TRIUMPH OF SPIRIT IN LOVE, NATURE & ART

Macro Photography

Circle of Life


Spirit in Summer

Summer spirit

whispers to

the lowly weeds

dances round

the graceful trees

and sends peace

to pacify

an observant cow

 

 


Transformation

Fears and tears
in the sunshine
of April
“The cruelest month”
New life
overcomes
the death
of winter
and with it
its hope
of escape
in dying
Can’t it
just end
Samsara
No poetry
No muse
No spirit
Oh, April,
the killer
month
The Soul
Snatcher
The menacing
life force
that most
revel in
kills my
will
to join
in the spirit
of rebirth
I see only
the cruelty
of Samsara

**********

April raindrops
dry tears
and Spring clouds
sooth
my parched soul
and bring back
will and spirit
to join
the living
once again.

 


When the Snows Come

P1110239_edited-1

My husband and I sit in our living room with all the little still-intact dairy barn  windows showing flakes falling as if we are on ship at sea in a snowfall.  Except for the high ceiling the living room has the feeling of a ship cabin, our converted dairy barn, and I think it is most beautiful when the snow is falling.

The glass doors at the pentagon of the far end of the barn gives us perfect view of the suet bird feeder.  The bird feeder in winter is our television.  We watch male cardinals, bright red in the stark white, feed and contend with the beautiful, bullying blue jays.  And the more modest and gentle little juncos and sparrows touch our hearts with their humility.

Like many barns, ours was built near the road so we do get some traffic noise.  But in the meadow out back beyond the marsh and stream, we are far removed from the road and from all.  And when it snows, it is so beautiful in the quiet, looking at the animal tracks and feeling the spirits in the nearby now-graveless graveyard.  Our secret little piece of Paradise.  And to stand there in the silence, in the virgin white, and see the abstract patterns of the snow on the surrounding hundreds of trees is Divine.

Christmas card 2

P1110343_edited-2

P1140678_edited-1

P1140665_edited-1


Entangled in the Web of Thoughts

P1140509_edited-1


Fall Day One Microscape

A whisper

of the riot of color

to come…


P1140451_edited-1


Hieroglyphics on a Blade of Grass

P1140463_edited-1


My Cathedral

The wilderness
is my cathedral
Spring Trees at Sunset  (digital photo)
The sky
my steeple
DSCN0719_edited-2 copy
 The trees
my buttresses
RSCN2558_edited-1 copy
Hay bales
my statuary
P1140436_edited-1
 Flowers
my stained glass
P1140264 copy P1140427_edited-1
A babbling brook
my organ
WP_20130818_13_56_38_Cinemagraph
Frogs and toads
my choir
P1140019_edited-2
P1060116_edited-1
Fields of wildflowers
my incense
P1140395_edited-1
 Thunder storms
my high mass
DSCN3251_edited-1

A very diverse congregation…

From cows

P1120605_edited-1

to snails and turtles

P1140162 copy

P1020418

to gazillions
of insects

P1130998_edited-2

P1130813_edited-1

P1140194 copy

030 (3)

Deer sometimes come round

P1140299

Butterflies abound

398

Moths, too

P1090654

Birds of every hue

 P1140388_edited-2

P1050664_edited-3

All that’s missing is you

but you worship your own way

doing charity every day

more than I can say


What Katydid…

030 (3)

What Katy said…


Nature’s Prayers

P1020783

Still yourself

and fold your hands

P1130722_edited-1

humbly

P1130669_edited-1

stand in awe

P1130633_edited-1

radiate His light

P1020418

with eyes upwards

P1130717_edited-1

towards

P1130686_edited-1

the telephone

WP_20140518_005_edited-2

to the sky

P1130569_edited-1

and comtemplate

Wolfe.7

the glory that is He


The Cycle of Life

Youth unfolding


537

in the bright sunlight

498

 blossoming in shade

Dahlias '09, frog, salamander, view 031

‘tainted’ by age

P1010567

becoming fragile

P1010393

the delicacy of death

P1010624

From an old Dahlia series, attempting  to show the robust beauty of new life as it grows older,  finally reaching the unsung beauty of death.


Bee in Dahlia

Click on link below for short article on the ongoing bee disaster…

http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2012/jan/13/honeybee-problem-critical-point


Image

Lily with Raindrops

displayartworkartistwebsites (2)


Resurrection

P1130245_edited-1

“From winter’s tomb of lifeless blossoms, thou, O Christ, art resurrected in new buds of roses, marigolds, bluebells, jasmine, and worldful varieties of flowers.  Ever-mutating, multicolored flowers of lifetrons growing in the gardens of the astral land are fragrant thrones of thy Presence” ~  Paramahansa Yogananda

Hallelujah!  He is risen.


Good Friday Prayer

In death, decay

P1130300_edited-1

blurred tears

P1130285_edited-1

yet the promise of new life

P1130340_edited-1


Last Weeks of Winter

P1120776P1120737

 

Winter is weary

and we are wary

of forecasts

of yet more snow

and ice to come

 


“A Berry, Merry Christmas”

scan83.jpg

Whatever you celebrate,

may you find

peace, love and joy

sublime!


Tempus Fugit

P1120009

Poof!

After awaiting September all summer, the month of the Autumnal Equinox came and is almost gone.  I try desperately to stop time, clinging to each day, to no avail.  These next few months, my favorite time of year, go by in a flash, like sand sifting through my fingers.  Poof!  In a flash the trees turn beauteous, with variegated flames of color.  Poof!  The leaves are gone.

First, there is the change in light.  The sun, still hot in mid-September, does not pack the punch it did in July, when one could be outdoors for an hour and come in with a change in skin color. Temperatures cool.  The grass starts to stop growing.  The “blood” of the trees starts to flow back into the trunk, causing leaves to change color. Walnuts, acorns and apples fall.   Butterflies, so rampant outdoors in August, have gone inside the stomach of many a child as they go back to school. Even adults are not immune.  Many feel the flutter of “back-to-school” anxiety come Fall.  Summer vacations are a memory and it is time to “honker down” at work.  Fall offers a new beginning but there is a tinge of anxiety in facing some thing new.

And most of all, Fall is a time of riotous color, when a walk in the woods finds one reveling like a drunk, besotted by the yellow, orange, crimson, russet world which our eyes imbibe like a hefty cocktail.  It is a time when Italian comes to the lips in a loud “Que bella!!”  The green of summer is bucolic and raises the spirit, but the many colors of fall intoxicate.  People start talking of peak color, and leafing becomes the pastime of many.  It is the time to plant bulbs and endlessly rake blowing leaves.

But Fall is a time of melancholia, too. Flowers die.  Reptiles go into hibernation.  Insects die or overwinter.  Songbirds migrate.  Trees eventually loose their leaves.  And the end of the lazy days of summer brings with it shorter days, longer nights, and concomitant depression for those with Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Moments of sobriety seep into intoxication with the new world of color as we may remember loved ones who can no longer share the beauty–who can no longer enjoy those coveted, cooler, crisp days of September when coolness kisses the cheeks.  For autumn is a celebration of endings, too, perhaps best described by the French poet, Guillaume Appollinaire, in his poem Autumn:

“A bowlegged peasant and his ox receding

through the mist slowly through the mist of autumn…

Oh the autumn the autumn has been the death of summer

In the mist there are two gray shapes receding.”

(Click http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html  for information on, and to purchase my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir.


The Web of Fears

P1120162

Caught in a web of fears

full of wet tangled tears

been this way for years

of course there are triggers

that make fears look bigger

but it is hard to figure

a way out of negativity

a way back to levity

and to my old productivity

it is hard enough to fight

the dramas of mind with my might

without succumbing to fright

about losing you

tis true

fighting at once the physical and the mental

is far too much for a mind balanced so gentle.


My Former Life

P1120102

In my former life I was a bee.

Why else would I keep sticking my nose

into the private, pollinated parts of flowers?

In my former life I was a turtle.

Why else would I hunch my shoulders

into a seeming shell, my back a carapace

to shield me from a sometimes dangerous world?

In my former life I loved thee.

How else could I account for my “knowing” you

from before the first time we met,

 for “seeing” the you in your inner depths?

Some would say  I risk damnation

for a belief in reincarnation.

Yet this answer satisfies me on so many levels

and requities my thirst, quieting my myriad of questions

that the old belief system did not.

Unpopular in the west,

woven into the fabric of life in the east

in which I clothe myself,  sewn by a strong affinity,

a strange familiarity,

attraction mystifies.

Most of us cannot remember

the details of the other lives,

and are left with fractured fragments of the past

glistening like sea glass in our hands, on the seashores of our minds,

trying to piece together a picture

of a previous existence.

Love is timeless and mysterious

and though I dread the inevitable,

the loss of our life together

in this life,

I know we will be together again in the next and the next

ad infinitium

for something as sacrosanct as our love

is eternal.


A Microcosm of the Macrocosm

P1120126

 

To see a cathedral in a flower,

 to be drunk with its nectar,

under an opalescent sky.

*

Infinity is our Home.  We are just sojourning awhile in the caravanserai of the body.”

Paramahansa Yoganada~

 

(Click http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html  for information on, and to purchase my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir.)

 


Starbursts

RSCN2808_edited-2

Starlike

explosions of blue

with an

out of season

dusting of snow

a foretaste

of  the approach of winter

a sugary confection

one is tempted to ingest

a similar temptation

(I suppose)

as those tempted by coca.


A Wee Life

P1120129

Oh wee one

how I envy thee

trudging up and down

the raindrop slopes

of rain and nectar

safe within the confines

of radiant yellow

 succulent pink

in a self-contained

world of beauty

however short-lived thy life.


The Intimate Intruder

RSCN2739

Je suis tres intime

avec les fleurs

I am very intimate

with the flowers

and fear I am intruding

into their secret

world of silent sensuality

visited by bees and butterflies

and other tiny creatures

seduced by their siren song

of quiet sexuality

seductive to all

who pause to peek

inside their blooms

RSCN2737