PEONY LOVE

"The white peony is the most fragrant 

& least tolerant of the sun,"

said the smiling lady at the flower stall on the market.

The queen of the garden,

in my opinion.

And always a loving reminder

of my Finnish grandmother, Hellin,

(which means "gentlest" in English,

pretty adorable really).

Her bed of pink peonies

in front of the porch 

of her yellow wooden house

is forever engraved in my memory.

I always felt they were her tenth child.

(Yes, she had nine human ones,

and I now

a gazillion cousins

on my mother's side,
even the toughest guys in the family
with that special attachment to the peony
- to her.) 

x

WINDFLOWER

on my 2nd cup of coffee already.

another morning of the spring light

tickling the eyelids.

this time of year is glorious,

but has a tendency 

to make you a little restless at the same time

- do you find the same? 

the earth awash with wood anemone

- or windflower,

as it is also known. 

i think over here it is often seen

as a sweet & tender 

encapsulation of spring,

but i rather love that notion of

"windflower",

the sense of wild

it evokes. 

a tender wildness,

that's exactly how spring seems to feel. 

x

FLOWER BOMB

this light that wakes you up in the morning,

tickles the eyelids 

and whispers "come & play" in the ear,

then lingers on until late evening.

a lightness that awakens

every cell in the body.

a flower bomb

that has exploded outside.

"you can cut all the flowers

but you cannot keep

s p r i n g

from coming."

- pablo neruda

TUESDAY FRAGMENTS

Greetings from the block,

where the day has been about working hard,

coffee on the boil,

catching up with my mother-in-law,

whose face suddenly lit up our hallway,

the door swinging,

as the children flit between school, friends,

orchestra practice, the theatre,

music flooding the rooms. 

Terveisiä korttelista, 

jossa tänään paahdetaan hommia,

kahvi käy kuumana,

kestitään Englannin anoppia, 

joka tupsahti yhtäkkiä eteiseen,

ovi käy, kun lapset sinkoilevat

koulusta, kavereilta, 

orkesteriharjoituksiin, teatteriin,

musiikki tulvii.  

x

ANEW.

Saturday. Quiet & caressing,

like a soft shawl enveloping the shoulders.

A few bubbling weeks behind

filled with photography work for clients

& meetings with the best ladies,

clutching on our steaming coffees

while jotting down plans on paper

that tingle through the whole body.

The joy of falling, 
quite by chance,

serendipitously,

in the middle of a little group with a bit of a mission,

everyone with different skills,

but with the same pulsating heart.

But on this quiet & caressing Saturday,

wrapped in layers of soft greys,

I rest in between.

A new, blank page of Sanctuary

always beckons -

no need to think for others,

no need to get worked up

about writer’s block,

it doesn’t matter at all if the words don’t flow.

 (And it so often feels that they don’t -

I tend to arrive here with a head full of images,

a few photographs,

but no pre-thought words…

And yet there’s always a feeling

that that’s ok, too,

this is my little haven where pressure has no place.

Images, feeling & somehow connecting with you

are what count.

Besides, “writing about a writer's block is better than not writing at all,” 

says Mr Charles Bukowski. 

Even if it’s a brief beating-around-the-bush kind of writing, Rebecca adds. )

The joy of creating. For its very own sake.

Lauantai. Hyväilevä & hiljainen,

kuin hartioille levitetty pehmoinen shaali.

Takana pari kuplivaa viikkoa,

kuvaushommia asiakkaille

& kokoustamista parhaiden naisten kanssa

- kahvin höyrytessä, kynien sauhutessa,

suunnitelmia paperilla, jotka kihelmöivät koko kehossa.

Ilo siitä, kuinka puolivahinko

- onnenkantamoinen

toi meidät kaikki yhteen,

jokaisella eri vahvuutensa,

mutta sama polte rinnassa.

Mutta tänä hyväilevänä & hiljaisena lauantaina,

pehmeisiin harmaisiin kääriytyneenä,

levähdys.

Tällaisina päivinä Sanctuaryn tyhjä, valkoinen sivu

aina viekoittelee -

täällä ei tarvitse ajatella muiden toiveita,

kokea tyhjän paperin kammoa,

ei väliä tulvivatko sanat vai eivät.

(Eivätkä ne sanat tänne meinaa aina oikein löytyäkään

- saavun aina pää valtoimenaan kuvia,

mukana hyppysellinen valokuvia,

mutta ilman valmiita sanoja…

Silti tuntuu, että eipä se mitään haittaa,

sillä tässä pienessä keitaassa ei paineilla ole sijaa.

Kuvat, tunne ja jonkinlainen yhteys sinuun

ovat ne, mitkä merkkaavat.

Sitä paitsi “writing about a writer's block is better than not writing at all”, 

sanoo herra Charles Bukowski. 

Vaikka sitten kierrellen ja kaarrellen, lisää Rebecca.)

Luomisen ilo. Luomisen vuoksi.