Category Archives: Reflections

Beautiful Soft Landing…

24 Tuesday Dec 2024

Posted by in beautiful, Birds, Christmas, Daily Life, Painting, Poetry, Reflections, watercolor

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© Joan Currie – My turtle dove watercolor painting inspired by The Twelve Days of Christmas.


A Prayer for a Soft Landing

This year I soared through skies untamed,
Where heights were thrilling, dreams unchained.
The sunlit peaks, so bold, so near,
But shadows lingered – storms appeared.

The winds of change, they howled and roared,
And turbulence I so abhorred
Shook the wings I thought were strong,
Yet somehow, still, I flew along.

The high points glimmer, bright, profound,
Moments where my heart unbound.
I treasure these, their golden hue,
And honor trials I stumbled through.

For every bruise, a lesson learned,
Through fiery paths, resilience earned.
Not unscathed, but still I stand,
A voyager, with faith in hand.

Now as this year’s horizon fades,
I pray for softer serenades.
A gentle landing, calm and clear,
To close this wild, unsteady year.

And may the winds of what’s to come,
Bring brighter skies, a kinder sun.
For though I trembled, I endured –
A stronger soul, a heart assured.

Wishing you all the very best for the holidays and a wonderful 2025! ❤️

Beautiful Witching Hour…

06 Wednesday Nov 2024

Posted by in Acrylics, Art, beautiful, Poetry, Reflections

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© Joan Currie – my acrylic on canvas painting

My Witching Hour by Joan Currie

At three, my eyes open to the soft night’s call,
A distant train’s echo, faint engines drone,
Murmur of creatures, house timbers groan,
And I’m caught in a web spun silent and small.

Yet once woken, the night takes me far-
To warm tropic waters, to sunlit sands,
To brushstroke dreams with my eager hands,
Where crimson red and blue glow like a star.

I drift in dances on shores unknown,
Beneath heavens that pierce the shadowed dome,
And revel with loved ones near the old home,
By the lake where moonlight and memories are sewn.

Then the hour fades; I’m lulled once more,
Into soft slumber’s waiting door,
Wrapped in the hush of dreams restored.

At three o’clock in the morning, I resist the temptation to turn on the light to read or sew. Rather, I lie very still and the hour overcomes me in the sweetest, best possible way.

The feeling from the song in Only Murders in the Building, performed by Meryl Streep, is aligned with how I feel during that magical hour.

Beautiful Pumpkin…

25 Friday Oct 2024

Posted by in Art, beautiful, Hallowe'en, Painting, Poetry, Pumpkin, Reflections

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© Joan Currie – My pumpkin painting in acrylic on molding paste with bronze and gold paint v.3

Hallowe’en Harvest by Joan Currie

On Hallowe’en, the earth bears gifts of gold,
Pumpkins swell, the squash begins to fold.

The harvest yields its bounty rich and bright,
And I give thanks beneath the autumn light.

But as I walk, the shadows start to creep,
And whisper secrets that the dark can keep.

For Samhain stirs, the Celtic year’s rebirth,
Where ghosts and goblins rise from out the earth.

My mind, so tethered to the harvest’s might,
Now feels the phantoms in the night.

The rational speaks of grain and seed,
But still, the restless spirits sow their greed.

A headless rider gallops through the gloom,
While witches weave their spells beneath the moon.

I walk between these worlds, both rich and strange –
The earth’s abundance, and the night’s wild change.

The harvest calls, yet something darker grows,
As from the underworld, the cold wind blows.

At this time of year, I feel an eerie presence swirling around me in the darkness on my walk home. As I did in my youth, I can’t help but pick up the pace and finally break into a run!

Happy Hallowe’en! 🧡

Beautiful Acorn (but not so beautiful squirrel)…

11 Friday Oct 2024

Posted by in Animals, Garden, Mammals, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Wild animals

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© Joan Currie – The squirrel has stashed his acorns all over my yard.

The Rogue of My Yard by Joan Currie

In my garden once peaceful, in days of late,
A scoundrel returns – wrecking havoc, his trait.
Not the soft squirrel of a Potter tale,
But a beastly fiend with a bushy tail.

He clambers and clatters with ill-intent,
O’er apples rotting, their skins now rent.
Like billiard balls scattered across the green,
A trickster’s delight, a demon unseen.

With acorns stuffed in each nook and crack,
He piles his plunder no thought to slack.
The feeder he topples with impish glee,
Chasing away all the birds that flee.

A tyrant of trees, this devil’s dance,
He spares no corner, no happenstance.
The gutters rattle as apples roll,
From rooftop heights, his heartless goal.

O cursed creature, why dost thou stay?
To plague my yard both night and day?
Return to your woods, you menace black,
Please, or I fear, I might set a trap!

I’m afraid it is time to catch and release this squirrel to a woods far far away.

Beautiful Interior of My Sweet Home…

12 Thursday Sep 2024

Posted by in Art, beautiful, Daily Life, Flowers, Home, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, watercolor

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© Joan Currie – My watercolor of a vase with lemons after Vanessa Bell


My Sweet Home by Joan Currie

Within these walls, my heart does rest,
A haven wrought with love’s own crest.
The strokes of brush on canvas bare,
Birds in flight and animals fair.
Vermont’s wild lands in oil unfold,
Sunset’s fire, winter’s cold.

Here roses bloom in vases old,
Ceramic treasure finely scrolled.
Their petals whisper of the past,
Of father’s gifts – how time does last.
And glass that gleams, my mother’s hand,
In paperweights from foreign lands.

On shelves, the books of poets dwell,
Their words, like spells, my soul compels.
Photographs with faces dear,
In every frame, I hold them near.
This is my world, a soft embrace,
Where every corner finds its place.

Some speak of spaces clean and bare,
Of lives unbound by things they wear.
Yet here, amidst this cherished cache,
I find my peace and hold it fast.
For in each token, vase, or frame,
Life’s rich fabric, for now remains.

So let the world of minimal claim,
Their rooms untouched by love’s sweet flame.
For in my charming abode, I see,
The beauty that belongs to me.

I have just started giving my special treasures to my daughters for their own homes. I love seeing how my belongings look surrounded by completely different color and decorating schemes, and, my daughters’ own art and objects of affection.

Beautiful Finding Happiness in a Flower…

07 Wednesday Aug 2024

Posted by in Art, beautiful, Flowers, Nature, Painting, Poetry, Reflections, watercolor

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© Joan Currie – My woman looking at a flower watercolor.


The Bloom of Happiness by Joan Currie

In a small and quiet village, lived a woman kind and true,
She helped her friends and family, no matter what they’d do.
Her heart was filled with charity, her hands with gentle grace,
She asked for nothing in return, just a smile upon each face.

But fate, with cruel fingers, wove a twist within her life,
She fell into a sickness, her body racked with strife.
She tried to mend her weary self, with strength she couldn’t find,
And so she called for those she’d helped, with hope they’d be as kind.

Yet each one had their burdens, and other tasks to tend,
They turned away, their busy lives, no time to help a friend.
Alone she faced her suffering, with tears and silent pleas,
Her heart ached more than body, as she fell upon her knees.

One morning in her garden, beneath the sun’s embrace,
She saw a sight that took her breath, and brought light to her face.
A flower, bright and beautiful, bloomed from a plant so plain,
A gift from gentle nature, to soothe her deepest pain.

In petals soft and fragrant, she felt a tender care,
A message from the earth and sky, that someone still was there.
Nature’s touch had reached her, when human hearts had failed,
And in that bloom, she found the strength, her spirit once more sailed!

I hold the gifts from nature so very close to my heart, especially in times of need. Every so often, I feel they are my late mother’s way of caring for me – still.

Beautiful Canoeing…

23 Sunday Jun 2024

Posted by in beautiful, Canoeing, Nature, Photography, Reflections

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© James Currie – Northern Canoeing

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you imagined.
Henry David Thoreau

I am in the process of creating a wish list for this summer. At the top of it – to canoe on a northern lake. In recent years, I have substituted a kayak for a canoe. But, my heart still longs to paddle a canoe at dawn with a quiet j-stroke – on the upstroke, instead of lifting the paddle blade out of the water, it stays in the water. Magical!

Beautiful Pheasant…

15 Saturday Jun 2024

Posted by in beautiful, Birds, Crafts, Nature, Needlepoint, Poetry, Reflections

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© Joan Currie – Detail of my pheasant needlepoint in progress.

A Bouquet of Pheasants by Joan Currie

In verdant glades where pine woods dense did rise,
Beneath a canopy of emerald hue,
There dwelt the pheasants, nye with watchful eyes,
Their clucking whispers soft as morning dew.

Among the shadows, hidden from my gaze,
Their presence marked by crimson, fleeting bright,
Elusive specters in the sun’s faint blaze,
They danced like phantoms in the fading light.

A childhood spent in backyard’s wistful play,
I lingered near the forest’s secret veil,
With heart that yearned for just a special day,
When pheasants bold would cross my playful trail.

Though glimpsed but rarely, they forever stay,
In dreams and echoes of my long-gone youth,
Those pheasants, shy, in twilight’s soft array,
A symbol of a time of joy and truth.

Whenever I see an image of a pheasant, I can’t help but smile! It takes me back to the landscape of my youth where I was so happy playing in the woodlands near my home.

Beautiful Mallard Ducks…

07 Friday Jun 2024

Posted by in Art, Birds, Needlepoint, Poetry, Reflections, Winter

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© Joan Currie – Just found this mallard duck stained glass that hung in my family’s cottage for 35 years.

Emerald Hues by Joan Currie

In days of yore, in times Victorian fair,
By the pond’s edge, with crisp, clear air,
We children gathered, hearts aglow,
To feed the mallards crumbs in tow.

Their emerald heads, with sheen so bright,
Glistened like jewels in morning light.
Majestic creatures, in green adorned,
A sight to cherish, a scene to mourn.

In summer’s warmth, they swam with grace,
Dancing on water, a joyous embrace.
Their quacks, a chorus, a playful cheer,
Echoed sweetly, ringing near.

But winter came with chilly nights,
A frozen pond, no duck took flight.
The waters stilled, the mallards caught.
In nature’s grasp, their freedom sought.

We’d rush to save them, break the ice,
With tender hands, a sacrifice.
To free their wings to let them fly,
Underneath the frigid sky.

Those emerald heads, with memories tied,
To days of laughter, when time would bide.
Still call to mind a youth so grand,
With mallard ducks, and crumb-filled hand.

I remember a kindly police officer who helped us children free the mallard ducks stuck in the frozen water of the neighborhood pond. It was amazing that the ducks survived!

© Joan Currie – My M for Mallard needlepoint nursery pillow completed.

Beautiful Owls…

23 Thursday May 2024

Posted by in Art, Birds, Needlepoint, Painting, Poetry, Reflections, watercolor

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© Joan Currie – Detail of my watercolor painting of an owlet.

What the Owl Sees by Elizabeth Sears Bates

His velvet wing sweeps through the night :
With magic of his wondrous sight
He oversees his vast domain,
And king supreme of night doth reign.

© Joan Currie – My owl in flight watercolor after Jackie Morris

I heard the soft and soothing hooting of an owl several nights ago. Sadly, the owl decided not to stay but I took his presence as a sign of good luck!

© Joan Currie – Detail of my owl needlepoint in progress.