Rebirth, and Hopeful Things

We are pressed flowers in heavy books, too close to the story to see it is only a story. ~Andrea Gibson

This week's prompt for Photo Art Friday was to create an abstract image using only Bonnie's textures and an original photo. I took a photo of an old pressed rose from my high school scrapbook...this rose is 34 years old, from a bouquet I got when I graduated! I thought it would be perfect to go with a poem I also wrote this past week.

Every year when March arrives, I am SO tired of winter. My spirit is limp. But it's also that time when I begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel - getting through the month means that April will be here. And once April arrives, spring begins to reveal herself...it's as if mother nature has been holding her breath until she's blue in the face, and when April arrives she suddenly exhales an enormous cleansing breath that rejuvenates everything. The color returns to her face, and to mine, too...growth begins again, both outside in nature and inside of me. My energy returns and I'm filled with happiness - it's always a joyous feeling!

I used two of Bonnie's textures, Abstract Elements (Lighter Color/65%) and Lover's Lament (Pin Light/100%). I just kept playing and blending until I had an abstract silhouette of a flower that I liked. The original photo is awful...the plastic of the scrapbook page has begun to disintegrate, and the rose is looking worse for wear! It's amazing how you can take an image with very poor quality and make it beautiful with artistic effects in Photoshop Elements. Thanks for stopping by, and if you'd like to see more photo art please click on the button below.

WINTER FLOWER

I keep a scrapbook in winter
A collection of moons
That make me remember
Moments like those in
The cold of December
When the sun is drowning
And the moon saves it
Catching it in its mouth
And melancholy is the name
Of my winter flower, pressed
Gently between the pages
Flush against the shadows
Of my soul

I flip through the pages, to
That one moon I witnessed
On a January evening
Wrapped snugly around
The shivering pines
Its silver shawl aglow
Or that February Sunday
When the moon's tender light
Trembled atop those oak trees
Their melodies stripped down
To leafless acoustics
Amidst an audience
Of cold, gray stones

Moon-filled moments
Fragile winter keepsakes
Where I conspire with my heart
Writing her out as
The snow falls, cradling
My sad, pressed flower
And the earth takes note
Serene about tomorrow, wiser
Than me and far ahead of
My fickle winter's sorrow
She knows her hands will
Soon turn to green leaves
Motioning me to spring, to
Rebirth and hopeful things.

© Sherri Brannon

Original image: