Catching the Magic
This is a wonderfully fun idea, inspired by ‘Latte Junkie’. She has set up a list of questions that children often ask and the idea of ‘Misinformation Monday’ is to creatively answer the questions – with just a little bit of mind warping
This week’s question is: Why is the sky blue?
Here’s my contribution…
Long ago, when the Earth was first born, the light that shone down on canada goose dawson parka red for sale was fiery and hot. The land too was a furnace of hot volcanic eruptions. New life burst forth and land surfaced from the oceans covering much of the planet.
As new land formed and took shape, with exotic species of flora and fauna, the blue depths of the sea bellowed out in protest, ‘Forget not how splendid the oceans and waterways of this planet are!’. So great did the oceans roar that the light of the Universe listened.
The planet spun under the glow of the sun, turning its face from darkness into light. At sunrise and sunset the sky continued to glow in the fiery colours of its creation; but during the day canada goose dawson parka red for sale was painted blue, reflecting the magnificence of the oceans.
And so when we look at the blue sky on a clear day, we are reminded of the oceans, the rivers, the streams, lakes and seas that flow with importance, weaving their course around and through the land. Even when we stand on land, far away from the ocean, we have only to look to the sky to remember its colour.
To read other responses head on over here.
Sorry for being a day late for Lyrical Sunday. We stayed away on holiday an extra night (to avoid a rough crossing of the Cook Strait). We are now back home and had a beautiful crossing. It’s nice to be home… but we’ll be happier once all the bags are unpacked!
I’ll be back tomorrow with the theme for ‘Week 5′.
Thanks to Jen of Snapshots and LJ and Stud1 of Latte Junkie for being so patient with me – the ‘Linky’ widget is now up and working for you to link up with your wonderful prose. Hoping for some new bloggers to join in too
There was a time in my life,
When bags were something of grace.
When I would choose without strife,
Leather, suede, velvet or lace.
I’d carefully display them,
With silk scarves and jewels.
Outfits to compliment them,
Lingerie, stockings and mules.
Now those bags of pre-child days,
Gather dust in drawers instead.
Coming out for dress-up play,
Tea parties with doll and ted.
My life is still full of bags,
But strength, and size, hold more sway.
Bags, full of books, and name tags,
Ready for school, dance and play.
Too many to keep in check,
Few as dainty or bedecked.
More Gortex than glitz. Hi-tech,
Durable and weather checked.
Shopping bags that carry food,
Packed with precision and care.
Not in a dash to suit the mood,
To fill cupboards ever bare.
There is no delicate bag,
With a hint of rose perfume.
For a traveller with jet-lag,
Who parties under the moon.
But now, bags full of treasures,
Like hidden gems and feathers.
Shells, sticks, petals and pebbles,
Without flair, but do I care?
Not at all, I’m very zen,
Precious times will pass in ten.
I’m so happy that I’ve found,
I much prefer bags with crumbs in!
The first bag I bought, went to see a kangaroo,
The second bag I bought, went to the loo.
The third bag I bought, flew to the stars.
The fourth bag I bought, jumped to Mars.
The fifth bag I bought, swam in the sea,
The sixth bag I bought, ate a giant pea.
The seventh bag I bought, was a chatter-box,
The eighth bag I bought, got eaten by a fox.
The ninth bag I bought, grew a leg,
The tenth, and final bag, I bought, got stuck in an egg.
Now it’s your turn! Link up below with your ‘Bag‘ prose for this week’s ‘Lyrical Sunday‘. The linky will remain open for one week, so don’t worry if you haven’t written anything yet – there’s still time
Visit the blogs below for more ‘Bag’ poems:
We walked with determined, weary legs, head-first into the wind. The sand whipped our exposed skin and scratched our eyes. The scenery was picture perfect (if we were brave enough to open our eyes and look). Laden down with bags of towels, togs and beach toys, we trudged along hoping to catch a boat out. ‘Help!’ Charlotte wrote in the sand. ‘I had a bad feeling something like this would happen.’
The boat ride there had been fine, until we cornered Awaroa Head and met the oncoming (and unexpected) wind in Waiharakeke Bay. The calm sea turned instantly choppy and the young driver veered across a wave, his unpracticed eyes missing canada goose dawson parka red for sale and sending the power-boat lurching violently on an angle. Charlotte and Grandma were rocked off their feet. It was frightening and we were glad to see the gang-plank touch down on firm land. We stumbled onto the beach, relieved to be leaving the wild seas and power boat behind. But as we touched down the wind greeted us with a wild cackle and whipped our bare legs with torturous glee. There would be no need for beach toys.
The shelter of the dunes and Awaroa Lodge, in the Abel Tasman, couldn’t come quick enough. I was glad I’d packed the girls trousers and jackets – at least they were protected from the cruel whip of the wind-swept sand on their tender skin.
The lodge was a serene oasis from the billowing wind. We ate lunch and let go of our disappointment over the wind spoiling our paradise beach. The wine, beer and chocolate cake helped!
We’d planned to spend four hours enjoying the scenery of the beach and the inlet, but all hopes were utterly dashed. Dan and I would have stomached it; but it was a mean wind whipping up the sand and not at all pleasant for the children and Dan’s parents. We had hoped to share our memories of kayaking the Abel Tasman and enjoying the scenery of the rich native bush sweeping down to the golden sands in calmer circumstances – but ‘Mother Nature’ wasn’t dealing us a good hand. There was no point in hanging around for four hours, so we decided to try our luck in catching an earlier boat out.
Charlotte and Sophie learned that plans don’t always turn out as expected. Once we were finally onboard the return boat we laughed with hind-sight and talked of our ‘adventure’. Charlotte and Sophie said they’d felt like castaways, stranded on a wild beach; especially when the first return-boat that came into sight veered to the opposite end of the long beach, leaving us with little hope of reaching it before the gang-plank was hoisted back up and the vessel turned seaward again. Thankfully, some good samaritans came to our rescue, noticing us struggling to make head-way against the wind and ran towards us, relieving us of our bags and volunteering to run on to the next boat heading ashore to ask them to wait for us.
Thankfully the return vessel did wait and was ten-times more comfortable than the boat we’d roughed in on. There were two levels, rather than one, and an undercover area, with windows (lacking in the first boat) to shelter us from rogue waves (though Chinese Grandma and Dan got a complete drenching when they went up on top deck to take in the view!).
And it’s amazing the difference a coffee machine can make to a person’s perception! After we’d left the windy conditions in Waiharakeke Bay behind, and turned the corner at Awaroa Head, we breathed a sigh of ease. The Tasman Sea was calm in this section of the stunningly beautiful Abel Tasman National Park. Sea kayakers pedaled past, seals frolicked around the rocks at Tonga Island and people sauntered along the beaches at the bays we visited.
We absolutely loved the return cruise to Kaiteriteri Beach and we arrived with plenty of time to finally make use of our togs, towels and beach toys! Mother Nature wasn’t all cruel and the rough winds and wild boat ride in Waiharakeke Bay ended up making it an unforgettable experience. We certainly experienced both the ‘Yin and the Yang’ of Mother Nature’s hand in the Abel Tasman National Park.
Visit Week 42 of ‘The Gallery‘ at Tara’s wonderful ‘Sticky Fingers’ blog for more ‘Mother Nature’ posts.
Abel Tasman Sea Shuttle
Abel Tasman National Park
Department of Conservation: Abel Tasman
The days are long, the nights hot (don’t get too excited – sticky children limpet style in bed rather than honeymoon style passion), the views are breathtaking, the beaches plentiful and quiet, the cafes and eateries plentiful, uniquely special, child-friendly and relaxed. We are half way through a wonderful, much anticipated and awaited holiday.
When the starlit nightfall graces the end of our non-stop days (that start early – not due to a full on itinerary, or long day of tramping in the bush, but due to our little darlings) we retire to bed; feeling completely spent in a wholesome mind/body way.
We’re taking hundreds of photographs, living in the moment, having adventures and enjoying a revitalizing change of scene and routine. Some evenings the children are up late and it’s nice not to care. Even if they do wake early, instead of having a lie in, we just give them a wide berth and have a chilled day. There are no high expectations. We have activities in mind we’d like to do; but going with the flow when the weather doesn’t deal us a favourable hand, one child is too tired or an old favourite is revisited and found to now be closed.
I won’t know where to begin in blogging about all that we’ve done. I usually write diary style as we go – but haven’t felt like that this holiday. Perhaps I’ll let the snippets of fun and stories unfurl in retrospect as and when.
For when term starts back in just under three weeks, and my parents-in-law have flown back to the UK, I’ll have six hour’s a day with just Alice and me. Nap times will be like gold – to write, maybe do a couple of sun-salutations, and to just ‘be’ in my own head-space.
It will be good to have all these good times to reflect back on when the evenings start to draw in.
The theme for week 4 of Lyrical Sunday is…. tum, tee, tum… ‘Bags‘!
I know it doesn’t sound very exciting, but it’s very much apt for us at the moment – as we pack up our suitcases and head to Nelson for a couple of weeks. And we have just welcomed Chinese Grandma and Granddad to New Zealand (their bags got way laid in Sydney and took another day to arrive!).
Since we’ll be away next Sunday (though we’ll still be hooked up to the Internet via one form of gadget or another… not sure at what speed!), I am giving us all a fortnight to write our poems – whoop, whoop! So get your thinking caps on and think ‘bags’…. Here’s some prompts to kick off with:
– Handbags (visions of disco dancing divas spring to my mind!)
– Suitcases (vintage, victorian, moth-ball covered, hidden in the attic)
– Bags that go missing
– Back-packs that have travelled the world (if only they could talk!)
– Character bags (think aliens, monsters, walking, talking….)
– Bags with undeclared items in them (think smugglers, customs, trafficking)
Link up on Sunday 23 January.
Post your creative thoughts on your blog and, if you like, add a photo, drawing, or, if you’re feeling musically inclined, add some music to your lyrics and record them!
We look forward to freeing our creative side and being inspired by your thoughts too!
Sweet peas through my window climb,
Descended from the vines of time.
Growing wild, in the mountains of Sicily,
Reaching out, with tendrils, so sisterly.
I watch the green shoots, stretch out and grow, a
Vision of my sister and her love doth flow.
Climbing those hills, where sweet peas wind,
Their fragrant embrace around two hearts entwined.
I wish those two hearts could come here and stay,
Linger, a while, in my garden, and play.
Those self-pollinating flowers amaze,
Every day there are new colours to gaze.
I look at those petals with a passion,
Knowing I am a little old fashioned.
I think of them, hand in hand, carefully
Climbing over Sicilian land.
One day our paths will meet, like a sweet embrace,
Just like those tendrils bring petals face to face.
My sister, her love – the climber, and my
Family of five.
Sarah Lee, © 2011
This poem was written with my sister and her boyfriend in mind. I haven’t seen them for three and a half years. I don’t know when weR17;ll meet again. But they have recently been climbing in the mountains of Sicily. When I looked up the origin of sweet peas, for my poem this week, it was with happy coincidence that I discovered them to have originated from Sicily. So whilst I gazed at the beautiful petals, climbing on the tendrils out of my kitchen window, my thoughts were far away in Sicily with my sister and her love.
Another coincidence, which I didn’t realise till after I’d written the poem and put the photograph of the painting up with it, is I painted 7 flowers, one for each of us x
Out the window I gazed,
And saw a yellow lilly.
It caught me by surprise.
Yellow sprouts of pollen,
Zoomed into the air, like
A fantail, fluttering in the clouds.
The golden leaves curled
Around and around,
Like a merry-go-round.
Then at the end it dried,
Like an Autumn leaf, fading,
Into thin air.
Every flower is so beautiful, that you
Would like to smell it, and touch it,
To pick it, and place it in a vase.
To sketch it and paint it,
I just wish the flowers could
Grow inside, really fast.
The sweet peas smell so nice,