Hiiumaa

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When the sun turns
away to southern lands
we find ourselves awake
on a strange, familiar shore
where t
hose who’ve gone
before sleep beneath moss
in forest
graves, and wild apples
jump the fences

Across the Baltic Sea
history comes full circle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Symbol

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Bob—my minion, courtesy of my husband—is a symbol of my excesses:

Too much chocolate and champagne: I, like Bob, am a candidate for the cakewalk rather than the catwalk.

Too much grieving: my father, who was affectionately called Bob (not his real name) by our extended family, died 13 years ago, but his ghost still looms at dawn.

Too strange a sense of humour: dark, subversive, and sometimes toilet.

And now I’m laughing too long and too loud.

Have a silly weekend.

😀

For more entries to this week’s WPC, see The Daily Post.

 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Gone, But Not Forgotten

My maternal grandfather had many interests and hobbies: he studied the stars (astronomically, as opposed to astrologically), played the violin and loved photography, carrying his camera wherever he went.

I don’t know if he kept a journal, but if he did, it’s long lost; however, his insatiable curiosity about so many things–from people to architecture, to history, to nature–is well documented through the many photos (in slide form) that he took over his lifetime.

He worked as a mosaic tradesman and sometimes travelled from his hometown, Durban, South Africa, by ship up the east coast of Africa to do mosaic work on buildings in exotic places, such as Lourenço Marques (now Maputo) and Beira.

On one of these trips, he took my mum and brother along, documenting the journey with his lens.

I particularly love this photo that he took on the ship of my mum making bubbles for my brother. And I love my mum’s reaction to it: “Oh, what a silly young thing I was then.”

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Photo by RIP © beeblu

 

For more entries to this week’s photo challenge, see The Daily Post.

 

Lena Maree

Tonight,
I think of my maternal grandmother,
(Chelsea buns, vetkoek, hugs to save the world)
passed some 30-odd years ago –
“Kari, Kari…”, her loving voice as I drift to sleep
and remember that stark day
she fell crossing the road
outside the Durban Museum

And I, five, thinking she was dead,
screamed!

But she did not let go
of my hand, and smiled
in her usual, generous way
as strangers helped her to her feet.

Always the comforter of souls –
Sweet, wonderful Lena Maree.

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