ONE FOREST STORY

One day the one that whistled in a tree, early in the morning, was found behind a window in the afternoon.

Forest walk, tummies full of berries after a cold dip in a lake. Sun shined and the moss looked warm and soft. Pillows, I saw, and mattresses, sofas and armchairs. Handfuls of berries to reach, to drink and eat. There would be everything. Dense pine branches as a roof, the hill to see the first sun rays and wave good bye to the last disappearing ones.

Trumpet orchestra of the forest hummed a slow windy song all around. 

Trees, small and tall. Some smaller, but denser ones were tickling curiosity forming a nice beginning of a path. The blue sky would not be visible under those branches.

A tree to hang your beard into. Or a tree to borrow a beard from to dress up for a royal forest dinner.

The waves rushed to the shore, the clouds to the left. Crackling fire was waiting inside with a blueberry pie. Turning bike and bicycling back home on a sunny autumn forest road. Pebbles making a nice rhyme under tires.

Warm cloudy morning greetings!

FEATHER HOME

A small resting place middle of bushy pine trees, a feather home. Soft walls, weather-proof. A warm carpet, summery wallpapers. For a secret rendezvous or for time alone. For one or two nights. For silence and calmness. For whispering moments. For alive fire and bright starry nights. For one night everything is possible.

Happiness to you all sweet ones to enter the 2012!

FEATHER ISLANDS, LAND OF DREAMS

Is it a tail of a lion which colors all these mornings golden? As quickly as it comes just after the sun reaches above the tree tops, as quickly it also turns to a more colder and brighter color. Just moments. All those yellow polka dots in the trees I would like to protect from the asphalt and a rake with a piece of tape. To make them hang and sway through the winter.

The article that I illustrated tells about sleeping and good dreams. "Sleeping is not about being lazy, but a responsibility." Enough, but not too much while being in the feather islands.

Michael and Neil sent me a wonderful postcard, an original painting by them. Thank you so much!

Lunchtime. Clinking and clanking while a parsnip soup boils,

Anna Emilia

P.s. Edit: The first image was forgotten.

PEBBLES OF RAIN AND FEATHERS

Rain either with water or bird feathers from the roof-neighbors. A tent for keeping toes dry. Woken by crows while they had a-very-serious-sounding-meeting to realize that it was a moment of sunshine, indeed. But only for a moment. Now an afternoon tea with some rays of sun, reflecting like surface of a lake on the wall. Table light is turned on again otherwise.

Have a warm afternoon break.