The photo of the bearded warning sign (more “spraycicles”) was taken at Mersea Beach, after that big storm blew itself out. It blew so hard icicles couldn't even hang straight down. I don’t think anyone would risk scrambling over the groyne rocks on that ice! Yesterday was bright and sunny, and the temperature rose a few welcome degrees. Then last night a chilly winter rain moved in. I stuck my head and camera out the patio door this morning to catch the “kwins” (another word I made up, for those pattering raindrop circles) dancing on the table.
The big river stone on the edge of the picture is also from Alberta. It’s one of the few rocks I brought with me that don’t have holes in them. A dear friend of mine gave it to me from her garden when she had to move. She spent so many hours creating the most amazing rock garden, full of interesting plants and stones and homemade hangings and chimes – all delightfully and artfully designed. We each took a souvenir with us to remind us of all the good times we’d had sitting in the sun there, laughing and solving the problems of the world. I took this rock, which had always been a favorite of mine. I call it the Jupiter Rock, because of it’s color and patterns.
I’m sure that neat old house and lovingly tended garden are part of a string of condos by now, and the Jupiter Rock is currently anchoring the patio table against the winter gales; I haven't quite found the perfect summer spot for it here yet, but looking at it this morning in the low winter daylight, I could almost feel the heat of the sun again.
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.