she built a blanket fort

So I have an edit for you - my blanket fort poem, now complete with a photo! Elou from ElouCarroll Photography, also known as KeyChild, helped me bring my poem to life. The "blanket fort" was constructed, the fairylights strung, and the red balloon aquired. And Elou added the magic :)

in a blanket fort constructed from fragile sheets of securities,
padded out inside with cushions of collected comforts,
the little girl curls in the love-light of the lamp through the fabric
and puts her hands over her ears to block out the rage of reality.
if she squeezes her eyes shut in her creatively constructed cocoon,
bites her lips together and hums a childhood lullaby,
the notes will add a throbbing bass of bars to her security.
she's hiding from the adult road to adolescence,
the years of awkward promised pretence before a foothold is found.
in her childish dreams she doesn't have to walk that way.
she thinks she's found a safe-place, and so she sings in her sleep.
tangled between her fingers she holds the string of a red balloon.
her gift to her grandchildren. if she can hold it that long.
the fairy lights above her head pretend to be stars.



<3

Quick Post - No.13

Whoever created this is a genius.

Summer meets Autumn.

I'm a Summer girl, really. So I've been loving the heat wave this week. It appears I'm not the only one either - I finally made it to my favourite park today with a camera, and took a few sneaky shots of the public's enjoyment of the heat.
So here is South Park in the sun:


A slightly wonky shot of the famous spires - sorry about that, guys.


Some beautiful colour in those trees.


People enjoying the shade under said trees...


Lens flare, woot!


A rather dramatic catch from the guy in the blue shorts - I felt like I should have been applauding, but that would have drawn attention to the fact I was taking their picture.


Beautiful shadows stretched across the grass...


I feel like putting in this photo is bad form, seeing as it's vertical instead of horizontal, but I like it, so the OCD people out there will have to make do :P


And a final full shot of the park from the top of the main hill. How I love this space.

Now I've shown you the Summer, let me tell you the Autumn. Walking along the grass barefoot (of course, why wear shoes?) I came across a patch that had been blanketed with the dried flames of crisp fallen leaves. If you have never shuffled barefoot through a layer of Autumn leaves on a bright green carpet of soft grass, you have not experienced life to the full. I would recommend this experience especially for those of us who specially walk close to the wall so they can crackle through drifts of leaves on the pavement, or find themselves walking the street funny because they want to crunch a leaf under their foot with every step. Yes, I'm talking to you...

A photoshoot with a bee.

So much storying going on! *flails* Last installment tomorrow, me thinks.
I should probably be sleeping. Work calls tomorrow with the breakfast shift, 7 30am start. [ Enter long, contemplative pause here... ] Nah. A few more minutes won't hurt.
I took a photo of a honey bee today. Announcement of the week, right? I was doing a bit of gardening - back aching, up to my elbows in dirt, hands scratched and stung by many, many weeds - with the sun against my shoulders, amidst the smell of freshly turned soil, with the ladybirds for company. Lovely. And there was this little bee, buzzing busily around some pink flowers. Settle, turn, lift, buzz, settle, turn. KeyChild has been kind enough to lend me her Nixon. I fiddled with the exposure, shutter speed, iso, etc etc etc, and the flower turned from black to white to pink in my lense (those settings can be hard to negociate). I took a few photos, as the bee fussed its way along the petals. Experimented with framing, using the flowers to create an asthetically pleasing border for my model. A photoshoot with a bee. "Turn a little more to the left, darling. No, the left... There we go. Oh, perfect darling, perfect. Simply divine!" And then he took off, wings fizzing through the air, headed for the second flower, and my finger hit the button automatically, and lookit! A honey bee in flight!


After all that fussing. A complete accident. "Simply divine!"

Ps. On the subject of bees - did you know that the name of the headmaster of a certain now-famous school of wizardery and witchcraft attended by one bespectabled individual actually means bumblebee? Love it.

Pps. Also, another name for an umbrella is "bumbershoot". I am never using the word "umbrella" again.

Meet Mister Squirrel.

We made friends in Christ Church Meadows. He is veeery cute.

Quick post - No. 8

A little piece of magic.

From here.

Camden Market.

The scent of incense. This place needs a ghost. But wait... I think I can see one. A dark shadow, a simple human shape. She steps silently over the flagstones. Brushing past the visitors, the stall owners, the tourists. Although part of me wants to wipe the slate clean of modern influences, to wash the canvas clean of this century's clothing, to rub away the imprints of our culture's footprints, another part realizes that the mix of now and then, the collision of the periods, and the compilation of evidence of the ages, is what makes this tapestry so bright, so attractive. And this ghost of a figure beckoning me through them seems to fit in with both.

But does the camera move towards the modern? Nope, it is the antiques that catch my attention. I gasp as I turn from one corner to the next, my delight making my heart beat fast and my cheeks flush. The shape I am following clasps metal bars between her two hands and stares through them at the collection of the past. She trails her hands along the keys of a piano covered in music sheets. She stops to study a wall of old suitcases. She spins in the shattered light reflected off the mirrors stacked in a locked room. I follow her in a daze. It is only when I pause to look at the photos I have collected that I lose her.







But by then I am in a different realm. The taste of piracy is in the air. Silver fob watches spin on thick chains. Flattened bottles laze on a black table, cupping glass beads. Oh, do we covet. But within all these treasures we find... perfection. One each. We hold them in our hands as if they are made of fairy dust, and clutch them to our bodies as though they are living and breathing: A chance corner leads us to colour. Thick, smooth, durable leather, bound around notebooks and decorated with tarnished metal. KeyChild finds her dream, in the shape of a purple leather notebook with a brass coloured key and heavy cream pages. She holds it as though she'll never let it go. A few meters later and, still clutching her prize, she points out a white-lit stall. Lined with heavy vases, it glitters in the light. From its ceiling are hung dozens of sparkling glass creations. Birds, magpies, flying horses, fish, faires; all spinning and glinting. I am filled with awe. And BlueBird finds her beauty, in the form of an aqua glass bird, with a dark head and wings uplifted in flight. I cup it in my palms as though a breath of air would wake it, and lift it, fluttering, from my fingers. Before the day had even properly begun, we had found our inspirations.

That picture reminds me of what I'm missing. Sometimes I wonder why I keep it.