Chill With The Moon

“There’s an electricity in the moon. A pulse of magic, an energy. A bewitching entrancement unlike that of the sun.” ~ Unknown

The moon is for things unseen, things undone in the shadows and beneath the fog of night.

It’s for receding tides and waves upon rocky shores and pirates hidden coves — it’s for wild hearts and unconcerned minds.

It’s where plans are made in the dark and secrets revealed under the soft haze of light… it’s a reflection upon the water coming through the clouds long after dark.

Only after dark can we learn, absorb and study the effects of the day. It’s self reflection that we take the time to make.

Sometimes I get the urge to stay up late… that’s when the creative juices flow the most. It’s where I am left unencumbered by the craziness of day!

There is an attraction between the Moon and the Earth. The effects are not so obvious as an ocean tide. There are other forces are at work too.

We live on a peninsula; there is the bay, the channel and estuary and at night; there is the spherical symmetry of the atmosphere and lunar pressures; oscillations and pressure variations.

The weather phenomena’s are not conditional in Swansea. They are an exact and non-negotiable and we’re here in the middle of it.

And it is just fine with me to be under the moon in Wales with you.

Time to chill with the moon.

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Cornish Slipware Pottery

Vintage Slipware Jug from St Ives Studio Pottery in a Ceramic 3-D Pitcher From Cornwall.

Wetheriggs Pottery, had been used from 1855 as a brick and tile works and as a pottery from about 1860. The Schofields were employees there, and they bought the company in 1913. It was run by Harold Thorburn who was a member of the Schofield family.

The earthenware pots produced there were variously marked ‘Schofield’, ‘Wetheriggs’, ‘Penrith’, ‘Cumberland’ and ‘Thorburn’. Any of these might be combined, and the word ‘Pottery’ included. There is also a suggestion that a monogram ‘TH’ was sometimes used. The monogram is on the bottom of the Jug.

The Southern Coast- Cornwall

   
   

Good Morning Wales…

A poem for you, and some photo’s from me to share; Hoping you enjoy these places and taking you there too. 
The Southern Coast…

Overly breathtaking, rising up

From the depths of the ocean,

In a land once forgotten. 

And yet somehow she still breathes
Fragrant of breath, valleys steep,
Colors of waves and light, crashing,
Where the wind is never ending. 

Cliffs rising beyond the seas,
Ancient mountain of wonderful haze. 

I am lent by a distance, that only he can navigateTo the southern most parts

Of my heart. 

Tintangle Kingdom- Cornwall

  

Good Morning Wales.
Upon these cliffs I wondered

Stone walls built to magnificent height

Once raised to the stars,

A fortress once made tall 

This place is where legends grew,

And where Kings became larger than life. 
  

Royal roots were planted steep

Came from this mystical land,

And born here rising out of the deep. 

A paradise lost on earth it did keep,

The fallow soars in the wind sweeping,

Giving shelter, kept from the rain. 
  

This castle keep housed the blood royals, 

Safe in the mountain with love and care,

Surviving the circle here, a home in the cliff,

None were fake just naked and bare,

Ancient cliffs given by nature; Arthur’s Legend,

To those once for all who dwelled there. 
  

Into the mountain, into mystic caves

Finding no fault in nature; rivers and stream 

Majestic as it just wants to be, flowing 

Free of shame, no hate, or vengeance,  

Purpose and reason came from these waters

A sacred well springing up quenching 

The mountains and valleys did drink,

To satisfy the Kings thirst for knowledge

In the mountain of life around this big sea. 
  

There is a strong connection to the earth

Here in this place there is a presence, 

I feel it; a sense of awe and wonder

It represents the chance of rebirth. 
  

Once a heaven made free; mysterious 

Free from stress and full of mirth,

Found the sunset in the high of glory

In the Kingdom of Tintangle,

When the gods were here on this earth. 
  

Tintagel Castle 

(Cornish: Dintagel, meaning “fort of the constriction”) is a medieval fortification located on the peninsula of Tintagel Island, adjacent to the village of Tintagel in Cornwall, England, in the United Kingdom. 

The site was possibly occupied in the Romano-British period, as an array of artefacts dating to this period have been found on the peninsula, but as yet no Roman era structure has been proven to have existed there. 

It subsequently saw settlement during the Early Medieval period, when it was probably one of the seasonal residences of the regional king of Dumnonia. In the 13th century, during the Later Medieval period. 

In the 1930s, excavations revealed significant traces of a much earlier high status settlement, which had trading links with the Mediterranean during the Late Roman period.

The castle has a long association with Arthurian legends. This began in the 12th century when Geoffrey of Monmouth, in his mythical account of British history, the Historia Regum Britanniae, described Tintagel as the place of Arthur’s conception. 

Geoffrey told the story that Arthur’s father, King Uther Pendragon, was disguised by Merlin’s sorcery to look like Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, the husband of Ygerna, Arthur’s mother.

References: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tintagel_Castle

Good MorningWales~ St. Ives,  Cornwall 

  

Good Morning Wales.

We took a holiday down to Cornwall.  It’s St the southern most tip of England. 

Spinning around looking out at the great blue, bright lights of rays raining down, learning to understanding that dreams can come true we wish for it; to want it so deeply that there is nothing else on earth that we want more. 

But also finding life coming together; to grow and not taking one thing for granted. To be open to the gifts that be, even the little things that we think don’t count as much; but indeed they do. The greatest lesson I have learned that some things cannot be forced if it’s not meant to be; that we have to wait for the right time. 

  

It’s like the time when things meant what I didn’t quite know then. And maybe I’m not quite sure I fully know all of it even now. 

There was a sober period of reflection,  comparison. When you don’t have to work anything out. When it just happens naturally and then I knew these dreams were true in the way I knew that made me feel that I was alive. I had stumbled into a country in which I was not a stranger, but whose language I could understand by instinct, whose habits and customs felt so like my own. 

  

Taking time to be us; moments of travelling and discovering new places in the company of another. Like being at a wine bar, tasting the fare by the seaside in St. Ives, all afternoon, talking for hours on end about sight and sound and feelings. It feels right and it is and it’s a good thing. 

  
Learning that one can’t force momentum if you lay flat on a merry go round; waiting for it to move without any action. It’s like trying to zone into a new point of view by waiting for puffs of smoke to hit the ground running when there is no propulsion. 

As the sun sheds metallic tears of blue, saying goodbye to the old moons and I rise to see him each morning him and with love and enthusiasm, he is my lover and my teacher; always awaiting to greet me with something new. 

  

And so there are no more dark and no fears; for we’ve been accompanied by the galaxy with new sparkles and for each we wish made watching that falling star in the dark of that night, sitting on that bench near the beach in St. Ives; seeing our lives coming together.