Retreat

Here I come, beachcombing, The waves are silent now. There is no more to seek. The sun has gone below the line, a moment of stark nothingness. That's the time for the sea to speak. I watch for the farthest tide touched by the molten gold. Several breakers have come and gone before the one that is remote journeys forth to reach the rock where I receive the tired wave. In exhaustion and ecstasy, in the final leap, it rises high, then leaves its treasure which is now the surf in its shiny strings of pearls. The things I sought and could not find in my long effort at beachcombing now lie in abundance before my eyes, But with a difference! These are the wonders I cannot possess unlike the shells and conch, I gathered in the long hours spent in combing the beach Image credit:   Bong Ferrer

My spirit partakes of the rain descending, hovering on the city in my heart. The pools and streams, and the nostalgia of vacant moods when nothing holds the mind that wanders into lost alleys and the homes, quiet, breathing in the rain, the intimacy of the sky, the rapture of living with the secrets stored away in dreams Originally shared by Tanya Dimitrova

MAGNOLIA The Magnolia does speak in the morning dew and the twilight dusk; its petals slow to open, stay wide awake into the night. Its perfume, so subtle that it threads like a silken skein; will go to and fro, in and out throughout the fabric of your day and it will stay to haunt you like a stray thought to wind all the way. Sushama Karnik 12 Oct. 2015

On the calm surface of waters, unruffled, your subtle persuasion shines reflecting like a mirror the image of the little boat you send for a come-back voyage to the farthest land from the nearest shore. The peace, the quiet, the little boat that sways gently with the waves, nothing matters in the world of change, nothing says it better than the boat and the waves, and oh, the sleep that rocks with the sea and the river's dreamy flow. Sushama Karnik Sept 9 2015 Image credit:   Милан Мика  Originally shared by Милан Мика - 2 comments Ne čekajte da sve bude potaman. Nikada neće biti idealno. Uvek će biti izazova, prepreka i uslova koji nisu savršeni. Pa šta? Počnite odmah. Svakim korakom koji napravite, bićete sve jači i jači, sve veštiji, imaćete više samopouzdanja i bićete vise uspešni.... Mark Viktor Hansen

WINDOW A window in solitude the sun sloping down on the hills, trees reclining, a quiet descending, a coffee mug, the smoke of dried up twigs rising beyond, spreading a screen of something I cannot name, hope, despair, sleep... I need a book to browse the pages of a life, which I started reading in my youth, and then gave up for something else, and then began an endless trail of stories given up half read, bookmarked for reading at a later day, a better time, a time marked but never recounted, for the time of counting was long gone. This window's not bad, after all. The coffee has tasted never so warm, never so good. A trifle lot of odd things, collected and thrown away. A solitary window, a coffee mug, a landscape with a few brushstrokes, simple, uncluttered,clean. Just have to mind that marine blue, which I always tended to overuse and plunge the perfected piece with just that addition of marine blue into a dark tide of despairing gloom which no am...

The rain came, in a spurt of emotion, briefly fell on the alley, soaked the leaves and dripped drop by drop on me. no lashing fury, but it was cold, it sent a shiver down the spine and gently spoke, "You are mine" Image credit:  Romanescoeur Inès Originally shared by Romanescoeur Inès

Even after you pull the walls down and are set to escape the darkening town the door knob can hold you back. The high edifice can easily crumble; it is the accessories, the imaginary spaces of freedom between the shrunken walls,  and the last vestige of the door frames that become the hurdles. It's hard to knock them down. April 6 2016 Image credit Nurmaris

Inside Inside me there is an inside rarely seen, rarely known. Inside me, it is always dark and cool. The darkness does not speak, it feels; your silence and mine and it becomes the language that transcends words. There is nothing that hurts, nothing to heal. The feathers you gather and bring to this cave need not write what you wanted to write. This dark inside has a prescience to read even the words you did not write; an amazing world of myths, all the stories are lying here, uncovered, page fluttering unopened. I am a prehistoric being. Shared privately • View activity Darlene Walsh Very beautiful!! REPLY  Sep 12, 2015  Karina Hidalgo ❤Every line. "Inside" beautiful portrait. REPLY  Sep 12, 2015  Sushama Karnik +1 + Terrie Sanzo + Darlene Walsh + Karina Hidalgo Thank you friends. We share the Inside, all of us. REPLY  Sep 12, 2015  Souh...

Her face like a landscape for me to traverse; a landscape lying asleep, and in a quiet afternoon I could move around to get to know all those signs that marked the hidden places which lay in a shadow, hidden from the scrutiny of a judgmental crowd; Her mouth relaxed, nostrils held in a rhythm that knew the life's symphony, and in sleep untouched by anxiety,'like the doors of a house, open to all wayfarers who chanced to stop, they breathed amicably, in and out. Her cheeks like lakes without a ripple spoke of her inner serenity. Her eyes like palm leaves covered the spaces of two canoes, now anchored to their assigned posts in retreat and saving the unheard litanies of prayers, and at last, I ascend to her brow, the vast stretch of the golden dunes of sand, where during the day, a storm would sometimes rage  and tear apart the threads that held the fabric of her entire being. (c) Sushama Karnik 17 Feb 2018 Thank you  + David Testa  for the ima...