She opens her hand to let go -
her avian friend and her worries.
the nightingale has returned.
We will lose ourselves in the garden
and come out in blossom
like the lilies and roses;
we will become water and flow
from garden to garden."
Rumi
Heartfelt Dolls |
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Eluria dances the dance of the free. She opens her hand to let go - her avian friend and her worries. "Light of my eyes
the nightingale has returned. We will lose ourselves in the garden and come out in blossom like the lilies and roses; we will become water and flow from garden to garden." Rumi
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Kapua has been created from a tattered tablecloth
and a small embroidered tray cloth. She carries a string of plants she has cuttings she plans to hang and dry. It is wonderful how we can bring the garden indoors - pot plants, floral arrangements, dried herbs, herbs growing on the window-sill, seeds germinating in trays. The beauty of our created environments - gardens, parks, public spaces -
reveal the hard work of their stewards. Gardeners, pruners, mowing contractors, nurserymen, growers, seed merchants, green waste recyclers, planters, designers, dreamers, artists. Dacia is one such hard-working, green-fingered being. Her skirt is recycled from a badly stained, worn tablecloth. She carries small pots - off to nurture new life:-) Mornings in the gardens are redolent with promise. Calanthe delights in the dew glistening on the grass; birds tugging at their breakfast; daisies turning their face to the rising sun. Jacenta cannot help herself -
she dances to the music she hears in the garden:-) The avian chorus. The rhythm of the seasons. The rustle of leaves. The pulsating beat of possibility. The clang as the shed doors slams. The steady beat as shovel hits soil. The busy buzz of bees. The vibrating sounds of grasshoppers and cicadas. Let us listen and dance! Skirt hitched up, holding on to her hat, Rossa dances in her garden! Gardens are such magical places where anything can happen. Birthdays, weddings, BBQs. The burial of beloved pets. Treasure hunts and stolen kisses. Bees pollinate, birds nest, worms tunnel. And who knows - maybe fairies or angels gather when no one is watching! THE ROSES
One day in summer when everything has already been more than enough the wild beds start exploding open along he berm of the sea; day after day you sit near them; day after day the honey keeps on coming in the red cups and the bees like amber drops roll in the petals; there is no end, believe me! to the inventions of summer, to the happiness your body is willing to bear. Mary Oliver Tsianina dances with delight in her garden:-)
The Book of Creation is a wonderful spiritual guide, a life coach, a mentor, a soul friend. On every page there is an encounter with the divine - the fragrant perfume from flowers; reveille from the tui; the invitation to play from the piwakawaka (fantail); the beneficence of the lemon tree. A garden is a delight - no wonder Tsianina dances for joy! Sirisha is the fourth doll in a series I call "An English Country Garden". I think she reflects winter - stripped of colour, dark, but beautiful all the same. This is a time when we can see the structure of trees and shrubs; when we can espy that which is hidden when the trees are clothed in leaves - bird's nests, nodes and buds, the promise of new life. This is a time to prune, to let go, to allow that promise to be fulfilled. Nerida is the third doll in this short series.
Gardens have so much to teach us about living. The need for fallow time. The need to lay dormant until it is time to blossom. That life is sometimes messy and untidy. That sometimes disease or disaster visits us. How patience and diligence will be rewarded. How attentiveness is crucial to all we do. The bittersweet nature of all things which bring joy then disappear. That life is full of possibility and promise. Philantha is as English as English can be:-) She wears a skirt fashioned from a dilapidated tea towel commemorating the coronation of Queen Elizabeth. She delights in the natural world around her - the flora and the fauna. WHILE I AM WRITING A POEM TO CELEBRATE
SUMMER, THE MEADOW LARK BEGINS TO SING Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds, the trees in deep, moist summer, daisies and morning glories opening every morning their small, ecstatic faces - Or maybe I should just say how wish I had a voice like the meadowlark's, sweet, clear, and reliably slurring all day long from the fencepost, or the long grass where it lives in a tiny but adequate grass hut beside the mullein and the everlasting, the faint-pink roses that have never been improved, but come to bud then open like little soft sighs under the meadowlark's whistle, its breath-praise, its thrill-song, its anthem, its thanks, its alleluia. Alleluia, oh Lord. Mary Oliver |
AuthorI am Liz Pearce. Making dolls allows my soul to sing and my spirit to soar. The dolls are companions for my journey. Categories
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