Who is He?

He ~ the man I love. An explosion of the most frightening magnificence. Il est fort ~ and how this understates the incredible and breathtaking strength He possesses. And yet, despite His monumental strength, so many times I see the tender, sweet and contrite child in Him. With swells for eyes, and a trembling lip. The tears flow so readily and so instantly when sorrow or contrition reach in and stroke His spirit. A living, breathing, perplexing contradiction. And ... how I love Him. With every fibre of my heart and spirit. And every cell of my physical body. His beauty surrounds me. It bleeds into my soul and my psyche. I feel pretty, sexy, desireable in his presence ... and His presences envelopes and soothes me even in His physical absence. He. Me. We.

What more do I say?

new beginnings

a new blog is forming.

tales of a radioactive hummingbird

for reasons you need not know, i am going anonymous for a time. those of you who know my real email address (ie the one with my name in it) continue to email me there. and of course, those of you who have received snail mail from me, please do write me back sometime ... when you get a moment of two.

there are only two entries at the new blog. and no pics yet. i will get to post some pics soon ... i have lately been elsewise distracted.

love to you all ... please follow me to the new place.

the red mantissa

Making Love

Love
~ intensely passionate ~
fills me, warms me, moves me,
exerts its soul upon me ... propels me.

In the still and silent hours of the night
we made love.
Pilot,
its an explosion of spirits, our spirits.

And in the aftermath,
we piece the exploded shreds
of our spirits back together.
Each of us, then, possesses a piece of the other.

How breathtaking.

The Presence of Absence

Absence has a presence ~
vulgar, garrish and violent,
like a single drop
of red rubra blood
in a bowl of thick, white milk.

Odour has a sound ~
it begins with a crescendo
and slowly fades, seeping
into the cold and heavy embrace
of the omnipotent and omnipresent
atmosphere.

Sunrise

Last night we listened to Norah Jones. When the song Sunrise began playing the Pilot told me that's the song which got him onto Norah Jones. And then, and then, this morning we witnessed the most breathtaking sunrise. The sun crept up in the eastern sky, behind a bank of bare trees, looking like a fiery, pink orb. So pretty, that pink orb, I could have licked it if it had been wrapped in plastic or planted on the end of a lollipop stick. Sunrise. What a lovely beginning.

In our western viewpoint, we can see the lagoon, the sand shingle and the great waters of the English Channel. Sometimes, when the wind blows just so, one can hear the waves smashing and crashing and thrashing against the shores. The Channel waters, they seem so ferocious, that sometimes ~ particularly at night ~ the flow of the tide sounds like a distant, rolling thunder.

What a lovely spot we fiound ourselves upon, as we rose early this morning: sandwiched between the pink glowing orb rising quietly in the sky, and the ferocious green waters of the English Channel. A bird of prey hovering, overhead ... and the sound of birdsongs dancing in the frostly morning air.

Oh ... la bella vita.

this and that

I took this pic just near the caravan park where we stayed this past weekend. I know ... I know ... but, hey, I think cows are pretty cute. So ... there!


This pic I took near a great stone wall that stands just outside the caravan park. Its from a pillar-type post box, it has no collection times on it, and there is a newer post box next to it, with collection times and with the ERII insignia on it. Clearly, they left this post box standing because of its historical significance. If you google Edward the Seventh you will find out that he lived from 1841 to 1910 and that he succeeded VR to the throne. Now how's that for some history?


Taken not too far from the caravan park. The name of the neighbouring village is Martock. It was a clear crisp Sunday morning and the sun shone some lovely hues of golden yellow. This is so typical of how the lovely English countryside.



This is the fabulous, old stone house that sits near the creek in the previous picture.



I think this is sunrise ... but it could also be sunset. Anyway, its taken at the caravan park where we stayed this past weekend.




Now this, I know for sure is a sunset. Also taken at the caravan park where we stayed this past weekend. The sky just exploded in a bouquet of pinks, mauves and even a touch of orange.




The pilot hates to have his picture taken. But he does indulge me for a second or two, here and there. I can't help but take pictures of him though ... ;^D

Ok. so ... there you have a few more pics ... I feel like I hardly have spent any time here, but I gotta go already. Incidentally, I am wearing a knitted wool sweater that was made by Mark and Martin's mum 35 years ago. I wonder sometimes, if, when she made this sweater, she ever imagined that Mark would cherish it and keep it for so long. What a treasure ... a real treasure. It seems the things which that woman made are quite something ... they knock my sox off, if you know what I mean.

ta ta ...

with love, from england

Just a short post. Its pretty here. And old .... quite old. Some buildings here have survived since the 15th century. Most of the buildings are made of stone and the farmhouses are quite palatial, believe it or not. Thatched rooves, cobblestone roads, oh-so-narrow country lanes lined with hedges ... its quiet quaint and I have not seen a skyscraper since leaving heathrow for this lovely little village. I don't miss the city and I have been quite spoiled by a wonderful cook, who plans and prepares the loveliest meals (yes, as you've guessed, he's not a brit ... lovely people those brits, but cuisine is NOT their forte! and I say that with much affection). Lamb Curry, Pheasant breast, Beef Wellington (purchased at the farmer's market, prepared by a farmer's wife ... yum yum), the best Spanish red wines with meals, Carbonara made the REAL italian way (i.e. that without a cream sauce, just in case you don't know), Tomato salad with goat cheese, ahhh ~ I have tasted so much great food I can hardly remember it all. Farmed Venison steaks, made per the butcher's recipe ... yummy ... considering I hated wild Venison every time I have tasted it. Even the plates are warmed, prior to serving the meal ~ talk about attention to detail! We ate at a Bengali/Indian restaurant here in the village ... what a delight ~ shamee kebobs, lovely chutney, and some incredibly spicy pastey thing that you put on your papadum. Ok ... I'm quite the chatterbox and my brain is sort of chaotic ... I have been exploring the village and snapping pictures like a mad tourist .... and I think I got hight on all the sunshine and fresh air. Its lambing season here already and spring is beginning to show herself, oh so slowly. And that's all for now ... I know I have a lot of great comments to my last post and I have been a bad Roxanne and not returned a single one. I will, soon.

Ta ta ... mind the gap and all that.

Love, me.