There are moments of glimmer. Hope sparks. They arise unexpectedly from soul touches.
You are bound by many things yet your mind roams the realms without boundaries. Your spirit is heightened by simple gestures. Words of gentle tones. Smiles of a beloved face. Lift your own countenance up so ancient angst can glide off. It may linger yet grounded it will never reach the levels of raised appreciation.
The mystic blackforest
The sky threw a shroud
Too flimsy to cover it all
The colourful tree tops
That root in brooked valleys
Thread autumn to grey-cold
The gust of wind-strewn
Time-worm ochre, sienna
Tinged sap and wine
This is the fabric of fairy-tales
Through my eyes my soul flies to glints of reflection. A mosaic opens a window that is there and is not there. Drawn to an artists impression of a crowned lady. Connection in my heart to our lady. Angels flutter and kneel. The king, the queen, human beings and yet not so much. An image of believing, belonging and longing. Out of the blue I wish I could see what I feel what is real on a different invisible level. – 17th July 2018 by Andrea Connolly
We want to retain what we cannot. We feel the velvet of summer, the tenderness of living and the depth of warmth. Fragrance lingers but for a while. Our eyes drink and our mind holds dear connecting senses to heart. The heart of May. The woman in us, all of us, unfolding our gentle hearts and there is the gift of giving, the bloodline of love.
A Short Story Collection of vignettes and stories over time, out of time. After three poetry books, the LOGBOOK collection, and my HISTORICAL FICTION NOVEL “A QUEST FOR LONGITUDE” follows THE NUTSHELL TALES as a selection of little worlds seen in each nutshell.
A wider point of view on ordinary and worldly things Bourne from experiences of transposition from homeland to homestead enlivens words to become stories, tales from outer and inner worlds. Every nutshell a fragment of a kaleidoscopic resounding experience.
Sometimes we are clouded. Our own judgement or others. We have lost the blue and bright. We drift before an obscured sun. Approaching Loreley was playing it all out. What is the meaning of this? How can I understand what is so unclear. High up I try to make out features, form, shapes as the boat of life turns slowly. Then, the clouds are suddenly in our backs, the open stream in front of us beckoning to move. Forward!