Clouds over Nose Hill at dawn.
Photographed by Sheryl @ Flowery Prose.
This is my first time posting on 20 Lines A Day. I’m excited. I’m a physician and photographer but not both at the same time. My nickname is Chell, so it just seemed natural to call my photography Chell-ebrate Photography because I love to capture life at it’s best.
Originally posted on Living and Lovin:
I love Sunrises and Sunsets the start of a new day and the end of one even if the day did not go so well the sky is lit up and allows me to find peace.
I have been on a journey looking for peace and happiness. Each day I get more of the old me back. Each day I laugh and smile more.
Things like the two photos shown above have been out there in the world for a very long time it seems I am just more open to see them.
I love that this shows I have turned a corner. I am here now not back then. I am finally LIVING.
The sun is there
This morning has arrived along our shore
Have you been here
I love this place with every inch of my core.
As you can see the waters seem very calm
The tide is heading out to sea
Hope I brought my lip balm
As I came here today , to show you what I see
May you have a place that you love to go to, where you too can welcome the day.
Whither shall I go from thy spirit?
or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there:
if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me;
even the night shall be light about me.
Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee;
but the night shineth as the day:
the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.
Inviting sleep so
Lay down your head
Let dreams dance
Over your soul
Waltzing with the angels ‘til
Sunrise wakes slumber
© Pillows 2012
By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
Photo credit: Bed made with white bed linen. Four fluffy pillows and crumpled sheet . Original description: 350 thread count sheets. Down featherbed. Down duvet. Super fluffy pillows. Ahhhhhhh. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I have written before about my father, who was a poet, and who taught me much about poetic forms. I wrote this in 2003 about him.
Like men of old prospecting for their gold,
he shakes his sieve to rid it of debris
while searching for the nugget he will hold
within his hand. Poetic filigree,
the lacework of his mind accepts the gem.
For him, no imitation jewel will do,
only a diamond for his diadem.
A starry sky of words makes its debut,
and he peruses midnight’s offerings.
Which blessed candle of the night to choose?
His mind insists upon the flavorings
that salt a common phrase. He will excuse
words begging for some space upon the page,
but when, like ancient wine, they underline
the secrets in his heart, those words engage
a thirsting reader. Sterling pieces shine.
Accompanied by silence, his thoughts rise
to places uninhabited. The first
to lead where others will not formalize….
Look how his scintillating poems burst
into the company of masters. O,
the satisfaction of his lifetime quest
for words that edify, provide the glow
of sunrise, meditation manifest.