A healing place

This afternoon as I walked with my children in the sunshine, I stumbled upon my old haunts. We journeyed to my childhood home, and I pointed to where my mother once planted marigolds and to the tree I loved, which stood on the other side of the fence.

I took my children to the tiny treed playground, next to my house. My children played in the swings, where the sunlight fell, and tried to see, who could touch the sky the fastest. Strangely, enough, I had been dreaming about this place. Haunting dreams. To return to my childhood home with my children, gave me peace and happiness. I knew those strange dreams, would become replaced with new happy dreams. The place where I wandered as a child, had become a healing place.

After we left my dwelling place, I strolled past the high school I loved as well as the foot worn path I had journeyed along, to and from school. We kept walking until we crossed the field that belonged to the elementary school I had detested as a child. But at the far end of the field, the orchard where I had spent many childhood hours, was still there. It was the place where I would escape to at recess to find peace and solace. It was the place with the secret path to the other side where tree-lined streets stood, with tidy lawns and quiet houses. I often followed the path to the land away from the confines of a school where I felt i didn’t belong.

As I cut through the beautiful orchard with my children, to the other side, I smiled. There was peace now.

among the flowers

Again and again
We two walk out together
Under the ancient trees,
Again and again
Among the flowers
Face to face with the sky.
-Rilke

Taking flight

 

 

All winter long

You visited the garden

Where the stream runs through.

I watched you at first

Alone 

Taking shelter from the wind.

Then there were others

Who stayed with you

Where the stream froze

And the snow blanketed 

The place under the sleeping willow trees.

When Spring came

You climbed up the bank to greet me.

The sun covered you in its golden veil

And as days turrned into weeks

The trees around you leafed again

The wildflowers bloomed like paint drops on canvas.

Then suddenly

You disappeared. All of you

Leaving empty spaces under 

Trees that now give shade

To their lonely shadows. -Julie Hamilton

 

 

The play of light in Michael Brennan’s gorgeous paintings

Before starting my work day I enjoy reading some articles from my
favorite Art blogs. I love learning about Artists that were alive during the 19th century, whether their style is representational or impressionist.
I try not to take too much time looking at art when work needs to be done but could spend hours looking at paintings, contemplating why a painting is so intriguing. Most often I’m drawn to paintings that have figurative or portraiture in them. The human face in a painting is most fascinating as if the secrets of the universe are hidden in them. This way of looking at paintings carries over to the world around me where I find inspiration looking at people, animals, nature and the play of light between them. -Michael Brennan

Michael Brennan’s beautiful paintings move the spirit. All of his paintings capture the essence of his particular subject. Whether it is a person, an animal or a forest, the painting comes to life. In this particular light filled painting, the little girl’s quiet energy seems to channel through.

Kelly Goodfellow, a beautiful inspiration

Music in the soul can be heard by the universe. Lau Tzu

Music is an art form that touches the soul. Singer, songwriter Kelly Goodfellow, has enriched the life of my family with friendship and song. Her beautiful soulful voice and guitar accompaniment has been instrumental to our family gatherings over the last several months.Her peaceful presence and her music has occupied a once empty space in the fabric that holds us all together, as family. To have her friendship and her gift of music, is truly a blessing.

Listen to the music of Canadian singer/songwriter Kelly Goodfellow

The small moments

Miracles come in moments.
Wayne Dyer

l 

 

It is the small moments that count. I often feel  the happiest when I am walking my dog across her favourite park. The one with the wide open field, and the woods tucked away at its edge. Lately the sun has been spectacular. I love the way the rays soak everything around it and light up woodland paths and fields of grass. My dog, my dear little companion, sniffs the air, and rolls in grass with a look of absolute bliss and then gets up to take me to squirrels she loves to chase but can never catch. In the summer, I often want to lay down in this soft grass, with a book. with my companion curled up beside me. I also like to lie on my back and look at the endless canvas of blue sky, and remember when my son was 4 or even 5, and we would look up at the sky, on our backs in our summer garden.

Mystic trees

I have had a long relationship with trees since my childhood. The tree behind my childhood home, was one of my first friends because it was the first thing I saw when I woke up, and the last thing I saw when I went to bed. Walking to and from school was always magical, especially in spring, because the neighbouring trees seemed to give off a golden aura about them. It hovered all around them like a shimmery veil and it was at those moments that i felt as though I had become connected to their magnificent energy. I still admire their mystical essence. Every moment I am surrounded by them, I am reminded of their sacredness.

Choose to see the good.

About

About.

I am a lover of all things beautiful. The beauty that exists in nature, in music, art, dance, poetry and photography. I am a lover of literature and life-long learning, of good food and good company. This is a blog about admiring the most beautiful things in life because in doing so, it makes each moment even more special and worth living for.

Beauty is a thing of nature.
John Keats

All the content on this blog is the personal property of Julie Hamilton unless stated otherwise. It can only be reprinted with the author’s permission.

The soul cannot…

the soul of the garden

The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden.

Thomas Moore

I feel at peace, puttering in my garden. Dead heading petunias and pulling weeds from the earth. So far, everything is lush and green. The rain has been good for the day lilies and hostas, and the leafing dogwoods, and maple trees. Even the herb garden is coming back to life and when I stir the soil I can smell fresh mint leaves. When we first moved into our home, this garden was mostly bare except for straggly weeds and  a small collection of lilies of the valley, ferns and a dying strawberry patch. Over the years this garden has evolved and has become a bit of fairyland with its huge hostas and tall green ferns and large groupings of lilies. I even love the ivy carpeting the back garden where the maple tree stands and the sand cherry trees are beginning to flower. A pretty pergola, built by my husband;stands in the middle, with purple blooms growing along the wood pillars, and behind it stands our side garden, with its large locust and cedar trees. A dogwood we found on the side of a highway, sits with its red limbs outstretched, circling our stone birth bath. Often birds will hop from a thin branch right into the birdbath, feeling safe surrounded by its coverage. The garden is a healing place, especially when it wakes up in the spring and we can witness the miracle of all things born again. It somehow feels like an extension of our own soul.