red oak leaves. The haiku reads:
Red autumn leaves
soflty floating down to earth
Drift of memory

This one is called "reaching for red"

this one is called "Lady in red" - the background is made up of the words to Chris de Burgh's song of the same name but the red ink doesn't show up very well in the picture

Yellow Native by Water

2005-11-06T00:55:00.000-08:00

Baba's Life Drawing Class

2005-11-04T02:58:00.000-08:00

Baba is modelling for life drawing classes. Consider:
"All that is left of her natural beauty.
Her skin is intact,
Her bones are as they are
No need of paint and powder
She is as she is no more, or less.
How marvellous."
Ikkyu (fifteenth century)

Green Soul Hand

2005-11-03T23:39:00.000-08:00

Some Sparrow Girl Drawings

2005-11-03T22:51:00.000-08:00

My power hand (soul hand)

2005-11-02T15:27:00.000-08:00

"This is my power hand.

All the thoughts and colors of the world

are inside it, flowing through

my arteries and veins.

All creativity is a part of me,

and I am organically a part of all

creativity occurring in the world,

now, always, and forever.

I may fear that I have no access to this power

but all I have to do is reach out my

HAND."

Candle Glow of Light

2005-11-01T03:10:00.000-08:00

All Soul's Night Greetings

2005-10-31T23:11:00.000-08:00

To mark All Soul's Night I took a ride with Baba, in her black swan, to the Isle of the Dead and met the Queen of the Serpents who guards the entrance to the underworld. I took a small vile of pure Castalian Water, collected at Delphi and we drank to creativity. The Serpent has blessed all travellers on the Soul Food Silk Way.

While Travellers celebrate Halloween and All Soul's Night le Enchanteur wanders deeper into the Serpent Queen's Cave, on the Isle of the Dead, to see her world. She is dazzled by the beauty of the Queen and her Treasury. The Queen has secrets to share.

Iris Love

2005-10-26T21:55:00.000-07:00

Pregnant With Possibility

2005-10-24T05:51:00.000-07:00

The Amazon Queen takes her place on the Golden Chair, expectant, filled with a sense of creative possibility.

Plans,

2005-10-24T01:44:00.000-07:00

Unable to sleep last night I finished a drawing/study for the sculpting I intend on doing next week. Even if it means booking off from other engagements. The base is rocklike because I intend for it to be an actual rock on which I will, using it as the base, sculpt in terra cotta clay with a wire frame for the figures. I will use metal to bond the two on the surface, probably in a dark patina.

Soul Hands For Leonie Bryant

2005-10-20T05:45:00.000-07:00

Butt-erflies

2005-10-20T02:08:00.000-07:00

These butterflies I drew for the express pupose now grace the back of my daughter's lovely sister-in-law Chelsea

Quite thrilling to see your art so permanently displayed.

Heather Gazes Into the Reflective Waters

2005-10-18T04:23:00.000-07:00

Dolly Dreams

2005-10-18T00:09:00.000-07:00

My cat Stimpson, with his hug-dolly taking a nap, is having dolly dreams.

It was too perfect a moment not to take to a higher level.

Stairs to Autumn

2005-10-16T20:25:00.000-07:00

Taken yesterday and realized how far away spring is.

aletta

Enchanteur Kneels Before the Lake's Reflective Mirror

2005-10-16T05:26:00.000-07:00

The Healing Power of Green

2005-10-15T22:36:00.000-07:00

{Green Revives Spirit}

2005-10-14T17:57:00.000-07:00

I am involved in a round robin at the moment and have just done a page for a book with the theme of 'Metamorphose'. For my page I have altered some photos of marigolds with the computer, transferred it to fabric and embroidered it. Here 'tis.

2005-10-14T17:56:00.000-07:00

The Amazon Queen showed off her riding skills at the Gypsy Camp.

Reflective Waters of the Palace Lake

2005-10-14T00:43:00.000-07:00

The waters of the lake near the Amazon Queen's palace have the power to reveal one's true identity. The Amazon goes to look in the reflective mirror each day and each day the Raven tells her that they are one. Look into the reflective waters near the Queen's Summer Palace and your true identity will be revealed.

Art and Antiques from Baba Yaga

2005-10-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

Travellers who made their way to the House of the Serpents in August might well be interested in acquiring a serpent lamp stand, with three designer shades from Baba's Warehouse. Perfect gifts for Halloween and All Soul's Day. The foot, retrieved by one of Baba's knights, belongs to a traveller who didn't make it to the House of Serpents.

By night this designer, Soul Hand Candle Holder, in Red Boots, will illuminate your manuscripts and art work. By day they will do the bidding of their owner and guide them safely to the Gypsy Camp. They will be a match for any of the indentured hands in Baba's house and will make sure their owner is protected from any unreasonable demands.

These hands will go to the highest bidder. Make the best, non monetary offer, to the Amazon Queen and she will command these hands become your servant.

Footsies

2005-10-12T02:29:00.000-07:00

I've changed the video on my video page. Have a look: http://sky.prohosting.com/aletteke/myvideopage.html

Thanksgiving in Canada

2005-10-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

Canada is where I live and although it may not be the country I most feel I belong in, it is where I am and so I make an effort to like it and fit in. Yesterday we had turkey at my daughter's with the whole of her family and his. It was lovely.

We do need to sometimes stop and think what we should be thankful for. I am thankful for life,

enough of it that I can still be present with friends and family,

enough that I can still produce things of value to myself and others,

enough that I can still smile and give smiles to those who need it even as I do, or maybe even more,

enough is just that enough, and it is

enough that I am most grateful for, God(ess) willing next year it will still be

enough and not one scrap less, and may it be so also for you and yours.

And I was productive, there are three more collected pages in gif form on my website at http://sky.prohosting.com/aletteke/lukikoko.html

aletta

Dawn dance on The Island

2005-10-06T17:42:00.000-07:00

Dawn dance on The Island
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The priestesses of the Lady dance the hunters' welcome at dawn.

Flowers in the Glow of Summer Dusk

2005-10-06T03:39:00.000-07:00

My Aunt Anna's House

2005-10-05T21:45:00.000-07:00

My great aunt Anna taught me to read cards. She could speak on herbs and how it might be used to treat whatever ailments we were on the topic of. She was wise and wonderful. This is the house she lived in, on the river, below the dijke. She raised seven children here, and on adulthood each one was bought a house of their own by my aunt to start them off in. Apparently she was wise with money also. Her youngest daughter was a Down's syndrome child and one of my favourite childhood playmates. Even Yvonne became independent, she worked as a nanny. Anna died in her nineties. I inherited two of her espresso cups, on sad days I drink out of those cups, cheering up then becomes an inevitability.

aletta

The Door to the Cave of the Enchantress

2005-10-03T05:42:00.000-07:00

New Beginnings

2005-10-03T04:43:00.000-07:00

I took this photo on a sunny morning on the weekend

and it didn't work the way I had wanted it to. I

treated it with a few filters and played around

with it and thus came a new beginning for it.