Fairies are invisible and inaudible like angels. But their magic sparkles in nature. ~Lynn Holland
I heard recently a dear friend of mine, Skip Staheli, is Second Life retiring. It gave me such a mixed emotion! The childish side upset and wanting to stomp my foots but the adult side of me happy for this friend I love so dearly. He is the photographer I turn to for my crazy schemes. You see, in my head runs stories, so many of them but one in particular has grabbed my heart and it’s all because of a little girl, Helen, my godchild. The pirate princess I often blog about because when she is staying with me, her antics always seem to require speaking about. She’s a lot of her “aunty Cao” in her, this little one. But this isn’t about her, it’s about my friend, Skip. Through these years as I notice the whimsy about me, usually about the time Helen asks me “where does “this” come from?” Or “how do “these” do that?” I explain with the heart of a child, not with the mind of a scientist because sometimes the imaginations of the heart have a deeper lesson in them than the truth of matters. Am I right to do so? Perhaps not, but children get enough of their creativity beat out of them in the school system, who could fault me for lovingly trying to restore some back into her? As a kindred, my friend Skip, never let me down. Women (and men) flock to him for gorgeous portraiture, but not me. I share with him my whimsy and he so lovingly makes my dreams come true. So with my last sitting with him, why would it be any less true? I hope you enjoy this trip through the eyes of a child. I know, with Skip, I sure have.
Merry Autumn ~ by Paul Laurence Dunbar
It’s all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o’er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.
Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught ’em;
There’s nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.
In solemn times, when grief holds sway
With countenance distressing,
You’ll note the more of black and gray
Will then be used in dressing.
Now purple tints are all around;
The sky is blue and mellow;
And e’en the grasses turn the ground
From modest green to yellow.
The seed burs all with laughter crack
On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.
A butterfly goes winging by;
A singing bird comes after;
And Nature, all from earth to sky,
Is bubbling o’er with laughter.
The ripples wimple on the rills,
Like sparkling little lasses;
The sunlight runs along the hills,
And laughs among the grasses.
The earth is just so full of fun
It really can’t contain it;
And streams of mirth so freely run
The heavens seem to rain it.
Don’t talk to me of solemn days
In autumn’s time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays,
And these grow slant and slender.
Why, it’s the climax of the year,—
The highest time of living!—
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into thanksgiving.