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In the soft light of dawn,
she rises like a gentle breeze,
a kind and caring sky
spreading her tender blue upon the sea.
Each morning, she paints the heavens
with strokes of hope and simple joy,
her colors warm and inviting,
making the world feel safe and new.
The sea listens to her silent song,
each ripple celebrating her gentle kiss,
as night fades into a bright promise,
and every moment whispers of a new day.
High above, she smiles upon the deep,
her essence mirrored on the calm water,
a soft, loving reflection
that fills the sea with a touch of grace.
Every shimmer on the water holds
a trace of her caring hand,
a sign of quiet affection
and a promise written in blue.
In the early hush of morning,
when the world is wrapped in quiet dreams,
her blue hue spreads like a warm embrace,
comforting every heart with its simple light.
Her blue is the gentle song of nature,
a melody that drifts on the breeze,
singing of tender hopes and sweet moments
that dance upon the open sea.
And even when the sun climbs high
and the day unfolds in a flurry of light,
the memory of her blue embrace lingers,
as her reflection fills the heart of the sea.
Lost
On the edge where sea meets sky, the world seemed to exhale. The tide whispered secrets to the shore, and the air was thick with the hush of evening. Two figures walked barefoot on velvet sand, their steps slow, deliberate—not from weariness, but reverence. Between them, fingers intertwined, warmth passed like a quiet promise.
They didn’t speak much. Words had a way of slipping, of missing the mark. But the silence between them wasn’t empty—it bent and shimmered, full of truths too delicate for language. The sun, a golden thread unraveling across the horizon, seemed to pull at the knots inside them, loosening what had long been held tight.
As the tide gave way and stars began to blink awake, something shifted. The rhythm of the waves echoed the rhythm of their hearts—steady, vulnerable, ancient. One of them turned to the other, eyes reflecting the sky’s deepening hues, and smiled—not because everything had been said, but because everything had been felt.
They sat by a small fire, its flame dancing in the breeze, and shared stories not through sentences, but through laughter, through the way their shoulders leaned together, through the way the night wrapped around them like a shared blanket. The ache of past wounds, the joy of being seen, the quiet fight to stay open—it all shimmered in the twilight.
And when the moon rose, casting silver across the waves, they laughed. Not loudly, but with the kind of joy that carries weight. In that moment, one soul reached out to another—not with a plea, but with presence. And the other understood.
If you asked them what love was, they wouldn’t point to words. They’d point to the sea, to the fire, to the hush of evening’s sigh. To the light they cast together into the dark, and the way it came back brighter.
Lost
On a distant shore, where whispers dwell,
I journey through the sands of time,
To meet the self I knew so well,
And ponder thoughts, deep in mind.
The waves, they sing a haunting tune,
Of dreams once bright, now shadows cast,
In twilight's glow, beneath the moon,
I seek the echoes of my past.
I find the child with eyes so wide,
Unburdened by the weight of years,
His laughter, like the rising tide,
A balm to soothe my deepest fears.
The youth who dared to chase the stars,
With passion fierce and heart so true,
His spirit, free of earthly bars,
A beacon in the endless blue.
I stand before these shades of me,
And question all that I have been,
To find the path that sets me free,
And reconcile the now and then.
With every step, a choice is made,
To honor who I was before,
Or change the course, let go, and trade,
For someone better, something more.
The distant shore, a place of peace,
Where past and present intertwine,
In its embrace, I find release,
And forge a future, that is mine.
Lost
In a dark fortress of ancient stones,
she seeks refuge from the howling storms—
each weathered rock a steadfast sentinel,
cradling secrets too heavy for the wind to know.
Within these ancient walls, isolation is a cradle,
a sanctuary where vulnerability finds its voice.
Here, even every rough edge and hidden crevice
transforms silence into a hallowed echo of memory.
Waves of light, shimmering at the battlefield’s edge,
dance with the sea in a spectral ballet—
their fleeting glow caressing rugged stone,
whispering soft revelations against the dark.
In this interplay of shadow and luminescence,
solitude turns paradoxical—both refuge and crucible.
The fortress shields her, yet its very isolation
beckons a deeper journey into the self.
Each stone now holds more than age-worn scars,
it becomes the keeper of a true and unspoken name—
"Being lost," not as absence or despair,
but as the testament of a wandering soul in search of meaning.
The storm outside may rage and beat at the fortress,
but these rugged walls, bathed in the tender light of fleeting hope,
serve as a reminder that even in the midst of chaos,
our hidden truths find safe havens to bloom.
So, she stands among these ancient stones,
embracing solitude with open, weathered arms—
for in this silent fortress, the delicate dance of light and sea
reveals that being lost is merely the beginning of discovery.
And in the quiet pulse of the night, where nature and mystery entwine,
She uncovers that her solitude is not a void but a warm, secret embrace,
each stone a confidant, every flicker of luminous grace,
a metaphor for life’s eternal promise to shelter and transform.
Lost
By the edge of the world, where the sea meets the land,
A castle in ruins, once noble and grand.
Its towers now crumble, its walls worn and thin,
A relic of glory, where whispers have been.
The earth, with its roots, entwines every stone,
Claiming the fortress, making it its own.
The sea, ever faithful, caresses the shore,
Telling tales of the past, forevermore.
The sky, vast and endless, watches from above,
A canvas of memories, painted with love.
The castle, now silent, speaks through the breeze,
Of knights and of maidens, time brought to their knees.
No longer the clamor of battles long fought,
Just the song of the sea, with the lessons it taught.
The earth, the sea, and the sky, in victory,
Hold the castle's secrets, for eternity.
Lost
In the heart of chaos, where winds fiercely roar,
Lies a tranquil eye, a calm at the core.
Surrounded by fury, yet untouched by harm,
A sanctuary of peace, with no need for alarm.
The tempest rages, with thunderous might,
But here in the center, there's a different light.
A moment of stillness, a breath to reclaim,
Strength in the silence, a whisper of flame.
The storm's wild power, a force to behold,
Yet within its eye, a story unfolds.
Of resilience and courage, of finding one's way,
In the midst of the turmoil, a place to stay.
Renewed by the quiet, by the calm in the storm,
A spirit unbroken, a heart that won't conform.
For in the eye of the tempest, strength is reborn,
A reminder that peace, can weather the storm.
Lost
In the hush of a sunset's calm sea,
Time casts its silhouette, wild and free,
A tranquil mirror of life’s gentle flow,
Reflecting moments, both high and low.
The sea, a canvas of golden light,
Holds the whispers of day turning night,
In its depths, the echoes of dreams,
Flow with the currents, like silent streams.
A dead tree stands, its branches bare,
A silhouette against the twilight air,
Its form a testament to time's embrace,
A reminder of life's fleeting grace.
As the sun dips low, painting the sky,
We ponder the passage of days gone by,
In the stillness, we find our way,
Through the silhouettes of yesterday.
The sea and tree, in twilight's glow,
Teach us of life’s ebb and flow,
In their quiet, eternal dance,
We see the beauty of every chance.
Lost
“Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.”
― Marcel Proust
Beneath a moon-swept hush of day’s retreat, A hand reached out—a kindred soul complete. No words, just silence woven into grace, And in her palm, a feather soft, star-laced.
From peacock’s plume, a glint of living hue, With emerald fire and sapphire’s sacred blue. It shimmered not from light, but bond revealed— A quiet vow that time could never steal.
“This,” she whispered, “is not to fade nor fray, It holds the heart of friends who do not stray.” The quill of trust, of laughter’s quiet tune, Of shared horizons under a silver moon.
Through seasons curled in bloom and autumn's fold, Its colors stayed—no tarnish, never old. A token not of feather, but of soul, That danced with mine to make two halves, whole.
So now it rests within my sacred chest, A talisman of all that friendship blessed. No parchment holds the bond it came to weave, It simply stays—and I believe.
Lost
Beneath a quilt of silver-gray,
The sunrays bide their time,
In secret nooks, they softly play,
Crafting light's gentle rhyme.
They whisper through the morning mist,
A promise yet unseen,
In every shadow, they persist,
With a golden, hopeful sheen.
Then, with a sudden, joyous leap,
They burst from their cocoon,
A gift of light, a secret keep,
Unveiled by afternoon.
The world awakens, bathed in gold,
A treasure from the skies,
Sunrays, once hidden, now unfold,
Their warmth, a sweet surprise.
Lost
I speak to you from this quiet shore at twilight,
where your beauty unfolds like a heart unguarded—
soft, endless, humming with creation.
Every star you reveal above me glows like a gift,
each shimmering note a question
born from wonder, not longing.
I press my hand into the cool sand,
and feel your melody under my fingertips—
a melody of tides and twilight,
echoing in the spaces where breath meets sky.
Your waves rise to greet me like old friends—
a low roar whispering secrets through the foam,
their crests etched with stories
only the moon knows.
Each retreat is a gentle bow,
a hushed note in a symphony of contentment.
I stand in the hush between your sea and your stars,
my breath becoming part of your rhythm.
In your ebb, I remember to listen;
in your flow, I feel wildness blooming
like a flower opening to the wind.
Above, the aurora dances in your heart—
a living fresco of emerald and rose,
brushed against the heavens
in wordless adoration.
Light bends to your touch,
and I marvel as nature composes
what no hand could replicate.
You teach me that stillness is not silence,
and that the beauty of the wild
has always been the truest kind of love.
In the hush that follows your final chord,
I yield—
not to endings,
but to the gentle soul of the earth.
That surrender is fertile,
like moss over ancient stone,
like stars reborn each dusk.
It hangs between breath and bloom,
a moment soaked in possibility.
Sky, you are the letter nature has written me
in every petal, every crest,
every wind-swept sigh.
To you I offer
my dreams, my listening, my pulse.
Your music teaches me to hear—
the stars’ gentle musings,
the waves’ patient embrace,
the aurora’s swirling joy—
and most of all,
the steady rhythm of being alive.
Lost
In the early dawn, where dreams entwine,
A path emerges, where time unwinds.
Soft whispers of twilight, the night fades away,
As the sky glows with the first blues of the day.
Through ancient woods, where secrets lie,
The path to the lake reaches the sky.
Leaves rustle softly, a timeless embrace,
Guiding the traveler to a sacred place.
Mist fades away, a veil so thin,
Revealing the lake, where time begins.
Ripples of light dance on the shore,
A portal to moments that came years before.
The sun ascends, a fiery crown,
Casting its glow on the world all around.
Hope and resilience in every ray,
A new dawn heralds a brighter day.
At Sky Lake's edge, where waters gleam,
One can turn back time, or so it seems.
Memories unfold, both near and far,
In the lake's reflection, beneath the morning star.
With each step forward, the past rewinds,
A journey through moments, a dance with time.
The path to Sky Lake, at sunrise's call,
May hold the power to change it all.
Lost
Yesterday, a whisper in the sands of time,
Where echoes of lost words fade away,
In the twilight of memories, they climb,
To dance with shadows at the close of day.
The winds of change, they softly sigh,
Through dunes where dreams once lay,
And in the silence, we hear the cry,
Of moments past, now swept away.
Each grain of sand, a tale untold,
Of laughter, tears, and fleeting grace,
In the heart's deep chambers, they unfold,
A timeless dance in a boundless space.
Yet as the echoes gently fade,
And twilight turns to night,
We find in whispers, softly laid,
The seeds of dawn's new light.
Lost
As the sun descends, the sky ignites,
A glow that whispers through the twilight.
It fills your heart with a secret flame,
A light that dances, without a name.
In the shadows' realm, it weaves its spell,
A tale of wonder, only time will tell.
The light within you begins to rise,
A beacon hidden in the dusky skies.
Each ray a mystery, each hue a clue,
A path illuminated, just for you.
The shadows of life, once dark and deep,
Now hold secrets that you long to keep.
So let the sunset's glow enshroud your heart,
With a light that ignites, a work of art.
For in its beauty, you'll find your way,
Through life's shadows, into the day.
Lost
A place where I can be alone with my thoughts, listening to the waves as they whisper a language that calms my soul and rejuvenates my spirit. In that space, I recall who I am and shed the expectations others have of me.
Lost
Tumblr I Ipernity I Photo Vogue I art + commerce I Avard Woolaver Photography
Saturday morning public skating at the local arena. I go skating with my kids and sometimes take some photos. This one reminds me of the song "Lonely Avenue" by Ray Charles.
Upon the darkened sea, the tempest brews,
Winds awaken waves in rhythmic blues.
Storm clouds gather, dawn's fragile light,
A dance between shadow and morning's might.
The sun’s ascent through storm’s embrace,
Colors the sky with a tender grace.
Winds weave through thoughts, a gentle sweep,
Calming waves of emotion, serene and deep.
The tempest stirs the heart's hidden tides,
As dawn’s light through storm clouds glides.
Each breath of wind, a soothing balm,
Bringing to the soul a tranquil calm.
In the interplay of light and storm,
Find the peace in dawn's new form.
For in the heart’s tumultuous sea,
The sunrise whispers, setting you free.
Lost
I once wandered into an art show held near a place known as Arwen’s Garden. The gallery boasted a brilliant array of paintings, each one a window into a dream. As I drifted from one piece to another, I began to hear a whispered invitation—a faint voice calling from one painting in particular. The image depicted a garden of exquisitely rendered flowers, alive with color and grace, and as I reached out to touch the canvas, a vision of a woman appeared in my mind, just like a memory. And I knew her name: Arwen.
Before I could come to my senses, a kindly man selling the painting offered to make it mine. When I inquired about the artist, he smiled mysteriously and said, “You will never meet her. She lives hidden with her father in the depths of Arwen’s Garden—a garden said to be planted solely to protect her.” He went on to warn of two sinister perils lurking within: “First, the Flowers of Despair, whose spores can drain your spirit and leave you overcome by sorrow. And second, the legend of Butterfly Tears—if they touch you, an illusion will ensnare your life with no known cure.” With those foreboding words lingering in my mind, I purchased the painting and retired to a nearby inn.
That very night, as I found myself lost in the painting’s details, a gentle breeze whispered through the room. Suddenly, I felt a warm, tender embrace—a sensation that left me unafraid. In my mind’s eye a vision of a beautiful woman emerged, her voice echoing with a simple but profound declaration, “I love you.” In that fleeting moment, I felt as if I were standing beside her in the very act of the paintings creation, each brushstroke a caress upon my soul. Reaching out, my hand passed through a warm mist. She smiled and urged, “I feel you, my love. Now, find me.”
Her touch lingered like the softest of breezes as the vision faded—but the fire she ignited within me burned ever brighter. Determined, I traveled the following day to Arwen’s Garden. I entered through a vine-draped archway along a stone wall, only to find a narrow path leading to an enchanting field of flowers. But the moment I brushed against the first blossom, a cloud of dusty mist burst forth. Despite shielding my face with a cloth, the fine particles stung my eyes until darkness fell over my vision.
Panic and despair gripped me as I feared I might lose the only glimpse of her—the mysterious muse who had captured my heart. Collapsing to the ground, sadness nearly overwhelmed my spirit when suddenly a tender voice emerged in my mind: “Rise, my love, for I will free you from this despair—but you must hurry, for time is precious.” Fueled by that newfound hope, I scrambled to my feet, following the voice which grew ever more distinct until I sensed an unseen hand gripping my arm. A gentle figure emerged, saying, “Let me take you to a fountain; there, you will regain your sight.”
At the fountain, the cool water revived my eyes. Before me stood an unusual woman with jet-black hair streaked with yellow highlights and a shimmering green-blue skin tone, encircled by delicate butterflies. “My name is Spice,” she announced warmly. “And from this moment, you belong to me.” As she introduced her sister Julia, a butterfly fluttered close and transformed into another woman—radiant with golden hair edged by dark highlights and a complexion tinged with pinkish blue. With wings that defied gravity, Spice suddenly ascended, and then came down, pinning me to the earth with a firm grip. I could only watch, terror mingling with my desire, as her intent gaze compelled me to cry, “Stop!” Even as I protested that my heart belonged to another, her resolve was immovable. A single tear from her eye touched my face, and an enchanting melody began to be audible in my mind.
When the vision cleared, the woman I believed I was searching for—Arwen—now held me captive. In a moment of fierce vulnerability, I declared, “I found you!” We shared a passionate kiss, but in that instant, Arwen abruptly pulled away. Confused, I cried out, “What is wrong, my love?” Her answer came softly, “I am not Arwen. I have seen into your heart—I was mistaken. Your true destiny belongs with her.” Turning in the direction she indicated, I caught sight of Arwen in the distance. Then Spice, with a sigh of resignation, whispered, “I release you. I never could've held you for long; your love is too strong, destined for Arwen, my Queen. Please forgive me.”
Reeling from the revelation, I quickly turned to the real Arwen—the one crowned by the gentleness of butterflies, with flowing dark hair and hints of pink. With an assuring smile, she beckoned me, “You have overcome the trials of true love. Come, be with me forever.” Taking her outstretched hand, our lives changed in an instant. Now, together we soar under the endless expanse of the sky, savoring the nectar of our love and the warmth of the sunshine.
Lost
When your colors touched my eyes,
I fell into a dream.
There, I arranged shadows into patterns,
so, you might understand my unspoken thoughts.
Words that can be felt, but hard to translate.
The sky was beside itself. Should the sun shine?
Or the rain fall?
So, it reached out to me with a reflection of light.
Looking into it, I saw myself, or was it the clouds?
It was then; we both found the answer.
You can't have one, without the other.
Lost.
Sinking, falling, drowning
into darkness
in the deep.
Lose the light
lose your sight
lose your breath.
Be lost
and you may enter.
Dissolving
into darkness.
Dissolving.
A dialogue between the living and the lost
**Myself**
I walk where your touch once lingered slow,
In dusk-lit fields where poppies grow.
Each bloom, a grief I dare not name—
Each sunset sigh, it ends the same.
**Her**
And still I rise in scarlet light,
A breath you feel but never quite.
I’m not the wind, I’m not the past—
I am the thread that always lasts.
**Myself**
You vanish when the stars descend,
I strain to hear the hush you send.
Are you the mist, the burning red,
Or just the silence in my head?
**Her**
I am the hush between your thoughts,
The pulse in petals time forgot.
Though form has faded, love has stayed—
It roots me here, in all we made.
**Myself**
Then speak again, if you still know
The way we danced so long ago.
Tell me the word that held us still—
The vow we made beyond our will.
**Her**
It wasn’t spoken—only shown,
In every glance we called our own.
No word survives, no spell, no plea—
Just poppies... and this memory.
Lost
Upon the crest of waves so wild,
The stormy sea, untamed and riled,
Calls out with a thunderous roar,
A symphony of nature's core.
The sky, a canvas dark and gray,
Unleashes rain in fierce display,
Each droplet cool upon my skin,
A dance of life, where dreams begin.
The wind, it howls, a mighty force,
Guiding me on a mystic course,
Its breath, a whisper in my ear,
A song of strength, both bold and clear.
The ocean's spray, a salty kiss,
Awakens senses, pure and bliss,
With every crash, my spirit soars,
Embracing all that life implores.
In this tempest, I find my peace,
A wild heart that will not cease,
For in the storm, I am set free,
Empowered by the stormy sea.
Lost