Nature Insight: Side by Side

Copyright 2012 by DM Denton

Doves welcome the day

 side by side in place

 on the open sway

 of approaching spring.

No need to compete

 for such a small space

 or spoil the treat

 their cooing can bring.




No jealousy here

 or mention of fear,

 no pain to inflict–

 it’s peace they predict.




Writing note: I wrote this poem last night to go along with this painting. This morning I was standing by the large window that looks out on my patio and the bird feeders and there was a dove sitting on the ground staring at me! He stayed there for a long time looking up at the window…maybe or maybe not waiting for me to appear again. I like to think he was…

©Artwork and writing, unless otherwise indicated, are the property of Diane M Denton. Please request permission to reproduce or post elsewhere with a link back to bardessdmdenton. Thank you.

Announcement Regarding my Novel, A House Near Luccoli

Last weekend I received great news! I was offered–and have now accepted–a contract for the publication of my novel, A House Near Luccoli (about the last months of the 17th century Italian Baroque composer Alessandro Stradella), with All Things That Matter Press! They are a small press based in Maine USA whose goal is to publish books that help authors share themselves, and are–as I can attest to–very willing to take on previously unpublished authors who reflect their leaning towards ‘spiritual, self-growth, personal transformation, fiction and non-fiction books with a strong message’. I’m optimistic that this is going to be a very good fit for me. When released the novel will be available in paperback and as an e-book.

Of course after many years of trying to get to this point, I’m very excited and even a little overwhelmed. It’s early days and I will keep my dear blogging family, old and new, updated as the process moves along.  Being a small publisher, a lot of the marketing is in my hands and so I will be on a constant lookout for appropriate sources of promotion, including pre-and-post publication reviews.

I owe so much appreciation to now fellow All Things That Matter Press author and Historical Novel Society member, Marina Julia Neary, for her belief in me and my writing when ‘out of the blue’ she contacted me and offered to introduce me to ATTMP. She has continued to be amazingly supportive as my journey towards publication begins, and I encourage my followers to check out her work (Marina Julia Neary is an award-winning historical essayist, multilingual arts & entertainment journalist, novelist, dramatist and poet. Her latest novel, Martyrs & Traitors, is garnering rave reviews from prominent authors, historians and critics.)   

I welcome you to read a short blurb and the opening chapter of A House Near Luccoli (originally posted in August 2011).

Thank you all for your continued interest and support!

A Valentine: Chasing the Butterfly

Copyright 2012 by DM Denton

Love
like a butterfly
trusts
the heart in
her wings,

 

only the clover
and
the sky
-not an end-
in sight.

 




 

Writing note: After I put this post together,  I was looking at my Sister Wendy Beckett ‘Meditations on Love’  book and came upon her interpretation of the Gainsborough painting (of his two young daughters), ‘Chasing the Butterfly’.

 

Here is some of her reflection:

‘We have to allow those dear to us to chase the butterfly, however convinced we are that it is uncatchable. We can never give the butterfly of happiness to another; each must catch it alone. For some, it will be ever elusive…’

 

©Artwork and writing, unless otherwise indicated, are the property of Diane M Denton. Please request permission to reproduce or post elsewhere with a link back to bardessdmdenton. Thank you.

Recalling Scarborough

The sun was shining through the blind, and I thought how pleasant it would be to pass through the quiet town and take a solitary ramble on the sands while the world was in bed.
(from ‘ Agnes Grey’, a novel by Anne Bronte)

     Her first glimpse of the sea was from a room as small as the experience was vast. It wasn’t the best lodging in Scarborough, except as could be afforded, but there was a brightening view of the bay below the promotory where a castle crumbled, sands stretching wider and wider along the indecisive surf, and stars quickly fading.
     Wintry gusts whined against and even through her grimy window. She dressed warmly and decided to go out before breakfast.
     Things were happening in the harbor with fishing boats, and on the pier shops and stalls were preparing to open. Until that morning she’d only ever seen gulls playing flying games over plowed fields for the freedom of having lost their way. Now they seemed agitated in a place they belonged. Her footprints on the sand were the first since the last tide so she could imagine she was walking where no one had before. It was even colder than expected but nothing could dissuade her from approaching the sea and what it might do next. If it had been summer she would’ve taken off her shoes and stockings and tiptoed into little bursts of foam at the water’s edge, seaweed bobbing to and fro as though the land wouldn’t let go. Instead her gloves were washed in icy sand as she examined shells and pebbles.
     Seagulls were circling her now, the sun dispersing any clouds as it enlarged and chose to illuminate her for whoever was there to see. She looked around and saw a man coming down the strand in a great cape that belonged to an actor’s wardrobe, hailing her with hand and voice, assuming she was glad to see him.
     She surrendered long before he caught up with her.
     “You must be perished. Here.”
     She stopped the cape from sliding off his shoulders. “Then you’ll be cold.”
     “I can bear it.” He turned, wondering what distracted her from him.
     It was just a thought. That she might share a little of her passion without any impropriety, looking beyond his intention and the onlooking tiers of tile-roofed houses, pointing to the northern gray of a simple church presiding like a cathedral.
     “That’s St Mary’s. Where Anne Bronte is buried.”
     “Interesting.” His smile said otherwise.
     “Scarborough is where she saw the sea for the first time too.”
     He rubbed her hands with the coldness of his own.
     She no longer had a choice, his cloak embracing as if to hide her, stroked over her ears and cheeks, fastened under and lifting her chin. She was ashamed she could be so ready for his adulterous advances, a long kiss, an uncertain happiness, a dance without music, a pleasure that didn’t know how to be.
     The Cathedral bells signalled a chance passing. He held her arms when they separated a little and didn’t seem to notice she was crying. “Ah. I can smell chestnuts roasting. Breakfast!”
     In another moment it wasn’t that hard to let him go.

Copyright 2012 by DM Denton

Before me rose a lofty hill, Behind me lay the sea . . .
(from ‘The Bluebell’, a poem by Anne Bronte)

©Artwork and writing, unless otherwise indicated, are the property of Diane M Denton. Please request permission to reproduce or post elsewhere with a link back to bardessdmdenton. Thank you.

Nature Insight: More Winter Flowering

Copyright 2012 by DM Denton

By the window

there’s a pot

of Paperwhites

as sweet

to the scent as

they are

to the sight,

one then two

then three

even four

and five of a kind

with their eyes

so bright,

some looking out

and

some looking in.



©Artwork and writing, unless otherwise indicated, are the property of Diane M Denton. Please request permission to reproduce or post elsewhere with a link back to bardessdmdenton. Thank you.