Stark, stunning, striking and remote, an achingly beautiful scene of serenity within the eerie nature of landscapes; profound in our words, as a living being waiting to be born.
Unique fields of grasses of greens and browns, dotted with rare sprays of wildflowers, showing off in front of a background of white ice-capped mountains and glaciers; only to be here.
Night falls into a bleak yet profound and majestic melancholy. How many ways can you describe such haunting music to be heard from this rapture in nature?
Most of these descriptive words were used by the people (friends of Angelique) who viewed her pictures. I was simply possessed when I read them all, I had to put them into sentence form. Angelique's view of nature, as you can see in her photographs oflandscapes, flowers and people, are all beautiful in her eyes, and we are privileged to be a witness to this grace. Thank you, again, Angelique, for allowing me to show-off your world in pictures.
Dawn sheds light through early morning shadows, reflecting the raining drops of tears, each tear comes down from the eyes of God, mending the torn, the scarred, lovingly holding to the beauty of all earthly things.
He sheds these tears for you, the flower who springs from the ground, amongst all, so precious and sacred, tenderly loving each, entrusting that delicate beauty to everyone; to nurture and love each other; to caress with gentle intimacy, cradled and sung to, admired and respected.
Yes, this flower is all things to all people to hold up with dignity. As you and I walk the earth, we are to recognize each flower as one of a kind. We, the caretakers, hold out our hands to one another to feel the wetness of tears, the sorrows, the joys, inhaling the sweetness in respect of individuality - Only then, will flowers continue to bloom, and no two flowers will ever be the same.
The little girl opened the door and stepped outside; she had kept herself locked up for days, weeks, months, until her skin became pasty white, transparent as milk glass, which isn’t transparent at all.
Now out in the air she walked, heading in the direction from which she was born, the sea. The little girl had missed the sea; toward the water that rushed upon the shore and covered her foot prints, she ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, straight into the ocean of blues and greens, of sandy surf. Jumping over waves, skidding along the high crest and its low churning tide, she felt at home, no longer locked in her cave.
Cool, cold, warm, the water traced along her hair, down her back, stomach, and sides,
refreshed, sun quenched and alive.
Hear the waves, she shouted to the sky, hear the birds as they float on by
beat your chest, like wings, take a giant leap and come back to me, the sea shouted, you are mine to keep
Take a step forward, backward, taunting and chiding, no room for error
Footsteps lost beneath the rapids of foam splashed air
Screams are heard over land, the gulls sang, echoing their glee
The little girl turned aside, stepping with joy out and into the sea
She swam with the fish, the dolphins and the turtles, listening to the wild bird’s call
She danced with the moon, and smiled down upon them all