Tuesday, 26 November 2013

is Sunny lost?

 
 
 
 
 
 
There was a boy called Sunny. He was a shy boy. He wasn't like the others in his village, he had a beautiful and gentle heart. One passion he had was of sailing, far out into the mighty ocean. Upon his little sailing boat he would visit distant lands.
 
In the cold and lonely deep, he would look up to the Moon shining on the water and he felt less alone. The Moon grew fond of the little sailor Sunny, and often came out from behind the clouds to look down upon him.
 
Sunny made the Moon smile, they became the best of friends.
Often a time he would write to her and send her secret messages. None of the others in the village understood Sunny and the Moon but that was ok. The Moon would smile and shine her brightest light upon his up-turned cheek.
 
But there came a night when the waves grew angry and they tossed and turned mightily in all the waters and Sunny's little sailing boat was whisked away, far away.
The Moon looked out all over the waves and at every bay along the coast but Sunny and his boat were not to be found. The Moon tried to send out her secret messages to reach him, to ask the sea creatures, but no one could tell her where he was.

She hopes that Sunny has found his own Arcady, and that he isn't lost or hurting.
 
But the Moon hasn't lost hope, she still waits in the clouds to this day, waiting for her friend to return again on the waters.
 
To look down once more upon Sunny and his little sailing boat and smile.
 
 
 
 

Thursday, 7 November 2013

Artists

 


 
 
Our ideal should always be to strive for what is eternal in art. That which will never die, which will always remain young and close to human hearts.
 
 
 
 
- Constantin Stanislavsky
 
 
 
 

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

I want to be old

I wished he would not always treat me as a child, rather spoilt, rather irresponsible, someone to be petted from time to time when the mood came upon him, but more often forgotten, more often patted on the shoulder and told to run away and play.  I wished something would happen to make me look wiser, more mature.  Was it always going to be like this?  He away ahead of me, with his own moods that I did not share, his secret troubles that I did not know?  Would we never be together, he a man and I a woman, standing shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, with no gulf between us?  I did not want to be a child.  I wanted to be his wife, his mother.  I wanted to be old.

Daphne Du Maurier (Rebecca)