TILLA’S MUSINGS

 

EACH PHOTO TELLS A DIFFERENT STORY

MUSE:

(v) To reflects on a subject

(n) Source of an artist’s inspiration.

I can sit for days, thinking of life.  To sit on the stoep, you go through lots of thoughts while you also observe the change of season.  When the muse wakes up in my head, I will look at something, most of the times a photo, and the thought that was born on the back stoep long ago will come out of hibernation and give me an idea what the photo is actually busy telling me.

Stoep:

(n)  A South African word … a veranda usually in the front or back of a house.

STOEP SITTING

The place … to be … the space between the house and the rest of the world, to be outside from the inside of the house … where you watch the day change from early morning to late night, star gazing or sometimes sitting quietly listening to the falling rain …, or listening to the birds while it gets dark and smacking mosquitoes in summertime … basking in the setting sun in wintertime.

When the sun sets early evening there is nothing better than to sit and watch the wind play around with the curtains, you get a sense of coolness and quietly you go into a state of light meditation while the wind plays around

Karoo style aircon ...

Karoo style aircon …

 

We always go and sit outside, enjoying some me time or to enjoy our animals.

Private time on the back stoep…

Gina, our little parrot ... she barks like a dog

Gina, our little parrot … she barks like a dog

 

Best friends always share a chair on the back stoep, watching the garden for intruder birds….

Stoepsitters

Stoep sitters

 

Sitting on the back stoep, listening to the rolling thunder playing around behind the clouds, not a breeze in the air with a soft noise of rain on the tin roof. The air is heavy with the smell of parched and scorched plants and veld, soaking up the first raindrops ….

A special smell ...

A special smell …

Sitting on the stoep last night I watched and listened to a soft concerto, the wind as the maestro while the trees played a soft percussion when suddenly the wind became so angry, everything turned into a concerto grosso. The wind was trying to take nature hostage … one moment it was a gentle soft breeze and the next everything that stood in the wind’s way was in danger of being blown away …

Before the storm ...

Before the storm …

Not a storm in a teacup ...

Not a storm in a teacup …

Calmness returned after the storm ..,

Calmness returned after the storm ..,

Early the next morning I wandered outside to see who had won during the windstorm of last night … there is calm again … last night’s howling winds went into hiding.

Washed and dusted ...

Washed and dusted …

At the end of an ordinary day the sun will desert the sky and plunge the world into night, we sit outside waiting for the moon to wake up and smile down onto the sleeping earth …. —

Playing hide and seek ...

Playing hide and seek …

Sister Moon, lighting up the sky ...

Sister Moon, lighting up the sky …

 

Because we stay in a semi-arid environment one of the big events is when we I hear thunder … the wind is trying to swipe the clouds from the sky and bringing chaos to the streets again … the streets were busy one moment and are now deserted, the wind blew everybody inside and is wreaking havoc in the streets by throwing sweet wrappers all over the place and making the cats next door skittish. Suddenly the sky became dark, when I looked up I saw these ominous clouds stacking themselves together. Turning the sky a gun metal grey, floating around, not yet sure where to get rid of their heavy load. While they darken the afternoon, the grey dog stalks around like a ghost.

The grey ghost, doing her rounds before the rain ...

The grey ghost, doing her rounds before the rain …

Waking up very early, listening to the rain doing a tap dance performance of Singing in the Rain on the tin roof … I made up a whole performance in my head, listening as the dance reached the peak and the music got loud and fast, then it subsided and got softer until you could only hear the shuffle of last feet leaving the roof ….

Tap dancing on the roof ...

Tap dancing on the roof …

 

All things bright and beautiful …. all creatures great and small … the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the garden is bursting out in colourful flowers … A fresh smell is in the air and the dogs just love it! … Too early for the flowers to open yet, but it is a beautiful day!

All things bright and beautiful ...

All things bright and beautiful …

 

The Language of Flowers:

Receiving a hibiscus flower in the olden days meant either that you were seen as a rare beauty or a delicate beauty … receiving any red flower is seen as an expression of love … for me it is as if nature is talking to me when I see a red flower … a red hibiscus has so many duties to fulfil … from decorating Hahitians when they dance, as offerings to the Hindu goddess Kali, as a lot of different medicine, some are used to make paper with and I also drank some hibiscus tea on Zanzibar, which tastes a bit tart and colour your teeth red … but it still stays one of my favourite flowers…

Hibiscus talking to me ...

Hibiscus talking to me …

 

A lazy wind-still and perfect sunset on the back stoep … sitting there watching the sun rays through the trees. .. the new green leaves are glowing gold in the setting sun …. Silver threads and golden leaves in the setting sun … another stunning evening…

Silver threads and golden leaves ...

Silver threads and golden leaves …

 

Saturday evening … as if in a gothic picture, a sliver of moon was looking down onto the sleepy town …. A promise that soon it will be full moon again …. As legend goes she is busy scooping water, and soon it will rain again … this morning the clouds are covering the sky, the sun is gone … the old people with all their stories knew far better than we what nature plans for us…

Scooping water ...

Scooping water …

A Gothic moment ...

A Gothic moment …

My musings will follow me wherever I go …

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