Looking At My Feet
Winter 2017
The editor switches direction. Reality at last has become to harsh. So I looked around. My house is steeped in nature...stepped as well. Nature is the boss around here. I often go out and look around with one of the cameras. It can change the direction of my spirit from a place of stress to one of many imaginings, in particular when we have bright moons.
So looking around, I find:
That stone heart was one of the first things I made when I came here. I made it as a gift for someone back in the states but could never bring myelf to part with it.
Winter flowers. Stone wall. And old piece of Italian glass.
The winds of the world blows our souls and our lives into knots. For every one that is untied, another is clinched so tightly by so many that confusion is inevitable. Sometimes even desirable to those who know the knots and follow the winds. I don't think everyone gets it.
Living like an Old Eagle in a fine nest, I see the grey skies and orange new face of agitation and sorrow. Like an unleashed fury. That's in the Distance. yes. nearby I have what I have.
February 2017
Pantelleria Island
The editor switches direction. Reality at last has become to harsh. So I looked around. My house is steeped in nature...stepped as well. Nature is the boss around here. I often go out and look around with one of the cameras. It can change the direction of my spirit from a place of stress to one of many imaginings, in particular when we have bright moons.
So looking around, I find:
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| ©2017 Turtle Heart All rights reserved |
That stone heart was one of the first things I made when I came here. I made it as a gift for someone back in the states but could never bring myelf to part with it.
 |
| ©2017 Turtle Heart All Rights Reserved. |
Winter flowers. Stone wall. And old piece of Italian glass.
 |
| ©2017 Turtle Heart. Everything carved from local stones. A gathering around the garden, just above the morning fire. A few days ago. Abiding. Stone Dreams. |
 |
| ©2017 Turtle Heart. All Rights Reserved. Undertakers stones in old carved bowl. |
The winds of the world blows our souls and our lives into knots. For every one that is untied, another is clinched so tightly by so many that confusion is inevitable. Sometimes even desirable to those who know the knots and follow the winds. I don't think everyone gets it.
Living like an Old Eagle in a fine nest, I see the grey skies and orange new face of agitation and sorrow. Like an unleashed fury. That's in the Distance. yes. nearby I have what I have.
February 2017
Pantelleria Island
