What can I say, this year is looking good. Another perfect day on my favorite beach. This is Juniper enjoying the crystal clear waters.

“Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself” Truman Capote

From APOD: Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble — maybe Macbeth should have consulted the Witch Head Nebula. This suggestively shaped reflection nebula is associated with the bright star Rigel in the constellation Orion. More formally known as IC 2118, the Witch Head Nebula glows primarily by light reflected from bright star Rigel, located just off the upper right edge of the full image. Fine dust in the nebula reflects the light. The blue color is caused not only by Rigel’s blue color but because the dust grains reflect blue light more efficiently than red. The same physical process causes Earth’s daytime sky to appear blue, although the scatterers in Earth’s atmosphere are molecules of nitrogen and oxygen. The nebula lies about 1000 light-years away

Juniper’s school has finished for this year and she flew out last night to her Grandmother’s house in Sydney. We’ll miss her over the next couple of weeks until we travel up to Sydney for the holidays.

Many people, except us, had moved on. Our lost corpses had been dumped in a small, claustrophobic crevasses; no name, nothing. We missed everything – the celebrations, the parties; we never got to tell our story to the new generation. Never. How would you feel being dumped in a cold dark grave? Especially when you’re thrusted into a small compartment with no headstone. How would your family know where to put the flowers? We, nameless soldiers, spirits hang around, watching our families at home, eating peacefully and seeing their fathers and sons return home from the traumatizing war. Seeing them throw celebrations for the return of their relatives. But some never return. While our body rots and deteriorates into nothing but a clump of ash, our bodies shake with fear on what will happen to us, what the afterlife will be like. I wish life was a time machine and could turn back, but who would want to turn back to a disastrous war when you hear ear splitting screams, blood curdling gun shots, and even worse … death?

We spirits hang around. When we return home, unknown we’re dead, we feel heart broken – families grieving, pets looking like they were dumped at the pound’s doorstep, and then you see the letter, that letter. The letter that tells you your loved one has died, and then that’s when it happens. When they bury your corpse, you can never return. Never again will your heart beat, never again will you feel the sensation of new born air soaking into your lungs, when you’re joyful and feel victory bubbling inside you, tingling your finger tips. But that is all left behind, that will never return. All you must do now is follow your heart and decide what to do. Let your spirit glide in the graveyard, watch your family all solemn, or look at all the returning soldiers, all proud and they tell their sons and daughters their destructive journeys.

When you leave your body, you feel awkward, like a stinging sensation, then a huge lump in your throat when you turn around and gaze at your corpse. Your eyes poise attentively to it – like it’s the ugliest thing you have ever seen. Your face scrunches up in disgust, and then a ghostly tear falls from your face. We always know we’ll be remembered, remembered as those who tried.

Several years later your spirit has left this world. Everything had been modernized. Houses, cars, buildings, clothes, everything, but we have been left untouched. Everything had changed around us, as quick as lightning bolts crackling in the sky. Then after years, you join your family again. You watch the world from a distance with them, just like modern families sit at the lounge and watch television, back in our days, we didn’t have entertainment. I remember me as a young soldier, representing my country with pride. I was as prouder than a Wedged Tailed Eagle grasping a fish with its talons. I was grasping my pride with my talons because I know we will never be forgotten, and I will always keep that saying in my ghostly mind…

Lest we forget …

Juniper, 10 years old

and her Subject

Sunday afternoon, I caught myself falling asleep on the couch. This was very unusual in our house because one of the kiddos is typically demanding my attention at all times. I woke with a start and felt something dreadfully wrong. There were no children running around the couch, no screaming coming from down the hall and no complaints to be heard. I jumped from the couch and went on the hunt for the girls. I found them playing together. Juniper was the beauty ‘artist’ and Willow was her subject. Willow was so proud of her sister’s handiwork, she did not want to wash it off in the bathtub.

Last weekend the girls and I went to a local park. Juni is getting to that age where I know she wants to go have a good ol’ romp around the park but she thinks she’s too old to do that sort of thing. As we were walking around I asked to take her picture and got this look. No matter how she tries to make a face, she’s still a cutie.

I’m so proud of my little gal Juniper. She’s 10 years old and is a creative genius. About a year and a half ago, she asked me to set up a website for her, juniper’s tree house. She likes to write and often she’ll sit at her computer and write little essays for her site.

Last night, I had a look and noticed that she had posted a couple of essays. The essays tell a story about our two cats, Harley and Banjo. In Banjo’s Narrative, she tells the story from his perspective. In Harley’s Narrative, she re-tells the same story from Harley’s perspective. I am very impressed with her narrative concept and feline insight. At 10 years old, I think she’s a brilliant writer. If you get the chance, pop over to her site and say hello.

My precious Juniper was sick from Tuesday til Sunday. She had a fever until Sunday. The Doc said it was nothing sinister and that she needed lots of rest and fluids. We stayed pretty close to home all weekend. I didn’t get the opportunity to take many photos. I did manage to get this photo of her sleeping on the couch as a very soft winter sun streamed through the window.