Landscape of Love 98: Poppy Field

14397198_10154354205796023_359053842_n-98-bevs-painting-2

Yellow bricks just visible if you stand and look at your ruby boots, rapidly disappearing now under the blanket of snow that swirls in flurried flakes, mini-cyclones like the one that brought you here, so long ago. And the way is lost now and the cold soporific sleeting sways itself down in tiny feathered hammocks brushing your weary skin. Sleep is called for, and a soft silent space, where dreams may dare to shine rays into reposing forms. The red softened to pink blooms by tears, by failing strength, and slowly, one by one, we fall down and are covered.

 

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Artwork by and © Bev Wilson, used with permission.

 

Landscape of Love 97: Churchyard

97 graveyard-1417871_1280 drippycat pixabay

Ancient of Days, yew circles the holy ground and stands sacred guard. Her hollowness disguises fullness, and even her dank rotten places are teeming with abundant life; jewelled scarabs and luminescent fungi adorn the lightning wounds and tend the darkness. Toothed fort of the dead, domino headstones re-etched by lichen look ready to fall after centuries of marking mounds of mourning. And life, undeterred, springs up in grasses and buttercups, golden grails full of dew, bluebells ringing out the hours, a carpet of prayer covering the crypt.

 

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from Pixabay