Still Capable

of Goodness and Beauty.

What a load off my chest! How refreshing it is to draw from the heart without restraints, with only passion and feelings. To really mean it. To draw for myself (and all my favourite things!).

And this is who I want to be. To have suffered, to have hurt, but still be capable of good and capable of creating beauty. To have it seep from all the wounds, where every scar is a promise of hope and a reminder that it's in you to make the best of everything. To overcome.

Autumn Thoughts

Sometimes I feel like the last leaf
Atop a barren tree
Having watched all others fall
I wonder when it'll be my turn.

Les tulipes

How pretty. Too bad they're nearing the end of their lives.

The sun. It is bright.

Selfie? Selfie.

This one warrants a stand-alone.

Mon jardin!

Roses in the backyard. This was the last one not ruined by rainwater.

Maple tree in the front yard. Never mind the grass. *shifty eyes*

Row of pear trees at the very back.

Pears! I think the trees are sick though. Look at their poor leaves!

The infamous apple tree. Couldn't find any apples though... I think it's because my mom went overboard with the pruning at too late a time in the year.

Apple in the foreground, pear in the back. Oh hey, you can see my room!

Persimmon!

Moar persimmons!

Mint.

Chives.

Before the Downpour

"What's that smell?"

There are a couple of pieces of decomposing wood in my backyard which served them lunch. Not breakfast because it was pretty late in the day. 11am. Well... I guess they still get the "worm."

Fascinating!

We stood at the window and admired their presence in our backyard. I did some research and found them to be pileated woodpeckers. Man, they really can peck! And so loudly too! I'm so curious as to how they would know there are bugs in the wood... By hearing? Scents? And look at how they can support themselves sideways. Amazing!

Underwater

The only reason why I'd ever want to learn how to swim.

I don't know what my fascination is with doodling drowning koalas. I feel like it really brightens up the whole doodle... don't ya think?

One of My Prosaic Works

Narrative Essay – English 12
May 4th, 2007

Whoosh~ The gentle morning breeze sailed through the treetops like an ephemeral schooner. A single ray of sunlight shone through the dense foliage like Odin’s spear piercing through a cloudy sky. The sight was awe-inspiring, yet I felt an uncomfortable gaze upon me. Try as I might, I could not find the reason nor the source. So I ignored it. Besides, something else soon diverted my attention. A solitary leaf, caught in the wake of the wind, waltzed toward me and brushed against the fur on my side with the tenderness of a lover’s caress. I shuddered. That sensual feeling spread to all four legs and tail, awakening all my senses. Suddenly, with inexplicable hunger, I rose on my hind legs and drank in the scene.

Feeling fully invigorated, drunk on the scent of the morning dew, I proceeded to search for something with a little more substance to sate my hunger. I scurried up the trunk to the branch above me, ran to its end with a few short hops, and leapt. The joy, the utter freedom of soaring through the air is indescribable. No amount of sugar coated acorns could convey this feeling of purest delight. The way air ruffled my fur, the rush of being at such a height, all helped to propel me forward to a brand new world. Time became meaningless as I flitted from branch to branch among the emerald trees under the azure sky.

I ended my flight upon a massive oak tree. The rough bark under my paws littered with scars. I stepped gingerly. I was again, in awe; this oak was not just old, but ancient. A steady stream of light pulsed through the veins of the oak – life giving and mystical. The oak stood with an air of ageless wisdom, demanding respect from all that stood before it, or in my case, on it.

      I had only taken a few tentative steps when I felt the slightest breeze, and suddenly, all the nerves in my body cried out: MOVE! I jumped to the side just as the massive talons of an owl on the hunt tore pieces of bark off from where I just stood. I could feel the oak quiver, less from pain than from indignation. With one powerful flap of its wings, the owl flew up to the next branch. With its back now facing me, the owl turned its head right round and with its two disproportionately placed eyes, looked right into my soul, calculating its second strike. Truth be told, I was thinking the same; it was only out of sheer dumb luck that I was able to avoid such an untimely death. Without thinking, I darted towards the end of the branch and once again took to the air. This time I did not feel the air rustle through my fur nor the feeling of release as I soared high amongst the quiet trees. This time, only the feeling of sharp talons digging through my flesh and bones registered. I did not feel pain, having been numbed, knocked senseless out of terror. As I waited on the final moments of my life, I could only hope that no one will ever find my secret acorn stash — crack.

Fall

All these colourful leaves
Scattered on the wet ground
So beautiful, so dead. 

Dandelion

Only time witnessed the change
To this flower in the middle of the field
Almost drowning in the vast green
Almost undiscovered by eyes.
As I walk amidst the tall swaying grass,
My hands are barely touching the blades
And the air smells softly of the summer sun
The same yellow this flower used to be.
I caress the aged dandelion delicately
But it falls apart so easily in my hand,
So fragile and so promising 
And though I wanted to hold onto it, 
I opened my palm and gave into possibilities.

Crickets

The sun is packing up after a busy day,
Collecting its light and its warmth.
The sky is left with its departing steps
And we can trace it to the horizon line.
That's where we wave goodbye to it
And whisper hello to the moon. 
There is a stillness in darkness always,
But if we listened carefully
There is an orchestra of crickets
Singing the day's song to us.

Wild Honeysuckle

The air smells of the trees' breath,
And I catch the last wink of the sun
Before it closes its eyes

There is rustling in the leaves
As birds call out to the wind
Declarations of life

A scent drifts on by
Familiarly sweet and soft
But I know not from where it comes

Just as it fades
The wind wafts it my way
Lifting my head in its direction

Those wild honeysuckles
Smile down at me delightfully
Like an old friend

The day's relay over,
As the sun passes the torch
To the approaching moon

The smell lingers in my mind
As I write down these words, 
The fireflies are dotting my i's.

In the Middle of the Storm

The baritone roar of the thunder
Shakes awake the drowsy windows,
So they can witness the whip of lightning
Cut across the dark flesh of the sky.
The shattering of rain on surfaces
Like the chatter of the eager audience,
Plays in the background of the scene.
The light dims a little, catching attention,
As the wind cuffs itself to branches
Making them sway back and forth helplessly
Stirring up chaos in the trees,
And I stand there, in the middle of it all,
Watching the world being directed by the storm. 

Today's Rain

The sky is still so ever gray,
A two dimensional gray,
The clouds are scraped flat
An intangible ceiling
That rains down cold
That I feel in my bones, still.

Today's Snow

The tall tower bellows smoke,
A shade of gray slightly darker
Than the dead-looking sky
That has soaked up the life
Of bright days past
And is now raining down
Cold, deceased bodies
Half decomposed,
And I caught the memory
Of some man unknown
And it melts in my warmth
But I forgot about it
Like all those other memories
That have simply fallen to the ground
Trampled and stepped on
Until they turn black,
Until the rain comes and washes
Them down the drain,
And I only remember
The cold that shook me to the bones
And I forgot that I'm still alive
And I don't want to melt away.

Snow

I taste of the snowflake
That died on my lips
So cold and lifeless, as if fatigued
After traveling so far a distance
Like the scattering of the phoenix's ashes.
This is no well wrought urn
For kamikaze snowflakes,
Simply an anecdote,
Of my body's warm graveyard
For these pieces of fallen sky.

Ekphrasis

The sky had been clawed open
Like a ripped canvas, beneath it, the blue
The birds scattered from the trees
Like confetti being blown by the wind
The dark branches in the fading sun
Like ink seeping into the night
There is no end and no beginning
Like a scroll that runs for ten thousand miles
That I write on.

A Storm's Symphony

Crescendo
Forte, rage
Incessant pounding, strumming
All in unison
The rain marches on
Falling on tympani
The sound vibrations in the air
Like hands and fingertips
Enveloping and touching me
The way air does,
The way air courses through my body
I can feel my soul grow
Like soft, dangerous gray clouds
Like shadows on a sharp note
Like the lines running on and on
My heart beats to the crash of the cymbal
I'm washed by the wave of notes
My body in its command
Aye, I am music's puppet

Change in Season

My eyelids descend like night
When I opened them,
I came to realize that
The once barren trees
On which I hoped for green
Are now once again bare,
For the birds are leaving the trees
The skeleton frame against the gray
Sways to the crunch made by feet
As each foot steps on the once green
Skeletal leaves dried up by the fading sun
The wind, like an automatic broom,
Sweeps up those remains untidily
And the streets are littered
With colours of orange, red, and, yellow.

Cloudy Days

I am chasing clouds like I'm chasing dreams
Refusing to acknowledge that they will disappear
Like a very good magic trick
Leaving me in a confused state.
The clouds, they pity me
And so before they leave,
They cry for me.
I let my dreams wash over me
And they are mine
Until the sun comes out.

Ode to Thunder

It's raining
And it's grey
But the thunder
Acts like sun's rays

And everything
Would seem right,
If not for rain bullets,
Because it's so bright

I can't say enough
Of its magnificence
Or how it tickles
All of my senses.