Treasure the hope

"As jy 'n groen tak in jou hart bewaar, sal die nagtegaal kom kuier." In English it roughly translates as ...if you keep a branch in your heart, a nightingale will come to perch upon it. My grandmother sent me this sentence in a sms and I thought this would be such a wonderful way to visually express the concept of hope.

A(h)men!

Ah, men! If only they weren't so beautiful.

Heart's desire

Valentine's day is nearing and it's impossible not to dwell on some thoughts of love. It seems we are celebrating this day of devotion without really knowing the benefactor - St. Valentine. One was a Christian martyr executed by a Roman Emperor, but during his sentence in jail he either performed a miracle on the blind daughter of his jailer or he fell in love with her, or both. He reportedly wrote a letter to her before his death, signing it with from your Valentine. What complete surrender lies in those words. Or he could be the St. Valentine who secretly performed marriage ceremonies to soldiers who were forbidden to marry by the Roman Emperor of the time - Emperor Claudius II.
I would still like to extend my deepest gratitude to you, or both of you for believing in the existence of love. Belief is like a match, it spreads like wildfire - if someone lights the match. Here's a toast to you: thank you Valentine for lighting the match, the world is on fire! So, may your day be entwined with romance and the desires of your pure heart.

I borrowed this decoration prop and thought the wire would create lovely shadows and distortion. It created a dramatic effect which I'm quite pleased with.

Garden

Summers are so alluring... the heat, the sun, the greenery, everything compells you to venture outside. Luckily my sister loves hiking as much as I do, and Bernard never complains for some vegetation underneath his paws. So a company of three explores the wild wild wild. The more I am surrounded by it the more I realise how far removed our daily lives are from it. Sometimes the most wonderful thing is of the simplest, and words do it no justice. The gardens God planted are not English gardens with 90 degree hedges, herbs found in the herb garden and the roses only facing the Southern wing. To us outsiders it might appear as sheer chaos. But stay a while, allow the cobbling stream to mesmerize you - a minute or two later it sounds like a song. And you realise how well this self-sufficient garden functions. Everything happens in its perfect time without having to remind Innocent to water the Azaleas.
Songs of the stream also by occasion have the effect of introspection. Therefor I could not help but wonder what kind of garden am I? Up close all I see is disarray and labyrinths that lead to who knows where. Could it be that when you listen closely, the stream will have a song? I pray that I may hear it too.