Tag Archives: wild

Wild Moon

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Yesterday was a funny sort of day.

Everything felt a bit edgy and I found it difficult to focus, but couldn’t work out why.

Then, in the evening, I took the gorgeous girl to her dance class and there it was. The Super Blue Blood Moon, sailing above the trees like a golden lantern. It was beautiful. I took a couple of photos, but my phone really couldn’t do it justice.

I don’t know if any of you subscribe to the theory that the moon and its phases somehow influence our mood. Personally, I find that the full moon pulls at me, sending me a little bit wild. Maybe it’s just my imagination, maybe I’m part werewolf, or maybe it’s some long dormant part of us that responds to nature and its cycles, no matter how divorced from the land we’ve become.

I really don’t know. All I know is, yesterday was a funny sort of day.

Hope the moon was good to you. Oh, and Happy Imbolc!

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Wednesday Wander – Capilano Suspension Bridge, Vancouver, Canada

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This is the Capilano Suspension Bridge, Vancouver, Canada. Suspended over the Capilano River, it’s a well known tourist attraction, drawing over 800,000 visitors per year.The word ‘Capilano’ derives from a First Nations term, Kia’polano, which means beautiful river. Looking down into the gorge at the tumbling waters, it’s easy to see how the place got its name. The first bridge on the site was built in 1888 by George Grant MacKay, who purchased 6,000 acres in the area and built himself a log cabin on the side of the gorge. His bridge was made of hemp rope and cedar, and lasted until his death in 1903, when it was replaced by a wire cable version.

The bridge passed through the hands of several families until the 1930s, when owner ‘Mac’ MacEachren encouraged local First Nations tribes to place their totem poles on the land. Subsequent owners expanded on this idea, and the modern cable bridge was built in the 1950’s.

Now, I’m not that great with heights. I’m especially not great with heights when the thing I’m standing on bounces and moves around, like the bridge does. I don’t care how many elephants or Mounties or whatever the bridge is supposed to be able to hold up – it just doesn’t feel right to me. However, I made it from one side to the other without (too much) incident – I won’t talk about the bit when my now-husband tried to ‘bounce’ us in the centre of the bridge – and here’s the photo taken from the other side to prove it.

When I visited, several years ago, the totem poles were there, as well as the log cabin gift shop with a few touristy photo opportunities ;-D Apparently, there is now also a system of suspended tree-top walkways, and a focus on the First Nations heritage of the area – I’ll have to go back for another visit next time I’m in Vancouver!

However, the forest remains deep and dark – I remember being amazed at the height and girth of some of the trees as we walked the trails, the river rushing white below us, just glimpsed between the branches. It was hard to believe we were only a few minutes from a busy residential area – rather, it was as though we had strayed into a piece of the old time, before Vancouver was Vancouver, when the land was wilder.

Thanks for coming on another Wednesday Wander with me – see you next time!

If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

Wednesday Wander – Tintern Abbey, Wales

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tintern-abbey-3These lovely gothic ruins are all that remains of Tintern Abbey, a Cistercian monastery founded on May 9, 1131, by Walter De Clare, then lord of Chepstow.

Situated in a picturesque river valley on the border between England and Wales, the Abbey flourished for four centuries, spawning two daughter Abbeys in Gloucestershire and Ireland. Then, on September 3, 1536, the land, buildings and contents were surrendered to King Henry VIII, under his dissolution of the monasteries.

tintern-abbey-1After the dissolution the Abbey fell into disrepair, the lead from its roof removed and sold, workers from the nearby wire works living in the ruins. Then, in the late 18th century, a fashion for visiting the ‘wilds’ came into being, and Tintern Abbey, with its romantic atmosphere and pretty setting, became a popular tourist destination.

The Abbey ruins inspired artists and poets including Wordsworth, Tennyson, Gainsborough and Turner. In 1967, the poet Allen Ginsberg took acid there, which seems a fairly random thing to do – he ended up writing ‘Wales Visitation’ as a result of his experience.

tintern-abbey-2From adoration to inspiration, the Abbey has had quite a journey over the centuries. I visited many years ago and remember it being quite wild and atmospheric, the land rising around it. Apparently now there is a gift shop, as is often the way, but I imagine it has been done in such a fashion as to not disturb the Gothic beauty of the old stones. I might have to go back for another look…

Thanks for coming on another Wednesday Wander with me – see you next time!

If you enjoyed this post, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon.

#writephoto – Under The Moon

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red-moon-011Every week, Sue Vincent sets a #writephoto challenge, using one of her lovely evocative photographs as a prompt. To participate, you have until Wednesday each week to write your post, with a new prompt posted on Thursday. This week, Sue shared an image of the full moon – this is my response:

‘All night long make tropic love, the next day sit in hot sun and cool off.’

She smiled, leaning back in her sun lounger, sipping rum and coca-cola, just like the song crackling from the old radio. Putting her drink down she stretched, feeling a slight twinge across her hipbones, as though they were slightly bruised. She frowned, a flash of dream from the night before sliding through her mind.

A dream of slipping out of the house into a silvery night, the moon a pale lantern leading her up through the trees behind her house, to where the land was smooth and green, raised like a breast towards the sky. Ridges carved into the earth formed a pathway strewn with starlight, and she danced along it, the silk and cotton of her nightgown soft against her bare legs, her hair long down her back as she twirled, arms lifted to the skies.

When she reached the top she saw others there, faces she recognised from the village, their arms raised as though to catch the silver light, eyes wild with the dance. And others still that she didn’t know, with pointed fox faces and strange gleaming eyes, their lithe bodies twisting as they moved among the dancers. Under the midsummer moon they had danced, woven silver and shadows, coming together to lie on soft grass under whirling stars until she had felt herself lifted, golden, becoming part of something larger and wilder…

And then she had woken, alone in her bed, the moon a soft orb glimpsed through her open window, fading in the light of dawn. She had stared a while, before sleep claimed her once more, not waking until sun streamed bright through the glass, warming her from head to toe.

It was a strange dream, she mused, taking another sip of her drink. She ran a hand through her hair and something caught in her fingers. A blade of grass, green as summer leaves, smooth as silk, wild as a dance.

As a dream.