Saturday, September 10, 2011


Early morning bird songs change according to the season.
On these last days of summer, the crows take the stage.
They caw with such enthusiasm, announcing that
autumn is returning once again.
Today the air is close, filled with humidity
~ the aftermath of recent storms.
A subtle breeze stirs the stale, close air.
This quiet stillness of morning is interrupted by
Canadian geese flying overhead ~
Their honking is loud, overpowering the crows call.
Autumn, my favourite season with its vivid colours
that are so intoxicating, yet nevertheless bittersweet.
No other season causes me to look back, nor makes me
more nostalgic or fills me with such an intuitive sense of
longing for the past, than autumn.
Blazing fall colours awaken long-forgotten, heartfelt memories.
Emotional recollections are stirred up and rustle like leaves
that are gathered in neat little piles.
Even with all that fall brings to light, I still look forward to the days that are brighter than the balmiest days of summer, when the sun’s sultry glow charms the fringe of the world.
Sinking in a red glow, the warm inviting sun reflects the bright jewels of autumn. Therefore, I must learn to honour my soul the freedom to savour the views of gilded gold's, rustic reds and outrageous oranges that are scattered across our fall landscape. To once again allow myself the joy of autumn evenings,which bring on brisk air ~ turning leaves and a larger-than-life setting sun that is still radiant beneath the horizon.

Friday, July 15, 2011

White’s Haven ♥ Front Gardens

It's Summertime and the Living is easy…
It’s more like; 
It's Summertime and the living is busy! 
Thought I would share 
some of my pics of our front gardens…
Summertime is meant for enjoying
and that means 
being outside as much as possible.

Take a Stroll through my garden.
I Love Hydrangeas and Roses Together

Carpet Roses, one of my favourites 
New Fountain Feature
Romancing The Rose
White Carpet Roses
Lavender Delphiniums

We can’t ever forget
My Fur Kid, Topaz
I hope you enjoyed your walk through my garden

Thanks for stopping by!

Thursday, July 7, 2011


My morning tea  always
tastes better by candlelight
Alone in a room of my own
aware of the stillness that surrounds me
There is something about a lit candle
that makes a room come alive
All my senses become heightened
Wanderlust imaginings fill my mind
The candle flickers with hypnotic light
inviting buoyant energy
to share this esoteric space
as we merge into
secluded stillness

Monday, June 20, 2011



The imaginings of artistic talent is inspiring and hard to resist no matter what form it takes. 
Creativity manifests as if by magic… 
something from nothing…

It’s not just  poetry that manifests as if by magic.  There are many art forms.  Embroidery happens to be one that is my bliss…I was taught the art of embroidery as a small child by my Mother.  I remember my first piece as if it were yesterday, a pre-made pot holder with a stamp of a Rooster on it.  I choose the colors black and red for my creation.  I recall stitching big awkward stitches while learning and then wondered, what happened?  Ha! I must say, it took me awhile to learn the lesson of patience.  My husband says that I am still learning that lesson.  I remember thinking, embroidery isn’t as fast as colouring. My Mom’s voice still echoes in my head…"the smaller the stitch, the neater your work”  Now I understand why the next piece she gave me was cross stitch.  Despite my impatience, I persevered and continued to stitch with enthusiasm.  In a very short time I came to love embroidery.  I soon had my own hoop, needles, threads and of course we can’t forget the tiny scissors. To this day I still prefer to use my little vintage hoop which belonged to my Grandmother. After many years and numerous projects, I finally have mastered the smallest of stitches.

 You won’t always find traditional colours in my embroidery, no colour choices which are typically expected.  I tend to have an outside the box approach for my needlework art.  “Who says you can’t have an orange daisy with a purple center”.   I embroider much the same way that I use to colour as a child, with a free spirited whimsy-like mischievous outlook, which I continue to draw on for inspiration today.  “Purple puppies, blue bunnies, aqua peonies,…why not?”.    I guess you could best describe my embroidery style much like that of a kaleidoscope. The effect is much like a pansy…ah the pansy my muse!  This multi-coloured tough little perfectly delicate flower understands the mischievous diverseness of nature.

 I love to embroider so much, that I have completed many, many samples with no particular agenda or plan as to how to use them. My imagination stirs and I picture one of a kind keepsakes, such as cushions, bags, purses or stuffed animals. While embroidering I get lost in bliss.  It serves as a form of meditation and now that summer has arrived, I will be out on my front porch sipping lemonade, sewing the smallest of stitches, all while creating something from nothing,

Red Work

something from nothing…


Saturday, June 11, 2011

Twice As Nice

 Best Friend
 A poem written by Hallie (9)

Snugly cute friend,
a great TEDDY BEAR
is always wear you leave it,
It’s there to help,
its there to play
and sleep with you
It’s a great listener too...
Some kids say a teddy bear

~ི♥ྀ ~ʚįɞ~ི♥ྀ ~ʚįɞ~ི♥ྀ ~ʚįɞ~ི♥ྀ ~ʚįɞ

Little Fairy
  A poem by Emilie (9)

One little fairy
was gracefully flying in the sky
She went to every garden 
leaving a surprise
In the morning people woke up
and checked there gardens
to find them sparkling beautifully...

My beautiful granddaughters trying their hand at poetry.
Posted for Friday Poetically with Brian Miller, who asked that we share
something written with or by a child. 

Monday, June 6, 2011


The news harrowed my very soul 
They cut deep exposing unforeseen anguish
My heavy heart weeps for thy
Grieved to lose such a special friend
The sting of death breaks us open
Exposing our hearts to bleed
Bereft of the fullness of time
My thoughts are seized by the hereafter
My imaginings are held captive, unable to flee
I will not say goodbye my friend
Instead, I will bid you an emotional farewell

My heart is heavy this evening…My 2nd cousin Jacqueline Sleeper Russell passed away on May 30th, 2011  I will be forever grateful to Jacki for sharing all of her wonderful research on our Family Tree.
If it weren’t for meeting Jacki, I would never of known about my Great, Great Grandfather being an author and poet. I am so thankful for Jacki coming into my life…She will be missed. 
Dearest Jacki

Thankyou ...How can such a small word ever say what I want it to mean.
I will be forever grateful to you and I will always treasure our friendship.There really aren’t any words to convey how much I appreciate your coming into my life…I believe it was meant to be….
"Roots made us cousins...Hearts made us friends"


Your Cousin


Saturday, May 14, 2011

♥ Serendipitous Find ♥

 I love to frequent antique barns, 
you know the ones that are jam packed 
full like a treasure trove from long ago.    
All those past treasures, usually evoke so many memories, 
sometimes with melancholy attached.    
I’m not one of those collectors who have 
100 clocks or 50 egg cups.  
I  consider myself to be  an emotional collector, one who discovers 
a serendipitous connection, where the unexpected find creates 
happiness and a feeling of being in the right place at right time.
I’ve  experienced moments of serendipity and I must tell you, 
it’s an amazing happening!  
Last year while visiting our local antique/craft 
barn I experienced one such out of the ordinary encounter.  
As my husband and I wondered through the museum-like barn, 
there on a shelf in front of me was a lovely vintage calendar.  
I was drawn to it and noticed  the date –  April, 1917.
The calendar was from a shop called Neill Shoe Store 
which use to be in the town where we now live.  
The picture they used caught my eye.  At first glance 
I thought it was of  Mary, as in Mary had a little lamb, 
but with closer inspection it proved to be Little Bo Peep. 
Now for the serendipitous part…
Although, it was Little Bo Peep,  the art picture for me screamed 
Mary had a little lamb at first glance.  My mom’s name is Mary.  
Her father had a pet name for her where he called her 
“Little Nell.”  
The name of the store, Neill Shoe Store. 
But what finally did it for me was my Mom’s date of birth.

Mary Helena {Nellie} Johnson was born on April 6th, 1917. 

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Crumb Cake ~ From My Mothers Kitchen

Since receiving several requests for
The Crumb Cake recipe mentioned in my post 
"Please Come For Tea", I thought what better 
way to share it than on my blog....Enjoy...

Crumb Cake

Preheat oven to 375 F
Grease a 9-inch square cake pan.

In small bowl of electric mixer, cream
¾ cup of butter {my Mother used lard}
Blend together {rub}
1 cup of white sugar
Add 2 cups of all-purpose flour
and blend until resembles cornmeal…crumbs.
Reserve 1 cup of this mixture and set aside

Sift together and add
¼ tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground cloves
1 tsp nutmeg
½-tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder

Then mix in
2 eggs
1 cup of buttermilk or sour milk

Fold in
1 cup of raisons
1 cup of currants

Pour batter into prepared pan.  Sprinkle with reserved crumb mixture.
Bake in preheated 375 oven for 40 - 50 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.
Cool 5 minutes then remove from pan.

From my Mothers own pen

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Please Come For Tea

In moments of alone time or in the company of friends,
the genuine pleasure of tea drinking is a timeless social
gesture that never loses its charm.

Enjoying a cup of tea has always been a special ritual for me.
My Mother taught me the knack of tea-time. From early on,
I have fond memories of sharing a cup of tea with my Mother.
I consider my Mother's famous crumb cake to be
the perfect accompaniment to this day.

The tradition of having a tea party has been passed down to my
children, and I now enjoy sipping tea
together with my grandchildren.
More than simply a beverage, tea allows one to pause,
while it feeds the soul through quiet reflection.

I always love to peruse different towns and villages,
seeking out a congenial respite for lunch.
Visiting these small towns almost always entails my discovering
the neighbourhood Tea Room.
I have often fantasized about running my own Tea Room.
While in these sanctuaries,
I continuously decorate in my mind's eye,
improving on their décor choices.
It would have an adjoining gift shop that would sell
everything related to the Art Of Making Tea.
I even have a name at the ready…
"The Lavender Lace Tea Room".

Ahh, I can picture it so clearly…..
Step in the door and be met by the fragrant aroma of tea...
the scent of scones warm from the oven...
the delightful company of friends, both old and new.
Sip & savour the moment! "Thε Lavender Lace Tea Room",
a fɾiendly, loving and peaceful place to visit and enjoy your favourite cup of Tea.

The ceremony of tea drinking has managed to remain a constant in my life - a comfort, a haven, a warm treat that outshines any afternoon refreshment and recharges my spirit. There is something calming found in a warm cup of tea...a time to reflect, relax, and treasure our friendships.

The art of tea allows us to celebrate. It is a time-honored ritual, a unique recipe for musing that secretly feeds the soul, especially when savoring that first sip.  Ahh, the sweet aroma of crumb cake…thank you Mom.

___________ ♥ღϠ₡ღ♥_____________
~~~~~~~VICTORIAN TEA~~~~~~~
~~~~~~NOW BEING SERVED~~~~~~
___________ ♥ღϠ₡ღ♥_____________
Finger Sandwiches*Fresh Scones*Jams*
*Whipped Cream*Butter tarts*Mini Muffins*
*Blueberry Truffles*Chocolate Surprise*
___________ ♥ღϠ₡ღ♥_____________
House Specialty~ Lavender Lace Tea

For my Mother Mary
April 06 1917 - October 27, 2000

Sunday, March 27, 2011

As I Stare At My Refection

Prelude  to a Prose

I have emptied my soul and allowed myself to
return to the dark pit of grief , temporarily...
I want you to know I am fine, after some tears of course.
The words below just poured out....
This prompt allowed me to
explain the raw numbing pain of loss....
This is how I felt in the first
months after my daughters funeral... perhaps years after.
Lacy, I will forever feel your Love.


Dear Mirror
As I stare at my reflection
I see a stranger.
Sorrow has eaten me away, revealing a wraith-like shadow me, 
with coal-stained eyes deprived of sleep, a distressed washed-out,
tear- stained complexion, a withered sickly grossness that has
wrenched me through the looking glass of raw pain,
where I have vanished inside my own grief.
Feeling alone and fighting to stay present against the
bottomless black pit of despair, has used up all of my resolve.
My strength of will has no reserves.
I am a mere imitation of my former self, an impostor,
almost certainly unrecognizable by my friends and family.
Will this torment ever end?

♥  © ஆεlεɳa
Challenge: Write a letter to the person you see in your mirror
      Poetry Prompt...Finish this line...For

Thursday, March 24, 2011

A Love Letter

October 2, 2011

Dear Chantelle

Eighteen years today, Chantelle.  
The span of time seems impossible to comprehend. 

Words of love through poetry continue to find my pen.  
Lunch away at a quaint town, nearby. 
On the way there, the song on the radio as
if right on cue plays for me only.

The song “Don’t forget me when I’m gone”
evoke tears of gratitude for the much needed sign. 
A knowing glance from Bob as he also recognizes
the significance this special song has for me. 

Today welcomes autumns Indian summer.
We walk the town and visit the many charming shops,
looking for nothing in particular, but hoping to
find the perfect treasure to mark this day.

Ice tea and fish and chips satisfy our comfort
food craving.  
Restaurant radio crackles, before another song starts. 
Your presence is felt as “Knights In White Satin”
plays quietly in the background.  
We sit in silence, listening to every word, welcoming another
amazing glimpse into the unnameable realm.

Lacy, our connection never falters. 
This day always amplifies your energy,
moving your essence even closer.
Although I still feel the pain of loss,
today it is filtered though all the love you continue to send.

Love is felt throughout my whole being. 
You will always be loved and never forgotten.

This is for my first visit to Write A Letter Wednesday

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Merrow Churchyard By Moonlight

This is a Poem by 
my Great, Great Grandfather & Poet

FRANK JOHNSON, English born poet
September 2. 1810 - February 17, 1892
The Village Of Merrow

Scene, England,
-- a county bordering on the mouth of the River Thames.
Time, --towards the end of the first half of the present century.

Merrow Churchyard by Moonlight
Now  Dian’s  orb was hung on high,
And all so sunk in rest,
A stranger to the world had deemed
Its habitants were blest.
Who, with the sorcery around
Of a night so calm, so clear,
Could have borne to think that its least content
Could have ever known a tear?
A night indeed! -- so hushed, serene,
Scarce a dead leaflet stirr’d;
If, in the far, a cry, a chime,
Who would not such have heard.
The snowy moon that lives aloft
Seemed all alone to bide,
As if the only thing awake,
And watching all beside.
I could but think of day’s bight orb
Were made alone for light,
Man might have done without the sun,
For the sake of such a night.
Imagine my surprise while researching my
Family Tree a few short years ago to learn that my
Great, Great Grandfather was a published
writer and poet!  Frank Johnson…
author of Lashed to the Mizzen,Giles and Janey, or
The Kindly Gentleman, and The Village Of Merrow,
It’s Past and Present.  I was thrilled the day I received
a 1st edition copy of,The Village of  Merrow printed
by Lovell Printing and Publishing Company. 1876.

FRANK JOHNSON, English born poet, emigrated to LennoxVille, Quebec
The Magazine of Poetry and Literary Review - Page 421
edited by Charles Wells Moulton - American poetry - 1892

FRANK JOHNSON was born September 2nd, 1810, in London, Eng. He had barely entered upon his third year when he was sent to a preparatory school at Hampstead. From thence having completed his eighth year, he was transferred to a classical school in London, where after a seven years' training in Greek, Latin, French, Italian and mathematics, he was sent to Edinburgh University. Here, however, his ambition to be an actor, brought his studies in Edinburgh to a close. It was now that his naturally good constitution began somewhat to fail him, through too close an application to his self-directed studies, and with a view to recruit him, he was sent by his father, a medical practitioner, into Hertfordshire. It was here that he betook himself to the study of the flora of the fields, and it was during his rambles in the lanes and wastes of Hertfordshire, that he familiarized himself with the poverty and struggles of the underpaid labourers on the soil, a familiarity which, some years afterwards, he turned to good account in his "Village of Merrow. "

It was in his twenty- fifth year that, again with a view to thoroughly establish his health, and to wean him from his still lingering ambition to be an actor, his father proposed to him an extended course of travel, a proposition which was embraced with enthusiasm. In less than a month he embarked in a small South seaman, bound for a lengthened cruise in the Indian and Pacific oceans. It was thence that he acquired the terrible experience that enabled him to write his "Lashed to the Mizzen." After a cruise of upwards of two years, unbroken by a single night on shore, Mr. Johnson, on the vessel touching at New Zealand, abandoned her and resided along with the cannibals, thirty miles up the Hokiawga river, on the lookout for a chance passage to Australia, whence after a further detention, he embarked in a brig for Valparaiso, eventually reaching Buenos Ayres, by crossing with a guide the Andes and the Pampas. This was followed by extensive travel in the leading countries of Europe. Thus far his life appears to liave been one that few would have quarrelled with, but now the picture was about to change.

He invested quite a little fortune, bequeathed him during his travels by his grandfather, in the New Zealand Land Company's unfortunate Cook Straits Settlements. It would be a long story, but one by no means dishonouring to Mr. Johnson to show how, for upwards of eight years, the principal share in upholding the Port Nicholson Settlement, fell to him. It must suffice to say, that after almost incredible trials and disappointments, he had finally to retire with the loss of two-thirds of his capital and fearfully worn, into the bargain.

After his return to England, he farmed for a few years in Pembrokeshire, whence at the suggestion of his then still surviving mother, he removed with his four boys to Lower Canada, now the Province of Quebec. He is still living on the farm near Lennox Ville, acquired by him some thirty years since, with his eldest son who looks after the cultivation of the land. He still continues to be a welcome contributor to the local press, and his writings are regarded with favour. As a citizen and colonist Mr. Johnson holds a high rank.
For World Poetry Day  at One Stop Poetry.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Ah Spring!

Awaken early to greet the warmth of the morning sun
Birds singing, busy with their nests
Cleansing rains offer nourishment for the parched canopy
The energy of the sun envelops the newness
A new life emerges from each branch 
A gentle breeze blows softly, rustling each new birth
In the quiet of the stillness
As each leaf opens gently
Bursting forth into nature,
It becomes a welcome witness
To an engaging Spring. 

Ah Spring!

As we say farewell to the long, ragged winter, anticipation of spring is felt deep within our spirit. This renewed spark is the essence of our connection to the Earth. After our deep hibernation under the cloak of winter's abundance, spring is a most welcoming season.

During winter's embrace we shield ourselves 
from the cold landscape.
We quietly hunker down to rejuvenate ourselves in 
anticipation of future blossoms. 
This deep freeze partially hides us from one and other.

Spring’s arrival beckons us to awaken!
As the days become brighter, our souls yearn to reconnect.
As the days grow longer, 
so do our walks and chats with neighbours.
At Spring's first blush, we eagerly emerge from winter's hold,
realizing our good fortune of living in such a diverse and
miraculous world, which we have the honor of call home.

♥  © Hεlεɳa ωђίԵε

Lets help celebrate Spring over at One Stop Poetry with Brian Miller 

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Lighting a candle for Christchurch N.Z.

Lighting a candle for
  Christchurch N.Z.
Lღ√Ƹ & LﻨցнԵ

`.¸¸♥´¯) ¸.☆´¯)
(¸☆´ (¸.♥´´¯`•.¸¸.ღ

This candle represents a show of support for all the victims in
the New Zealand Earthquake.

♥  Hεlεɳa ♥

Sunday, February 13, 2011

The Dream

On my blog
"Memory Box Creations", I posted
"Beyond the Veil",
which resulted from a dream
I had in September 1995, while bereaving the
sudden loss of my teenage daughter, Lacy.
I have chosen to share this dream to demonstrate
how my interpretations
allow me to not only process grief and tragedy,
but also serve to inspire me
to interact with these unseen realms as a
conduit to my poetic muse.
I am currently revisiting that time and writing
my personal account
of healing through loss, in the hopes that by doing so,
it may show others how writing can be a doorway to get
to the other side of healing a pain that one thinks will never heal.
Please know that I do continue to feel deep loss,
yet the love that I have for Lacy (Chantelle) remains.
However, the emotional pain is filtered and softened
the more that I write and share my story
with yourself.
The poem follows the Dream

Chantelle Lee Lace
November 25, 1975 - October 2, 1992

Dream ~ September 8, 1995
Chantelle had returned.
The dream is somewhat vague,
but I knew she was back with us.
I found that I felt so happy,
yet at the same time I was paralyzed by fear...
Of something happening to her again.
My fear was all-consuming.

Next scene…

I was looking through a very large window,
with extra-wide sills.
The window was arched at the top with exquisite,
antique crown mouldings and cornices.
There was no glass in the window…
I was compelled to gaze through the opening.
Off in the distance, I noticed an old house.
White stone walls offered a warm welcome.
I thought to myself,
how perfect would it be to be able
to live in this amazing house.

A voice…I hear it is haunted…
I spun around to see who spoke, but no one was there.
As I turned back toward the window,
there was a woman standing near the white stone house.
Everything had a grey cast, much like a black-and-white photo.
I looked into the depths of her eyes, and she
acknowledged my gaze by nodding her head.
She looked so sad
Although I was a little frightened,
I continued to stare.

Then, I smiled at her, and she returned the smile.
Our smiles seemed to unlock this still picture…
allowing her the freedom to walk towards me.
She wore a dark dress with an ivory lace collar and cuffs.
Her dark hair was piled up on top of her head.
She was a petite woman, with delicate features.
We did not speak aloud…communication was telepathic.
She recognized my fear and in some way calmed me.
As she approached the window, it ever so subtlety
changed to include a table and chairs.

She sat on one side while I remained on the other.
The archway was still prominent over us.
I immediately asked about Chantelle.
She told me that she also was experiencing some
bad dreams and finding it difficult to adjust without me.
She told me that we were both afraid and
therefore made things more difficult.
She told me that Chantelle comes to visit me in my dreams…
I noticed that she was watching my hands.
I sensed that she was going to touch me.
I immediately thought that if she did,
our visit might end and again I was frightened.

I felt compelled to look at her hands.
They looked transparent and unearthly.
She cupped my hand in hers…welcoming the connection
and commenting how warm I felt.
Such pleasure this seemed to give her.
She ever so gently lifted my hands up to her face,
touching her with the back of my hand.
She closed her eyes momentarily.
When she opened her eyes, she was weeping.
Tears filled her eyes to full.
Tears of joy, melancholy, love, sadness…
She was filled with such emotion; it was overwhelming.
I felt her love and understood.

I asked her to tell Chantelle that I loved her,
missed her and that I think of her every minute of the day.
I wanted to say so much more but I was so
overwhelmed that I was a loss for words.
She indicated that she now had to leave.
Surprisingly, she came around the table somehow to my side,
all the while continuing to hold my hands.
She reached out and hugged me ever so gently.

Together we cried…
I felt such calm and gained an understanding
for which words could never explain.
I know that Chantelle is not far away.
I realized that she is not meant to be here now
That somehow if she were here I would not be able
to fulfill my destiny, because my love for her
is so strong that I would live only for her.

My visitor, now ghost-like, was leaving.
A staircase appeared and as she climbed,
I noticed that the grey cast had lifted, and she
now was surrounded by dazzling translucent colors.

After experience….
Sept 9th , the next day…
My nephew’s wedding day…
Before the ceremony, I went inside to use the powder room.
Upon entering, my thoughts went back to my dream from last night…
This gorgeous old building was reminiscent of the white stone house in the dream
especially the big arched windows with wide window sills.
I wandered from room to room unnoticed.
This old building felt familiar, like I had been there before.
I embraced this serendipitous happening and thoroughly enjoyed my
nephew's wedding day...
all aglow with love and radiant color. 

Beyond The Veil
She came while I was resting
Spoke softly as I slept
Quiet tears of rapture
In dark silence, I wept.
Her essence did not threaten,
Her grace felt deep within
Her eyes conveyed such tenderness,
She chose to now begin.
She first appeared in shades of grey
Eyes downcast, colors dull.
But as she moved much closer,
Her being glowed with love.
I sensed a tinge of fear,
As she reached for my embrace
Her touch with kind caress
Cupped my hands up to her face.
Tears filled her eyes to full,
In her presence I felt safe.
This lady from the past
Transcended time and space.
She answered many queries
As trust and compassion grew,
She spoke of many things
That in my heart I knew were true.
When she turned to leave,
I saw the essence of her light.
The grey cast had been lifted
Replaced by colors bright.
Not only in my dreams
Will these miracles be found,
For our hearts with love eternal
Are now forever bound.


Thursday, February 10, 2011

Celestial Dream Spiral

Celestial Dream Spiral
Falling, falling quickly...the sensation overwhelms.
I cannot catch my breath!
Falling, floating, spiraling...down, down, down... ever so softly.

Fear tried to intervene. I would not let it, not this time.
Please, this time has to be different.

Spiraling further down, down, down.

“Look around”, my inner voice urged,
"Don't miss out on this extraordinary experience."
All at once, a feeling of serene tranquility enveloped my being.
Now calm and untroubled, I looked upon a sea of bountiful clouds.
White canopies dotted the sky, surrounding me in reassuring numbers.

Spiraling down, down...gently down.

The air was clear, the sky so blue, the clouds transparent.
So unique was this hue, unlike any sky that I have ever witnessed.
What was I a part of? What was I witnessing?
So many simultaneously spiraling to the earth.
Thousands, no! hundreds of thousands.
Collective eyes all watching with surprised amazement,
taking in this breathtaking happening!

No words, no worries, no stress, no judgment.
Feeling so in the moment and more alive than I have ever felt.
Such an overwhelming sense of electrifying peace.
We shared anticipatory curiosity, celebrations of love, incredible joy,
all with accelerated faith and certainty.
Traces of inner wisdom remained,
conveying to me that no matter what: I AM...and always will be.

Upon awakening, my body continued to shake
within this spiraling vortex of
transcendental energy.
ღ Hεlεɳa

Posted for Theme Thursday