Summer by Hopper

Small collection of Art Nouveau doors circa 1900. Just pick one

In the shadow of the churchyard butterflies flitter, families wander, an old widow tidies the grave of her loved one. A cat weaves in and out of the sunshine. There are no rules for grief. Yet we sit in silence, waiting. We all wait. For something to change. #vss365

Good doors...

Rain streams, grey skies rumble. I tuck my feet up, pull the blanket tight, take a bite of brownie I'd baked earlier. From that recipe you'd passed down. Hand written, covered in stains, years of memories. I close my eyes. Listen for your voice. Low thunder growls. #vss365

Good door...

Other work of the Ladybird artists ‘August’ Whitbread calendar, 1971 Artist: SR Badmin

Feet off the pedals. Wind pulls our faces, burns our stretched skin. We fly through the tunnel, past broken glass, faded graffiti, the rainbow painted on concrete, flowers tied on a lampost. For a life lost, long ago. Don't look, don't stop. Don't remember. Not today. #vss365

The day weighs heavy. Like a rock in the stomach, a sharp nail in the palm, a grumpy mood you can't shift. A photo of someone you loved. Lost. Water stained. #vss365

Good walkway...

William H. Hays (born 1956) Island Universe, 2013.

Clouds drift, skies burn, a mystical moon sits behind a tree. Branches stretch like fingertips, reach out and graze my heart. I feel the grip tighten. Holding on. I lay back in long grass. Watch silhouettes of friends hugging, laughing, falling. Where are you? #vss365

a flower happy by herself summer mountain Issa

When it all just feels a bit too much - too loud, too hot, too rushed, too scary - it helps to return to the comfort and quiet of trees. Your worries might not disappear altogether, but for a moment or two you can forget they exist, when your mind is calmed by the whisper of

We huddle in the doorway of the lighthouse. Cocoon ourselves into one. I breathe in your warmth, strength, security. You were always my comfort in the grey. Rains pelt. Waves crash. Seas seethe. And we hold on. #vss365

We report: after the storm cleared out, the rain remained through twilight. It was quiet rain, the kind that blurs out edges and angles, white noise rather than a drumbeat. We see minuscule beads of water catching on our expert‘s hair as they refuse to put their hood up.

after the lightening the sound of dew dripping off bamboo Buson

Good door...

Five more minutes. That's all. I want. Just enough for goodbye. A mundane chat, or cup of tea. To touch your arm, breathe you in, to see your face again. #vss365