Above Water

Student Blogging Challenge: Week 3 – Activity 4; Write the beginning of a story relating an image.


I Capture The Majestic Power Of Ocean Waves

Captured by Warren Keelan: http://www.boredpanda.com/author/warren-keelan/


 

Above Water

Stay, they’ll bring the boat back ’round…

I’d hurt my back when I got flung off. It was all I could do to try and keep my head above water.

Find the boat…

If I could do that I would be fine. You’d think, being a reasonably sized vessel, it would be easy to spot. Apparently not.

Stay above water!

This is getting harder. Paul had left the life jackets on shore to ‘make room for the catch’, though we didn’t need it. I could use a life jacket right now! I’m a good swimmer, but it seems like every time I take a breath, I’m shoved back under.

Where’s the boat!?

Okay mate, hurry up… I’m panicking now. Maybe it’s just my imagination, or my energy exhausting , but the waves seem to be crashing harder now, and more frequently too. Where are they?

Probably made a run for it…

NO! Don’t think like that…They, they saw me! Josh was on the deck with me. A wave crashed over the starboard side, pushed the boat down… I slid down the deck, flipped over the side. They saw that.

They knew today was going to be rough…

Yeah, so did I. I was stupid for agreeing to go with them, here of all places. Where are they! There’s not enough time to look for the boat anymore. The weather is worsening. Making it to the surface to get a breath is hard enough.

You knew they were being dodgy…

STOP! They’re coming, they’re just navigating the waves! It was just a fishing trip, not a murder mission. Soon they’ll come past and I’ll be able to hurl myself over the side. Then we can get out of here.

They aren’t coming back…


 

Dun, dun, dun!!

I think it would be really cool if people continued the story in the comments. I’d love to see how it unfolds. Take it to wherever you want. Have fun!

Yours faithfully,

Grace

 

Sylvia Plath

Recently, I did a report on Sylvia Plath for an English assignment. I didn’t have time at the end of last term to do a blog post since I had to go to Perth for some tests, and also had Zest Fest and Country Week coming up.

I meant to post this last term but didn’t get around to formatting it, so here it is!

Warning: it’s long


Sylvia Plath

sylvia
SYLVIA PLATH
12/9/2016 By Grace Crogan

Introduction

Sylvia Plath was one of the most admired and debated upon poets of the 20th century. During her time, she was often harshly criticised, with her reputation not taking off until after her death. Though a troubled poet, she has become one that many modern writers admire. Sylvia’s poems strongly reflect her upbringing and visions she had of herself, as well as the many conflicts she faced throughout her life. Her pieces capture blunt, intense emotions, as she often drew heavily on her journals and past experiences for inspiration. Though she has passed, she remains an inspiration to many.

 

Biography

 

Sylvia Plath was born on October 27th, 1932, in Boston, Massachusetts, U.S. Her mother, Aurelia Schober, later gave birth to her brother, Warren, in April 2 years later.

Aurelia Schober (1906 – 1994) was at Boston University studying a master’s degree when she met Otto Plath (1885 – 1940). Otto was one of Aurelia’s professors during her time at the university, he taught German, Biology, and had a focus in apiology (the study of bees). Otto and Aurelia were married in January 1932.

Otto had been a very strict father; his attitude and controlling nature lead to define the rest of Sylvia’s life, including her relationships and attitude. Unfortunately, Sylvia’s time with her father was only short. Otto died on the 5th of November, 1940, due to complications with diabetes, only a few days after Sylvia turned 8. The effects of Otto’s death are often captured throughout Sylvia’s poems, especially in her poem Daddy.

In 1942, Sylvia moved to Wellesley with the rest of her family. Wellesley remained her home until she started college 8 years later. At school, Sylvia decided to repeat grade 5, so that she could be in a class with children the same age as she was. From a very young age, Sylvia had been very ambitious and had the drive to succeed perfection. Sylvia went on to get top marks in all her courses, becoming the star student throughout her years. Throughout high school, Sylvia continued to receive straight A’s and excelled at many of her subjects, particularly English.

From a very young age, around 9, Sylvia started keeping journals. She had a sharp eye, and her journals often documented things that many other people would miss. Sylvia’s journals soon became her most confidential and trusted ‘friend’, especially in her years at college and throughout her depression. Sylvia later relied heavily on her journals and past experiences for inspiration throughout her writing.

Sylvia’s first poem was featured in the Boston Herald, a daily newspaper, when she was only eight years of age. She made a few small publications in local and regional newspapers and magazines throughout her youth, though made no major publications until much later. Her first national publication was in the Christian Science Monitor in 1950, just after graduating high school.

In in the same year, Sylvia won a scholarship to attend Smith College; an all-girls school located in Northampton, Massachusetts. During her first few years attending Smith College, Sylvia wrote over 400 poems. Her pieces at the time were supposedly ‘pretty’ and rather structured, lacking originality and emotion. Sylvia used a thesaurus to try and enhance her poems and paid very close attention to the structural layout of her pieces. Over the next few years, Sylvia entered multiple poems into competitions and publication agencies, though her works were constantly rejected. Sylvia did end up publishing quite a few pieces throughout that time, but her success was nothing compared to the pile of rejection slips she was receiving.

Throughout 1953, Sylvia wrote articles and short pieces for a small collection of local newspapers, including the Springfield Union and Daily Hampshire Gazette. During this time, Sylvia also won first prize in the Mademoiselle contest with her short story ‘Sunday at the Minton’s’. In June that same year, she also won a Mademoiselle Guest Editorship in New York City with the same story.

The month Sylvia spent away in New York was very important to her, and she became very busy. When she returned to the U.S. Sylvia was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. Her journal entries at the time were very vague and didn’t capture much of the events to follow. Sylvia suffered a breakdown around the time of her return. Upon receiving information that she had not been accepted into Harvard for summer writing classes, she felt that her fate had also been decided.

Sylvia soon fell into a state of depression; her journals ended abruptly and she failed to publish many pieces. During this time, she supposedly struggled to even eat, drink, and sleep. On the 24th of August, 1953, Sylvia performed her first suicide attempt. On that evening, she left a note stating that she had gone for a walk and would be returning the next day. She then broke into her mother’s cabinet, stealing her sleeping pills, and crawled into the cellar. Sylvia was found three days later, unconscious and barely breathing, with only eight sleeping pills left in the bottle.

Sylvia was rushed to McLean’s Hospital in Belmont, where she received extensive treatment for her suicide attempt, as well as her depression. Sylvia’s recovery was slow, though she was re-emitted into Smith College in the spring of 1954. Over the next few years, Sylvia picked up where she left off, and then continued in her excellence. She graduated Smith College in 1955 with the highest distinction, and also received a Fulbright scholarship to Newman college, Cambridge University, in England.

During her time, Sylvia had many lovers. Whilst studying at Newman College, Sylvia managed to maintain a relationship with Richard Sassoon, who was in Paris at the time, before he sent her a letter asking for a ‘break’. Meanwhile, during the harsh English winter, Sylvia had begun falling ill, and again slowly developing a depression. In late February 1956, Sylvia met with a psychiatrist to help with her emotional state.

On the same afternoon, Sylvia came across pieces written by Ted (Edward) Hughes, and was instantly intrigued. Sylvia was told of a party being held that evening in celebration of his successful publications being held nearby. After meeting, Ted and Sylvia developed a complicated yet outstanding romance and were soon married on June 16th, 1956.
In 1957, the couple returned to the U.S. Over the next couple of years, Ted and Sylvia continued to develop their relationship. Ted became rather popular amongst publishers and was offered multiple teaching jobs, whilst Sylvia finished her schooling. Sylvia picked up a teaching job after graduating, though struggled to balance herself. Her depression continued to slowly creep up on her as time passed. Soon enough, both Sylvia and Ted decided to turn their careers towards writing, leaving teaching behind.

1957 had been a supposedly stressful year for Ted and Sylvia, as proved 1958. Sylvia and Ted’s relationship had started becoming strained due to their lifestyles. On the last day of school (American systems, whilst Sylvia was still teaching), Ted was supposed to meet with Sylvia at the end of the day. Ted was nowhere to be found for hours until Sylvia finally returned to the school to continue her search. There, she found Ted walking through a breezeway with a student, who ran when she spotted Sylvia approaching.

Sylvia had previously developed suspicions of Ted’s affair, and this encounter proved to cause her to become more certain. This is said to have led to heated arguments between Plath and Hughes, as well as some possible violence.

In 1960, Ted and Sylvia moved back to England after Sylvia fell pregnant. On April 1st, Sylvia had her first child, Frieda. In the same year, Sylvia’s first poem collection, The Colossus, was published in England, and then in the U.S. 2 years later.

Later in 1960, Sylvia fell pregnant again, though suffered a miscarriage early the next year. Again she fell pregnant in 1961, and gave birth to her second child, Nicholas, on January 17th, 1962. Even so, Sylvia and Ted were feeling a lot of strain on their relationship; Sylvia had suspicions that Ted was having another affair. When on their holiday in Ireland, in September, Ted left unexpectedly. Sylvia returned home with her children not much later, after her suspicions of Ted’s affair had been confirmed. After his two previous affairs, Ted had finally left Sylvia for Assia Gutmann Wevill.

After Ted left, Sylvia’s creeping depression overcame her. During the following winter, Sylvia wrote most of the poems that are included in her last poem collection, Ariel. In the years of 1961 and 1962, Sylvia had written over 50 poems. Whilst struggling with her depression, Sylvia wrote her semi-autobiographical novel. It was then published in 1963.

The winter of 1962/63 was supposedly the worst English winter on record, causing many people to fall ill. Alongside illnesses, Sylvia’s depression finally took over. On February 11, 1963, Sylvia wrote a note to her downstairs neighbour, asking him to call a doctor when he received it. Sylvia then successfully committed suicide by inhaling gas from her stove oven. *

Sylvia Plath was buried less than a week after her death. Her poem collection, Ariel, was published in 1965. Sylvia and her poetry pieces have impacted and inspired the lives of many aspiring poets. To this day, many people still visit her grave site in Yorkshire, and adore her dramatic poems.

*this could have either been Sylvia’s second or third suicide attempt, though there is not any hard evidence of Sylvia’s supposed attempt to drown herself

Poetry Analysis

The poem I have chosen to analyse is one of Sylvia’s most famous poems, Lady Lazarus.
LADY LAZARUS
Sylvia Plath (23-29th Oct, 1962)

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it–

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?–

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Then unwrap me hand and foot–
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart–
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash–
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there–

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Analysis

The title, Lady Lazarus, is an illusion to the subject matter of the poem itself. The original definition of the word Lazarus is: a friend of Jesus, and brother of Mary and Martha, who died but was brought back to life again after 4 days (by Jesus). In calling the poem, or herself (if the poem is about her) Lady Lazarus, she is implying that the poem is about a woman who has died and come back to life.

The subject matter of this poem is evidently about a woman’s suicide attempts, her depression and impulses, and possibly her death. Throughout the start of her poem, the poem speaks of a woman being “a sort of walking miracle” with “nine lives to live”. The poem suggests that the woman in discussion has died, or tried to die, once in every decade she has lived.

The poem suggests that the woman has lived for nearly three decades, and that she has attempted suicide twice already. The poem is said to be written around the time of Sylvia’s 30th birthday, which could link the poem to Sylvia’s personal feelings and experiences, alongside with other mentions throughout the poem.
The second mentioned suicide attempt in the poem is quoted:
“The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.”
The description here could be linked back to Sylvia’s attempt to commit suicide by overdosing on sleeping pill, whilst she hid in the basement of her home. This leads the reader to make a connection between the poem and Sylvia’s experiences.
As the poem develops, the focus shifts back and forth between suicide and that of “a peanut-crunching crowd”, as well as the mention of funerals and cremation. There is, of course, no way that we can link this experience to a living person, though the mention of death and a type of funeral is a very prominent subject throughout the poem.

The tone and mood of the poem are, in a sense, complicated, yet strongly related. The tone of the poem Lady Lazarus seems to be dark, lonely, intimidating, and possibly depressed. The poem itself is a very strong, yet sad piece, and makes the reader sympathetic and feel somewhat sad.

There are many poetic techniques used in this poem. The poem itself could be seen as an extended metaphor. There is also the use of strong imagery, personification, and incorporation of real-life scenarios to make the poem seem somewhat believable. The poem doesn’t have a dominant rhythm or rhyming structure, though each stanza has 3 lines.
The theme of Lady Lazarus is definitely something along the lines of depression and suicide. The purpose of this poem could be many things: to express grief, sadness, or depression; to open up about troubles and secrets; or to let out some of the emotions she is harbouring. On the other hand, this poem could have been written purely because of sudden inspiration.

In summary, the poem Lady Lazarus is a poem most likely based on Sylvia Plath’s own experiences with depression and suicide. The poem is provoking to the point that it can possibly make the reader feel sympathetic and upset for the character/narrator/author of the poem. Somewhat freeform, the poem has no definite structure other than the stanza format. The poem does an outstanding job at capturing some of the honesty of depression and displays the purpose extremely well. Altogether, Lady Lazarus is an extremely powerful poem on a very strong, complicated subject. The harshness and emotion of the poem are definitely what captivates people, making it so famous.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

http://www.poemhunter.com/sylvia-plath/biography/
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/sylvia-plath
http://www.sylviaplath.info/biography.html
http://www.biography.com/people/sylvia-plath-9442550#synopsis
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/sylvia-plath
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath *background and pictures
http://www.gradesaver.com/sylvia-plath-poems/study-guide/summary-lady-lazarus
http://www.thefamouspeople.com/profiles/sylvia-plath-125.php

Waves

I think the drive is what I love the most, Not the breaking, Or the crashing, Or the receding, But the drive.   When the waves are approaching, Pushing against the rocks, Or the reef, Or the sand. Jumping and surfing, Rolling and curving, Becoming larger and larger. As the waves become taller, As they approach the shore, That is what I love the most.   When the light is reflected of the top of the wave, And sea spray comes off the white wash, And the crest, And the back, That is what I love the most.   When you can hear them, Just before the 'boom', there is a roar, A growl that tells you to get out of the way, Watch your feet, Lift you dress, Mind the wave. When a wave is so powerful, And the drive is so strong, And the crash is so loud. That is what I love the most.   A phenomenon, With a noise that makes you hairs stand on end, A wonder that is so beautiful, Yet asserts so much power. That is what I love the most. [video width="960" height="960" mp4="https://9grace.edublogs.org/files/2016/07/IMG_4431-1cg3cq2.mp4" loop="true" autoplay="true" preload="auto"][/video]

Kalbarri Back Beach (with my dog, Fibi)


So, a bit of a shorter post this time. I just really wanted to post something before I got too busy with work and Zest Festival stuff.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the little poem and the GIF that I made.

That's all from me for now.

Yours faithfully,

Grace.

Fear

Fear is a weird concept…

The dictionary definition states that fear a is feeling or condition of being afraid; a painful feeling of impending danger or troubles. In some ways, I guess that’s correct, but not completely. Well, not if you ask me.

One can fear many different things: a small insect or a large animal, heights or tiny rooms. You could fear speaking in front of a class, or going on that one ride at carnival. You could fear a sight or a sound, or a feeling…You could fear a person, or, one particular person at that.  You could fear anything…You could fear nothing.

On top of that, fear can be experienced in so many different ways.

It can be subtle, creeping in ever so slowly. The way you get butterflies in your stomach. That feeling of when you are climbing the stairs to the roller-coaster, or preparing to speak in front of the crowd. The way your hands can’t stay still, and you keep stumbling over sentences

Or, you could experience fear in a very extreme way. A way in which your heart beats a million times a minute, and your body fills with adrenalin in preparation for a “fight or flight” reaction. Fear really is a very weird concept.

Wow! All of a sudden, I have just been hit with a wave of inspiration!! Okay, so here is a very quickly constructed poem – ish thing…


You know that feeling…

When you bump into someone unexpectedly but it’s not the shock of the collision that has you frozen, its them.

And it doesn’t matter who it is, it could be your best friend, or your worst enemy.

But something about their sudden appearance has stumped you.

And you get that…feeling.

That feeling of fear mixed with…something else…excitement, embarrassment, confusion?

Though maybe it’s not them that has you rooted to the spot, but that, that… feeling.

The feeling that makes your cheeks warm, flushed with pink, or is it crimson? …even just for a second.

You know, the one that makes your breath come in sharp, jagged gasps or small, silent breaths.

The one that makes you suddenly jittery, the way your hands can’t stay still and your fingers start to tingle.

Something, someone, tells you to talk, to say something.

Meanwhile, the person who stumped you in the first place is looking at you in utter confusion.

You try to form a sentence but you can’t

Because your mouth is trying to dance to the shapes of the letters and words but keeps forgetting the moves.

You force a small laugh, I mean, pull yourself together!

Somehow, the sound of them laughing along with you makes your cheeks grow even warmer.

And chills start to make their way down your spine.

And all this happens within a split second!

Some might call this fear, or embarrassment, but I’d call it awe.


 

Okay, so I know this “poem” (if that’s what you’ll call it) is a little bit cheesy, but I did do it very quickly.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on ‘fear’. Hope you enjoyed my little mind tangent! J

Yours faithfully

Grace

Challenge

This is your Sunday evening reminder that you can handle whatever the week ahead throws at you.

And this is your Monday morning wake up call. Time to work hard, but don’t forget to be amazing. Look at the week as a challenge, then overcome it.

Tuesday is a bit of a drag; we all know that. This is a reminder to push yourself to do something great today, because no one can push you harder than you push yourself.

This is your Wednesday reminder that hey, that was easier than you thought! Which leads you to the question of “is the glass half full now? Or half empty?” Whichever way you look at it, fill the glass hun!

Thursday afternoon… Almost there, not long now. As easy as it might be for you to forget, always remember; you’re a diamond, nothing can break you.

And now its Friday night – the night where you are officially allowed to be as crazy-weird and exciting as you heart desires! Or, the night you can stay in and watch movies until you fall asleep. Either way, tonight is your night!

Finally, it’s Saturday, remember that you will never, ever, have this day again, so make it count!

Now it’s Sunday evening again -always know that challenges are what make life interesting –  We don’t grow any stronger when things are easy. We don’t learn when we continue to do what we already know. We will never become any braver if we don’t challenge our fears. So keep challenging yourself every single day.


 

A challenge doesn’t have to be anything extreme. It can be as big or as small as you want.

A challenge one day could be pushing yourself to run that extra 1/2 a kilometre instead of walking. Or it could be teaching yourself how to make a new meal.

On that other hand, a challenge for one day could be finishing all your maths work before going on social media. Or it could be forcing your brain to write those 300+ words because writer’s block is at it again, but they aren’t going to write themselves!

Anyway, I hope you liked my 8 days of challenge motivation. I might not get to write a post next week because I will be away, but I will definitely try!

Yours faithfully,

Grace

Writer’s Block

Have you ever come up with a really brilliant idea! Like an amazing story topic or character.

Have you ever sat down to write it out and thought…”what was I doing again?”

Have you ever sat down to write something, started, and then completely forgotten where you were heading with your idea?

Have you ever gone to write something and just though, “…Ummm……?”

Well, I have. I have experienced all of those things and all of them more than once. In fact, so many people have experienced at least one of the above, that the experience itself has even been given a name – Writer’s Block.

I have writer’s block right now, well sort of… Not really, but I did. In the last 20 – 30 minutes, I have started three blog posts. One I deleted because I had no idea what I was even talking about anymore. The second was about future aspirations or something, I don’t really remember you see because for the last fifteen minutes, I have been sitting in front of another blank word document, trying to think of something else to write about.

I literally typed up blog post ideas in the Google search bar because I couldn’t think of anything. Actually, I did find one site – 101 Blog Post Ideas –  it has some pretty good ideas – just none I felt like writing about.

Anyway, I’m sure that, if you have ever experienced writers block, you will know how utterly, totally, completely infuriating it can be! It kind of makes you want to either forget about the task all together, or pull your hair out with exasperation.

I know it can be especially annoying when you are short on time; or you are only a few words under the required word count; or you haven’t had time to work on your homework until now because of all the crazy stuff going on in your life and hey, what do you know, homework is due tomorrow! Oops, totally not me…

Actually, I know a few things about writer’s block. I know it can sneak up and strike at the most unpredictable times. I also know that it’s favourite time to strike is when one is under a lot of pressure. This includes situations like writing essays, taking tests, writing letters, etc. Again, definitely not me!

One thing I don’t know is how to get rid of writer’s block. If anyone has the answer I would love to hear it, as I feel I/we/everyone could greatly benefit from the information!

Hopefully writer’s block will give me a bit of a break, and I will be able to write a more interesting post next week!

Yours faithfully,

Grace

 

 

 

Crazy Mind Tangents

You know those nights where you toss and turn and you just…can’t…get…to sleep! Then you start to go over all the things that have happened to you recently. Like how you totally could have won that card game if you weren’t so soft on the other players, or how you have that test first thing tomorrow morning, or “oh no! I forgot to do that art essay that I was supposed to do 2 days ago!!”

Yeah, I do that, and the next thing you know it’s…Oh My Gosh its 11:59 already!

So then, you try to tell yourself to go to sleep.

460bf99ea2b32538b7ba6d140ade72e0
CartoonChurch.com

But that doesn’t work, because you just end up spiralling into another tangent about something completely crazy!

I also do that. The other night my mind went off onto one of its mind tangents, I came up with the most insane notions.

Like, what if the whole world was the same temperature all the time. I mean, 25 degrees everywhere, all day, every day, forever!

For one, every continent would have the same climate. So, that would also mean that every continent has same flora and fauna, because the climate wouldn’t be right for anything else to survive! I mean, I think, if the plants and animals didn’t go through some rapid adaption, then we would literally lose at least 50% of them all because they wouldn’t have the right conditions to survive! There would be no polar ice-caps, no snow, no ice, no deserts, no tropical rainforests, everything would just be the same! Same animals, same plants! North America, same, Australia, same, Europe, exactly the same!

And then, what if you wanted to travel somewhere? The only reason you would really travel would be for work or lifestyle, or to see some famous building or visit a relative. Never for an adventure or an amazing nature journey! Never to see that wondrous animal in its natural habitat because you can see it in your own country. Can you imagine? “Oh hey I wonder what they have in that country, oh that’s right! Exactly the same as we have!”

Also, what would happen to the wind and sea breezes. They affect the temperature, right! But, winds are only caused by the change in air temperature, and the constant movement of warm and cold air. So, if there was no temperature change, then there wouldn’t be any wind, so there would be no temperature change!!

I went on like this for… I don’t know how long, but it was very late by the time I actually fell asleep.

So, that was my crazy mind tangent! This was actually really hard to write because I wasn’t sure which things to include, because you know when you’re thinking about something and your mindisjustgoingsofast that you trip over your own thoughts and you’re not really sure where to begin! I do that too.

Hopefully I am not the only one that does this…let me know in the comments!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed!

Yours faithfully,

Grace

 

 

 

Beautiful Moments

Isn’t it amazing the way an idea can come to us! Sometimes, it will hit you like a tonne of bricks, and make you gasp from the sudden spurt of inspiration. Other times, an idea will start small, and develop with time. Like a seed growing into a majestic, magnificent tree!

That’s the way my idea came to me. Like a seed, and it grew. The task at hand was to do a creative writing piece. The prompt; a short video of soft waves, lapping the shore at sunset.

It made me think of a picture I took the other day, whilst going for a stroll along the beach. Short and sweet, here is the story I came up with.

Beautiful Moments

I sit on the sand, with my feet extended, letting the waves roll up the beach and lap at my toes. This is my favourite thing to do. Just to sit, with my hands buried in the sand. With my eyes closed, listening to the waves. It calms me.

The ocean is an amazing place. Powerful and dangerous, yet so beautiful and serene. There is so much life there. Yet, all that life, it can all be taken away so easily. Just as if someone has flicked a switch. The once gentle, rolling ocean can change, and develop a savage, angry, destructive nature.

The tide is coming in, I can feel the waves reaching higher and higher up my calves. I shuffle back again, now the waves are only just reaching my ankles. God knows how long I have been sitting here. 20 minutes? 40 minutes? An hour? The sun is lower now. In half an hour it will be completely gone. I stretch my legs and stand up, I have to start heading back.

I walk slowly along the water’s edge, watching the waves lap the shore. I ponder as I walk.

There is so much we don’t know about the sea. So many great depths we haven’t explored. So much life, beautiful life we have yet to discover. But, do we really need to. We have already destroyed the land. Influenced with all our houses and suburbia. What would happen to the ocean then, if we went and explored, revealing all its secrets? Would we learn from our mistakes? Or would we do the same as we did with the land, destroying all of its natural beauty. Altering its landscapes to our own, selfish needs.

I exit my trance, and look up. I’ve walked too far. The sun, balances on the water, glowing golden against the deep saphire of the ocean. I become caught in the moment, fixated at the wonderous view. I should keep walking, I’ll be late otherwise. But I don’t. I stop and savour the moment. I see this every day, yet the view never fails to amaze me.

When the sun is almost gone, and the light is fading, I make my way back. Sad to leave, but content nonetheless. Beautiful. That’s the only word I can use to describe those few moments. Absolutely, naturally, and utterly beautiful.

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Kalbarri Sunset – A truly beautiful moment.

I find the beach is a beautiful place to go to and just…be. To wander, swim, or sit and watch the sunset. To ponder ideas and contemplate life, or to let go of all your thoughts, emotions, troubles, and to just Zen.  There is something truly breathtaking about the beach that never fails to leave me awestruck. Whether it be the way the waves catch the light of the setting sun or how the current makes patterns in the water. Whatever it be, there is hardly a time when I leave the beach without feeling very, very content.

So, there you have it. My very first blog post! I hope you all enjoyed.

Yours faithfully,

Grace