The Colour Of My Dreams



 

 

 

 

“You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life...

The soil in which the meditative mind can begin is the soil of everyday life, the strife, the pain, and the fleeting joy. It must begin there, and bring order, and from there move endlessly. But if you are concerned only with making order, then that very order will bring about its own limitation, and the mind will be its prisoner. In all this movement you must somehow begin from the other end, from the other shore, and not always be concerned with this shore or how to cross the river. You must take a plunge into the water, not knowing how to swim. And the beauty of meditation is that you never know where you are, where you are going, what the end is.”  

 

Jiddu Krishnamurti, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The Outfit

Vintage 1970s Pink Wide Leg Silk & Cotton Catsuit: made by Granny Kiki for my Mother

Amber Jewellery: gift from a friend

Vintage Silver Armlet: bought as a teenager

Hunter Wellies, just seen: from Ebay

 

 

 The Soundtrack

Lovin' Spoonful: Daydream

 

 

 Another season, but our dreams can be in any season and every colour!

Photos taken by me using the self timer on my little camera in the bluebell wood last Spring.

Strange lighting effects created by my camera for no apparent reason.

 

 

 I am delighted to be a part of the next Visible Monday, hosted by Patti from Not Dead Yet Style, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

 

 

The Browning Version

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love - that makes life and nature harmonise. The birds are consulting about their migrations, the trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay, and begin to strew the ground, that one's very footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth and air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.”

 

 

George Eliot via 1

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit

Tweed Cape: from a charity shop

Grey leggings: very old and baggy from the high street

White Cable Knit Wool Jumper: from a charity shop

Trapper Faux Fur Knit Hat: a gift from my Mum

Hunter Wellies: from ebay

Black Gardening Gloves: from Mr Eve

This outfit is what Mr Eve calls my 'mad trapper' look, often worn while pottering around the autumn garden. All photos taken by me using the self timer on my little camera.

I'm pleased to be a part of Hat Attack, a link party held by the wonderful Judith of Style Crone, do click on her website link to see her amazing feathered hat, and do join in! 

I'm chasing my tail with so much work at the moment, hence little time for blogging or blog visiting. Life should calm down in the next few weeks so I can't wait to visit you soon!
 

The Harvest Sun

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why are the woods so alluring? A forest appears

to a young girl one morning as she combs

the dreams out of   her hair. The trees rustle

and whisper, shimmer and hiss. The forest

opens and closes, a door loose on its hinges,

banging in a strong wind. Everything in the dim

kitchen: the basin, the jug, the skillet, the churn,

snickers scornfully. In this way a maiden

is driven toward the dangers of a forest,

but the forest is our subject, not this young girl.

She’s glad to lie down with trees towering all around.

A certain euphoria sets in. She feels molecular,

bedeviled, senses someone gently pulling her hair,

tingles with kisses she won’t receive for years.

Three felled trees, a sort of chorus, narrate

her thoughts, or rather channel theirs through her,

or rather subject her to their peculiar verbal

restlessness ...    our deepening need for non-being intones

the largest and most decayed tree, mid-sentence.

I’m not one of you squeaks the shattered sapling,

blackened by lightning. Their words become metallic

spangles shivering the air. Will I forget the way home?

the third blurts. Why do I feel like I’m hiding in a giant’s nostril?

the oldest prone pine wants to know. Are we being   freed

from matter? the sapling asks. Insects are well-intentioned,

offers the third tree, by way of consolation. Will it grow

impossible to think a thought through to its end? gasps the sapling,

adding in a panicky voice, I’m becoming spongy! The girl

feels her hands attach to some distant body. She rises

to leave, relieved these trees are not talking about her.

 

 

 

Bon Courage by Amy Gerstler, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

Hobbs Red Coat: passed down from Granny Penny

Breton Dress, underneath: charity shop

Black lace tights: from the High Street

Hunter wellies: from Ebay

 

 

The Soundtrack:

Beth Gibbons & Rustin' Man: Autumn Leaves

 

 

 Photos taken using the self timer on my little camera.

 

 

Just a quick post today as I'm very behind on everything blog related, but glad to be back.

More soon.

 

 

 

 I am delighted to be a part of the next Visible Monday, hosted by Patti from Not Dead Yet Style, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.