Sometimes life leaves you wordless. You drift in obligations or little multiplied tasks. You grasp for every syllable. You slide through the mud of lost words. Until you sit with yourself and listen. Your heart still beats. You pick up your pen and write your name. One word. The beginning of all that was lost.
10th October 2021
By Andrea Connolly
#AndreaCConnolly
Invisible threads connect us in time-storms to our loved ones on this windswept day and blue-moon night.
31.10.2020 Halloween
© By #AndreaCConnolly
There is beauty in twistedness and scars.
Resolve and resilience is at the heart of a living being.
Growing old with burdens, pain and oppression, yet, growing.
There is a map on your body that tells stories of utmost treasure. It is most visible at dawn, in the softest light. You extended your roots. What once was in your infanthood and by vernal adventures reached a threshold. Now you reach up to the sky, out wide to be stark.
Roots want to see the light and you make your story seen to the attentive eye.
20th February 2017 ©By Andrea Connolly
A true follower of the pink blush one
She reddened with vermillion veins
Every line a verse written on velvet flames
She trumpets her heart out
In silence
11th of April 2016 by Andrea Connolly
Watercolour with ink by Andrea Connolly
When the windfall of pain
Seizes and paralyses the body
A storm of thoughts unforeseen
Flood and grace the soul in turn
.
5th of January 2016 – ©copyright by Andrea Connolly
Threshold
Once I thought to escape winter by moving northwest.
The mildness was then a relief to my worn frame.
Not anymore. The winter followed me afoot.
Is it attached without a chance for coincidence?
Why would the seasons be aware of a single soul?
Tis´ my yearning for spring animating winter´s cloak.
Did I not see the first lambs springing hither and fro?
2nd February 2015
©By Andrea Connolly
Cold water and time dissolves dried blood. Rowan dashes disappear. Translucent, invisible now what was crimson not long ago.
The red hot life is fragile. Spills of energy, outbursts and velocity cannot persist. Yet, the gentle still water can. It takes our sores away, the stains, the splatter of ignorance. When the blood is watered the spell is broken.
Innocence persists in mysterious ways.
3rd September 2014, AC
flotsam - jetsam: A philosopher´s exploration 