My Morning Visitor ♥ 🐾 ♥

I am an early riser. I like to get up from bed at the same time as the sun rises above the woodland horizon over out in the east. Gently I fling open my windows to take in as much of the stirring newness of the morning air as I can, while admiring that inimitable and personal quietness veiling through the world, as if it were whispering into my ears that the tranquil unsounding only belonged to me and no one else.

Our home is close to the enchanting English countryside, but we still live in the town and that is why I reserve our fertile and beautiful garden as a room in itself – albeit a roofless and breathing room – to which I feel the greatest connection to. It is my most cherished part of my home. So, care to imagine how my eyes widened and mouth fell agape when, this morning whilst I was busily brushing my teeth, that I should chance upon my first ever sighting of a fox in our back garden! Furtively prowling down the bosky path that cut through the middle of the garden, this magnificent Mr Foxy wore a ravishing reddish-brown furry coat, he had a set of pointy ears that stuck out of his inquisitive face and from which a dignified and sharp nose protruded, and a buoyant tail bobbed from behind him which I noticed possessed a tip as white as snow. When he turned round and stared at me, the vigorousness of the black that dwelled in his eyes came at me without warning. I, in that moment, could not have received a more lucid testimony to his wild origins. This was a creature of stealth, famed equally for his notorious pestilence as he was for his cunning trickery, an untameable and opportunistic predator, and the bane of all farmers everywhere.

When his eyes locked onto mine this morning all thoughts of my civilised life vanished. I am not quite sure why or how he managed to expel out of me all those measly pressing concerns of the day. The entire unfolding of the morning had paused itself, or so it seemed, leaving a strange duet in mid-air purified from all reason and utterly wordless.

Mr Foxy stared.

I stared back.

He stared back some more.

The time was precisely 6.09am (BST) and I do not know what fancy caught the grip of my imagination but I wished desperately that by making note of the time I would somehow coerce a satellite to orbit over that patch of sky precisely below my garden so that someone would have the means to document this unshakeably curious encounter!

With toothbrush stranded inside my mouth I was about to rush away from the window to fetch my camera, but Mr Foxy had already leapt miles in front of my plotting thoughts and had made a swift dash down the path, casually brushing his bushy tail past the watchful figurine of Mr Peter Rabbit before disappearing into the dense shrubbery amassed at the far end of the garden. I was terribly fizzled when my squinting eyes could no longer make out his alluring coat of reddish-brown. He had melted into the mess of green swathes.

Fumbling with the backdoor lock I stepped into the cool climate of early morning silence, only sliced clean as a company of adorable sparrows and finches hurriedly flew out of the leafy nestles of my green gage plum tree. I dashed down to the bottom of the garden and when I got there I found that there was not a single morsel of a sign to say that just moments ago a most fascinating and stunning creature, a child of raw wilderness, had fleetingly appeared before my eager pupils.

The mystery that was left in the wake of my departing and handsome stranger did not simply just linger in the air, it only ripened itself and amplified. I inspected the reinforced fencing and could not for the life of me figure out how my surprise visitor had even made entry into our garden in the first place. Judging by the tall height of the wooden planks that bordered every side of the garden there was no chance of an animal like a fox to jump over it – even the neighbour’s cat cannot pull that feat! I scratched my chin in deep thought and walked back to the house. The sky had already brightened by many magnitudes without my realising it. The houses began to be drenched in dawn sunshine. I, however, was still in the pitch dark as to the question of his visitation. It did not cause discomfort, rather it poured into my heart an uncustomary light of delicious tension, as if it were that my four-legged fellow symbolised the sanctity of abiding by that code of readership whereby chapters of a story are never skipped and then returned to, but followed patiently in the order as given by the author. All that I could do was joyfully accept that this first sighting of Mr Foxy in the plush paradise of my garden constituted the thrilling words of a new chapter.

Alas, I have no photograph to show You of my transient visitor. I reckon he was astute enough to know that if he were photographed the unalloyed mystique of his appeal would not be the same. It would be sobbingly diminished. What a clever chap, I must say! However, what I do have for You, in place of his portraiture, is a dandelion seed head. On first inspection it does not pop out any differently to all the other dandelion seed heads in my garden and I would not hold it against You if You were to think nothing of it.

But, then again, there are things called stories and they have the power to conduct magic into whatever they touch.

When Mr Foxy made his abrupt haste down the garden path his reddish-brown body brushed past the dandelion seed head. At that breakneck speed it would have been reasonable to think that all the fine feathery parachutes that cloistered closely to form the recognisable globe of the young dandelion plant would have dramatically come apart and scattered into the anonymity of the air around it.

It did not. He left no trace of himself in the things that ought to have been affected by the slightest of his movements. Why would he? He is a clever fox. He knew perfectly well that I was a Storyteller and now that You have come to the end of these words You, too, have caught a fleeting glimpse of my morning enigma, a dawn peep of a desired autumn… ♥♥♥    

 

Morning Visitor

“… He left no trace of himself in the things that ought to have been affected by the slightest of his movements…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Garden | Winchester | UK 2016

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Old Pictures, New Story: A New Chapter Knock-Knocks!

An A-MAZ-ING Update! 20-05-16

Up and until now, in my 37 years, I have been academically trained in the hard sciences and never once placed my hairy foot in the faculty of the arts. Around 15 years ago I came out top in the student year with the fabulous award of a BSc Psychology, and then, after accruing my own funds from holding down two jobs, I enrolled and earned another distinction for completing my postgraduate studies in MSc Science and Society. I thoroughly enjoyed the pursuit of learning new skills and knowledge in both domains, and furthermore, each proved to be incalculably priceless in my professional capacity for teaching mainstream and special needs students at college.

Over the last few years, after the serendipitous and yet undeniably destined encounter with the artistic language of photography, a formidable murmur of renewed passions began to stir and coil in the uncharted territories of my heart, a real part of me that I had somehow neglected as I was swept up in the pursuit of scientific knowledge. No doubt it was that the photography had aroused the awakening of a new confidence in returning to the wonderment of the pen, to make companionship with the beauty and exploratory power of the written word.

I have worked extremely hard in the last few years, once again holding down two jobs so that I may raise the funds needed for a new venture that I hope will address my unending love story with the arts which I once bore in my heart as a child. It is with the utmost radiance of joy that I am proud to announce to You that I am returning to University once again, as a postgraduate student, to study a MA in Writing. I received my unconditional offer of a place today and You would not be far off the mark if You were to say that right now I could only be jiggling my shoulders with the jollifying wobbles of a jumbo-sized  platter of strawberry jelly! Giggle!

My ‘prospective mentor’ is a new University, a broad and heavy oaken door that has been kept slightly ajar for me and the warm light cast out from the other side shines with the embellishing possibilities of a land that I once knew. Now it awaits my footsteps to softly crunch through its carpet of exquisite snow. By the old Victorian lamp post a new chapter is desperate to be realised into life. 

I was busy celebrating with my mates today and when we made a mad dash for the swings and slides in the children’s park they forced to turn their smarty pants phones on meWhat a shocking conspiracy that was for me, however, since today is indeed a special day for me I will allow for You to catch a rare glimmer of this 158cm fairy in a group shot, taken by my utterly-bubbly friend, Katie! 

And, finally, a very merry berry special dedication I must extend to that one person who, for me, shall always be the third person as referred to in the quote. I respect You with such sincere intensity that perhaps You shall never truly know just how much You mean to me, always… ♥♥♥

Quote: https://www.facebook.com/WomenWhoRunWithTheMoon/photos/a.330772373686457.73119.330491697047858/1015798558517165/?type=3&theater                  

Beyond the infinity of everything,
Mazzy 🌟🌟🌟

Celebration In The Park!

“… I was busy celebrating with my mates today and when we made a mad dash for the swings and slides in the children’s park they forced to turn their smarty pants phones on me…

 

Photography: © Miss Katie 
Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

******************************************************************

I shall not say much only that today the magical stroke of Destiny led me to a thoroughly vibrant and constructive meeting that oozed with the fireflies of new possibilities. The conversation, animated and bouncy, showed no sign of stopping and the both of us could have potentially babbled on till the end of the day, however my prospective mentor had a train to catch to London and I could see that my paper cup in front of me had devastatingly become denuded of tea. The more I drank, the less there remained and that is how eventually I saw the bottom of the cup. It is one of those mysteries that consistently has the upper hand over me all the time, blunting my powers of logic to an undesirable blockhead! No, I was not giggling there! Alright, perhaps a bit! In light of these terribly subduing conditions, we hesitatingly called it a day and went our separate ways.

Let us just say that the coming year may see a new twist of lime in my quirky catalogue of endeavours! Ah, is that a fatty bombatty bag of Haribos You so cunningly extend out towards me? I do apologise tremendously, but I choose to purse my lips and pray that my eyes shall suffice in telling You that bribery and corruption were never my cup of tea, and thus I still shan’t reveal to You a morsel or crumb or smidgen! Not yet, anyway. Patience, patience, my dear Reader! Giggle! ♥♥♥

My First Book

A book of the heart which even to this day, 30 odd years on, when its pages are flicked against my nose a plethora of memories like colourful circus acts soar out from its centre and embrace me in a warm protective hug. It is the lingering presence of the dream of a man who wished his daughter to be a storyteller of her own someday...”

 

Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories |Winchester | UK 2016   Photography & Words: Originally Posted In ‘My First Book: A 30 Year Old Tale’ | © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Garden | Winchester | UK 2016  

My Constant Red

I parted the curtains early this morning and the light that poured through me, crystalline and purer than white itself, there and then had me elevated from observer to connoisseur, for it afforded me that title because this light that I speak of was genuinely convinced that I was the only person on earth who had seen it – without intrusion of bias or motive – for what it truly was. Everything in the world beyond my window was touched by ice-crystals. The frost had come at last. Then, I too soon pleasured my imagination in that instance by entertaining the wild idea that while I was asleep the entire garden and park and the houses beyond must have been submerged in some ancient ocean and that all of a sudden, as the sun had risen, the water had hurried and dried up and left only of its strange echoes in the arcane form of salt deposits, twinkling from every surface and ground. I want to keep that secret to myself but I know that I am not doing a good job of it! Giggle, giggle!

Anyway, whilst I was lost in admiration a little visitor flew down to greet me and that is the spark which led me to scribble this poem in my journal… ♥♥♥

LINK authored by a chap of the same name: https://www.facebook.com/theofficialrobinsharmapage/photos/a.10150107495570040.292989.105875750039/10153829686955040/?type=3&theater

 

My Constant Red

“… And, then, mirroring the profundity of a lion’s roar, A truce of cute redness: He jumps out and turns on the Universe…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

 

True Knowledge Is Like Visiting The Brightest Star: An Ode To Birmingham Library

Under squid-ink blackness of ceilings infinite and vast
Neon hoops of Light and bulbs twinkled in suits, a stellar cast
Floors umpteen and escalators galore filled that I saw
A Jedi Temple’s heart lay at its beating bookish core
Which one to pick, to read, my breath belligerently betrayed me
Listen to the Force I did, herein is my Destiny
My eyes at 37 closed and my feet began to take
Downstairs to the Children’s Zone where my eyes once more awake
There! On a wall above yellow brick-steps I saw the Home of a most beloved star
Ah, You wish to follow me, I think Your request not bizarre
Sirius welcomes all those sentenced to an eternal curiosity as mine
And to cross the line over please, all of You, get Yourselves in a line…

LINK TO LIBRARY SITE:  http://www.libraryofbirmingham.com/blog/News/aerialdronevideo

 

True Knowledge Is Like Visiting The Brightest Star

“Sirius welcomes all those sentenced to an eternal curiosity as mine
And to cross the line over please, all of You, get Yourselves in a line… “

 

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Birmingham Library | Birmingham | Midlands | UK 2015

 

Tune Into Joy – An Ode To Maya Angelou!

I know why the Free Bird sings
With a joyous thrill
Of a True Love unmet
But longed for still
And Alex’s T-Shirt caught his tune
He wishes to meet me, with tea and spoon
‘V’-shaped wings flap out on both sides
An ‘X’ in the middle to show Winchester hides
On this distant hill
By the windowsill
For I am the Free Bird, I joyfully sing
Even in the depths of night, my Pen lingering

To my Eternal Love… ♥ ♥ ♥ 

"... And Alex’s T-Shirt caught his tune He wishes to meet me, with tea and spoon ‘V’-shaped wings flap out on both sides An ‘X’ in the middle to show Winchester hides..."

“… And Alex’s T-Shirt caught his tune
He wishes to meet me, with tea and spoon
‘V’-shaped wings flap out on both sides
An ‘X’ in the middle to show Winchester hides…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

A Trip To Long Barn Lavender Farm With Agnes & Suzi!

As is the sparkling tenacity of the humble spider to thrust out glittering and webbed lifelines to create the opportunity of acquiring new fruits, so it is that I believe the natural world, with pristine elegance, flings its invisible webs onto me, tying onto and pulling in my beating heart towards it so that I may lose myself in the ceaseless bounties of its sensual wonders. Having parted from my car many, many years ago and in its stead choosing to walk, plus complimented with my love for gardening, I am an excitable witness to the extraordinary ballet of the changing seasons. Often jumping up and down with the sprightly eagerness of a little girl as I rush about to announce to everyone that I have spotted the delicate petals of the first white snowdrop flower, the hopeful symbol of the cessation of winter and the dawn humming of spring, I have always been fascinated by the connection I share with Mother Nature. How to tell You of the countless times of how the observation of the hoppy red-breasted robin or the deep crimson eyes of holly berries put a merry skip in my step, desperate to put into words of what was seen into my diary entry for the day, how could one ever be tired of the natural world?! Lambs being born, chestnuts swaying in crisp autumn air and the heady scent of bonfires in November, I cannot be kept away from the stunning drama that continuously weaves in front of me when I step out of my front door. Magic is never more than an arm’s length away, if only – yes, if only – You are acrobatic of mind and willing to believe in it.

To this end, I invite You to my latest short-as-a-short-biscuit adventure! Can You guess the loudness of the fanfare that shook my ears to a happy jelly when my friend, Suzi, told me that she was going to take me and our mutual mate, Agnes, down to the Long Barn Lavender Farm in Alresford for a snippy pampering break away from our busy lives! Indeed, I WAS IN SEVEN HEAVEN!!!

Traditionally renowned for its medicinal properties as a calming herbal sedative, aiding restful sleep and soothing the nerves of those feeling a tad bit frayed, Lavender is one of my favourite flowers in the botanical world and I am pleased to say that I grow two varieties in my own garden from which I concoct handmade lavender and camomile teas, a perfect brew to be enjoyed iced in the summer or as a steamy beverage for when the long, cold, winter nights draw in, a perfect tipple just before bedtime. Should You ever come and visit me in my house I promise to host You with these delicious specimens – and will even pop a hand-sewn tiny sachet of lavender flowers in Your pocket to invoke calmness in times of difficulty.

It is a mild and tranquil fragrance and a most beloved friend in the floral kingdom. When we arrived I could make out its pleasant scent even before my visual faculties had a chance to make contact, as if the soul of something sublime and mysterious and yet familiar had leapt out of its physical cage to greet me! Wreaths of heart-shaped bundles of the flower and wide fields of its purple canopies opened up its pages before me, a profoundly exotic impression. I grew its relative in modest amounts back home, but here on the farm it was different. A Mecca of swaying purple heads, each a little pupil of scent that vied for my attention. I was humbled, terribly and beautifully humbled.

That is exactly the reason why, with majestic application of discipline, I refused to photograph any of the lavender flowers. Photography cannot impart the ecstasy that binds the olfactory domain, it must be felt in person otherwise You risk losing its authenticity to an unfair demotion. All three of us simply breathed in the sweetness of the earthly-bound purple clouds and vibrantly chatted over lavender tea, conveniently stratified with moist rich raspberry and lemon drizzle cake whilst wistfully looking out over fields and fields of floral spells that surely, in such vast quantities, I imagined to have the power to enchant an eternal sleep of peace for whomsoever fell into her heavenly scented bosom.

HOWEVER, photography was not strictly dismissed!

Whilst I was at Long Barn my aura was drawn to the energies of a few intriguing features that I believe are strongly of relevance or correlation to my beloved Reader. There is one particular Reader I wish to dedicate this story to, whom I saw in my dream last night – he handed me a gift that was messily but lovingly wrapped in purple, it was followed by a warm and wholesome hug that saw me waking up this morning with a smile that tasted accurately of the beauties of all the four seasons. For You today, allow me to profuse Your tired and weary Soul with the healing needles of a treasured purple flower… :)) :)) :))

Your Eternal Seamstress Of Pen & Flowers,
Mazzy xxx

“Ask a sincere gardener the magical ingredients that lie behind the wonderful theatre of lushness and growth that sees seeds turn into flowers and they will speak of the basic potions of Light, water and food, but then will edge closer and touch Your arm and, in an assured whisper, reveal that those things simply lend height and girth; only Friendship, the truest and unweatherable kind, will add an impossibly incomprehensible depth of colour, the God-hand whom painters tirelessly seek…”   

“It is absurd a misconception that one needs muscles – sorry – mussels to ride my favourite wheel-eyed invention, and for those of You suffering an abominable ‘total black out’ at the mind’s horizon, may I ardently suggest that, like the quirky example I am, You ought to pack Your bags and go off trotting, though by that I do not mean shifting from country to country. To see in Orange Vision You must brave new worlds, some of the most perilous frontiers do not exist on maps, they perniciously inhabit within us…”

“It is absurd a misconception that one needs muscles – sorry – mussels to ride my favourite wheel-eyed invention, and for those of You suffering an abominable ‘total black out’ at the mind’s horizon, may I ardently suggest that, like the quirky example I am, You ought to pack Your bags and go off trotting, though by that I do not mean shifting from country to country. To see in Orange Vision You must brave new worlds, some of the most perilous frontiers do not exist on maps, they perniciously inhabit within us…”  

“Like the festive mistletoe under which a kiss wanted is a kiss granted, inside the farm’s wooden-beamed barn, I secretly smiled under the lightbulb and wished that my Soulmate could leap through space and time and meet me at this spot. Dear ‘Paddington’, should You be reading this know that we do not have to wait for Christmas to exchange a kiss, any light fixture would be happily obliging to act as an intermediary, a hanging ball of sweet Orange marmalade to watch us as we bind lips together…”

“Like the festive mistletoe under which a kiss wanted is a kiss granted, inside the farm’s wooden-beamed barn, I secretly smiled under the lightbulb and wished that my Soulmate could leap through space and time and meet me at this spot. Dear ‘Paddington’, should You be reading this know that we do not have to wait for Christmas to exchange a kiss, any light fixture would be happily obliging to act as an intermediary, a hanging ball of sweet Orange marmalade to watch us as we bind lips together…”  

“I bought two items from the barn shop: Scented candles are a staple property of the ambience of my home in the long winter months, I light them from early evening until bedtime, often writing by their Light and whenever my eyes catch sight of its thin wispy flame I am reminded, with poetic fluency, that even in the most impenetrable depth of night, children of the Sun are by my side to guide my writing hand through the snow forests of white paper. The second of the items I saw in a dream, given to me by a Loving hand – he was terrible at wrapping but it was his inadequacy and effort that made it altogether more priceless…”

“I bought two items from the barn shop: Scented candles are a staple property of the ambience of my home in the long winter months, I light them from early evening until bedtime, often writing by their Light and whenever my eyes catch sight of its thin wispy flame I am reminded, with poetic fluency, that even in the most impenetrable depth of night, children of the Sun are by my side to guide my writing hand through the snow forests of white paper. The second of the items I saw in a dream, given to me by a Loving hand – he was terrible at wrapping but it was his inadequacy and effort that made it altogether more priceless…” 

“And, here is that mystery object which was concealed inside the wrapping. A square tea coaster bearing the charming illustration of someone whom I have an undying affection for rests on my bookshelf; I shall reserve Your own interpretative faculties to absorb the timelessness of the message…”

“And, here is that mystery object which was concealed inside the wrapping. A square tea coaster bearing the charming illustration of someone whom I have an undying affection for rests on my bookshelf; I shall reserve Your own interpretative faculties to absorb the timelessness of the message…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Long Barn Lavender Farm | Alresford | UK 2015

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Coronet Box Camera

Dear Puddle-Soaked Soggy-Socked Fisherman & Other Curious Readers – including flatulent foxes!

I do hope You will be accommodating enough in heart to accept my apologies for the sparse buttering of posts from me in recent times, I am skipping and hopping in between holiday activities and creative projects that have proved to be quite fine effectors of completely removing me from the virtual world whilst I get my grubby fingers stuck into the theatrical business of the real world! I had no sought-out intention to sit by the computer at this moment but perhaps it was You who has made an impassionate call for my services as a disperser and dispenser of Good Magic that finds me in front of this glaring big old screen! Giggle, giggle! I do promise to return at a more consistent and regular rate once I have tied up what needs finishing – please quit rolling those squishy eyeballs, a passer-by may construe it as a first sign of irreversible lunacy! What did You say? You are in Love with me and my pen and that this sweet illness of lunacy had struck You so far way back that it has now come to the point where any external expletive charged against You by third parties is as afflicting as a speck of dust on skin?! Oh my, steady, steady my dear fellow! 

Before I return to my adventurous taskettes and leave the virtual platform once more – a short while I promise – I have once again received a blessing from Destiny in which I shall present to You a story of stupendously magical proportions. Whilst I was traipsing from one place to another today I heard the distinct sound of SLEIGH BELLS in the air. I know many of You will in an instant assume that I am making this up but that does not bother me the slightest, the day I asserted that one of my spiritual vocations would be to don the cloak of the Writer I knew that I would always write not because I was haunted by an obsession to appease others, rather, it came down to the fact that I HAD to write, on par in force with the natural instinct of breathing.  

Ahem ahem, where was I?

Ah, yes, I was walking along when suddenly the pure and sacred music of sleigh bells trilled into my ears. I stood on the street and looked about but could not locate the source of this exquisite and invisible treat. Who had played it to me and for reasons why? The Winchester Christmas season had not yet taken effect and I was at quite a distance away from the cacophony of the city centre so the MYSTERY of it all firmly latched onto my lungs and I soon turned into a mobile vessel of internal monologue, legs walking in auto-pilot, however, the brain completely seized and captivated by what it had just experienced. I prayed to Allah that He would help me to solve the case of the curious bells and it was upon reaching home just now and switching on the computer that it all became as gloriously clear as a relieved blackboard taking in the peace and quiet during the school holidays! Stop laughing! 

Do You remember the a-MAZ-ing gift of magical synchronicity I sent You in my last missive where my earlier poetical words came to spectacular life on the bustling streets of NYC and to everyone’s astonishment? Disney’s Aladdin hovering over fast lanes, shoving out of the way all those fancy ‘boxes with circles’ – I mean to say fast cars but to me they appear like polygons on the rampage!

Guess what?

I have the pleasure of gifting You once again the fabulous eye-opening convergence between my WORDS and real-world events!

A ‘LONG-LOST FRIEND’ of mine in the joyful grip of a winter wonderland, thought to have died into the cold shadows of perpetual forgetfulness, has been found and shall return to the big screen in a premier here in London! His stone statue lives in the treasure troves of my garden, he is the time-keeper in a book that shall never be tossed into the fires of callous extinction, a tea-coaster paints a Paradisiacal portrait of his visage that sits on my bookshelf and I do think I am right when I say that the Tanner’s Magic Shop chose him as their proud mascot! I sincerely hope You have not endangered Yourself into my calling You an utter muttonhead if You happen to be at this moment confounded by these clues as to the identity of my LONG-LOST FRIEND! Yes yes, it’s MR RABBIT! Pfffshhht!!

WATCH how inside an ordinary tin can, a mystery box of sorts, sat in a film library in London, sweeps You off Your feet to a place as OLDEN-AS-THE HILLS, A VAST SNOWY LANDSCAPE, where Oz-World – so sorry – Oswald the Rabbit, Disney’s first ever creation, WHIZZES around with the essence of a free spirit on his heels!

Ah, what was that You muttered? He is not white, You say? Seriously my Dear Watson, Your frivolities of the mind are indeed most disappointing! In the temperate climate of Hampshire where I live there really is no need for a rabbit to be wearing a black JUMPER!

With my knuckles tucked under my chin, I am lost in reverie as light as marshmallows and I ask out to Destiny: Could it have been Oz-World the Rabbit, the Lucky & Magical, who aired the first ever balloon to sit on my rosy ALTAR OF RED BALLOONS… ♥ 

Please take care of each other and, to a few I can see out there, cut out the bog-standard swearing and, to immediate effect, conjure cleaner but more inventive forms of language. If anything it will prevent a premature onset of dementia! 

Your Eternal Entanglement Of The Quantum Kid – sorry – Kind! 
Mazzy xxx

LINK TO ANOTHER A-MAZ-ING VIDEO: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-34711495

White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Coronet Box?
Pray tell me not of the commonplace, answer me with the cunning of the sly fox!
I, Alice, felt at this point my arbitration was urged and necessary
Hereby, my Beloved Reader, I distil a riddles apothecary:

Shrewdness no prerequisite, the young are the wise yet with age there is no guarantee
Those of worldly chores suffer, lukewarm never is the Eccentric’s tea
Puddles are as souls who reach heaven by the steps of my apple tree
Poetry tastes like Mother’s ghee, us Visionaries will unanimously agree
This thing, a bonfire of Aliveness, like fireflies whizzes within but is most certainly free
Can You guess what it is, do not hide, come closer and tell me what You see… 

White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Coronet Box?
Pray tell me not of the commonplace, answer me with the cunning of the sly fox!

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Coronet Box Camera 1

“White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Coronet Box?
Pray tell me not of the commonplace, answer me with the cunning of the sly fox…”

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Coronet Box Camera 2

“… Puddles are as souls who reach heaven by the steps of my apple tree…”

 

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

A Garden Party With Alice: Wonderland Revisited!

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

The paragon of riddles, deceptively simple and simply deceptive, posed within the innocent pages of what the uninitiated eye would more than likely regard as just a children’s book, has had many a great scholar afflicted with nightly tosses and turns in their bed as their mind fails to deduce a satisfactory and logical answer to Mr Carroll’s crowning jewel of a sentence from his masterpiece, Alice In Wonderland.

A fellow Oxfordian, Carroll and I share more than just a love for the nonsense, eccentric, bohemian and the outrageous, for we are both comprehensive mirror images of each other by virtue of our comfortable and parallel dabbling with both literature and the visual arts, and it is in this very honour of the 125th anniversary of his illustrated text that I am proud to present to You a reworking and re-visitation of an adventure first penned on page and that was as swift as a hawk’s wing in its enrapturing of my imagination and senses as a little girl. I am quite prepared to concede that no better conjecture, as to the origins of my fanatical taste for tea, is there than that of the moment when Alice stumbled upon that famous Tea Party hosted by the Mad Hatter and his band of endearing misfits!

Now who could play my Alice, I wistfully pondered away to myself and to what part of the tale would my photographs allude to?  Well, I shan’t infuse any further bags of tension into Your teapot as You appear to have far too many of those floating away in there, anyone looking in would believe in an instant that they were peering into a grotty pond that is in desperate need of professional cleansing! Giggle, giggle!

Alright alright, I might have exaggerated on the point of the strenuousness endured in the scouting and search for a potential Alice because, well, if the truth be told, my Alice actually came to me! Just as the real Carroll based his Alice on his friend’s daughter, so it is so with my case and should You be of a persevering countenance – someone who has followed and read my tales so far without, ahem ahem, falling asleep – then You may recognise with a wham-bam that You have indeed met my little cheeky sprite before. In a previous piece I exposited to You that Little Miss A is designed with an insuppressibly excellent theatrical predisposition which would explain with crystal clarity why the both of us get along so very well!

A late summer garden party at my house was to take place and even the apples on the myriad trees that casually line our wooden fences rejoiced at the prospect, glowing in deep ambers, pale greens and flirtatious pinks, and it would be a terrible sin to not to mention specifically of the burst of flowers here and there – a veritable applause of soft petals that were only too happy to display their farewell song of the summer that had been and now is in the past. Perhaps I brag but I do not wished to be atoned for it but the truth is, my garden could quite easily have been that beautiful garden which Carroll’s Alice, with burning curiosity, gnawing anguish and hopeless despair, spied on through a keyhole after tumbling down the rabbit hole. Oh how to open that door?! Giggle, giggle!

When Little Miss A arrived on the scene a giant lightbulb flashed and kept flashing and would not stop – and indeed I let it flash on and on as I knew someone from another planet would benefit from my photonic activities,  for I would surely appear to them as a giggling twinkle in their night-sky! So sorry, I have deviated at the expense of Your limited patience! Ah yes, I had found my Alice! I shall not say anymore but do have a peek Yourself at the short photo-diary I submit below and You will most certainly agree that a phenomenal triangulation of elements – a MAGICAL stroke of Destiny – made it strongly conducive to treat this as THE opportunity to revisit a masterful tale, paying humble tribute to my literary idol, Carroll, whilst lending comical and loving legitimacy to why being an Eccentric in life is unanimously very, merry, berry FUN…!!!

As You have done for me so I do for You, my Good Reader… :)) :)) :))
Look after Yourself, extend a helping hand whenever You can and know that Your 5ft 1 Alice shall return to her class and to You very shortly!

Your Greatest Puzzle,
Mazzy xxx

To Solve A Riddle

“No matter where I go I seem to have acquired a peculiar but noble habit of plunging children’s minds into the most twisted and frolicsome fountain of conundrums whose problems defy solutions! As a teacher I believe it is paramount that my little ones should come to learn that it is quite acceptable to be, at times in life, deficient of straight answers. We should honour the Mystery for its own sake – and of course, in exchange, my camera always gets to be blessed with the brilliance of the overworked brain, its resultant tableaux of adorable and contorted expressions…!”


The White Rabbit Minus A Pocket Watch

“Alice works her way through the overgrowth and maze of footpaths and finally steals upon The White Rabbit! But, alas, his silver pocket watch is absent from his possessions! Whatever became of it…?”

Some Things Are Not What They Seem!

“I forgot to tell Alice that here, in my garden, nothing is what it seems. The obvious is an extinct concept in Mazzy’s Wonderland, driven out by its own burgeoning regularity and consistency. The passionate frills of this red flower contain the soul of an ancient flamenco gypsy and whomsoever nears towards her scent is soon overwhelmed, followed by blissful drowsiness and whose final consequence is to afflict the nosy child with constant bouts of daydreaming in class…”

Muddy Shoes Means Happy Girl!

“Alice, Little Miss A and I are of the same ilk: Should we be asked to don the attire of a lady we will gladly agree but our hearts are made of the stuff of adventures and no where is there a more fitting place to express this trait with diligent continuity than our feet and so, we hail in unison, to the sturdy and robust armoury proffered by the power of sneakers who promise to forever and faithfully carry us forward…!”

The Doorway To My Home

“In the footsteps of Alice, Little Miss A, too, enjoys the singular Victorious moment when the key is found and the door to my Home is finally opened! I wonder, dear Reader, are You wild, courageous and chaotically passionate enough to solve my puzzles and find me beyond this very ordinary but indubitably SPECIAL door…?”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Garden Party | Winchester | UK 2015

 

La Voie De Bijou De Paris (The Trinket Streets Of Paris)

Diary 6: La Voie De Bijou De Paris (The Trinket Streets Of Paris)

My most admired secret Spy and Reader, hark Your memory back to those few posts of the past in which I drew – without any grown-up inhibitions – comparisons between myself and that of the little explorer who took a fantastic dive in a rabbit hole only to find herself in a whole new world whose natural grain was of the most unnatural order.  Her name, of course, was Alice and the world that I speak of is Wonderland.  A firm resident of my ever-swelling library at home, Alice and I are carbon copies of each other, we do not have a hope in the world to survive without some sort of adventure under our sleeves! The air we breathe is second to our first priority in Life: To actively seek out knowledge and to share it out to others so that it births sunshine in whomsoever chances upon it.

If You have not had the supreme pleasure of reading Lewis Carrol’s masterpiece then I suggest You get off Your horse and make a run for the nearest bookshop now, for the significance of the photograph that I present to You this evening will only become clear and resonant if You are learned in the story that pulses backstage.

Once again You squirm and coil in tortuous anguish. What on earth is she babbling about now, You huff out! Your mind has already leapt to the monochrome photograph of the street stall stacked with artistic collectables, and the posters hang as if they were clothes left out to be dried by the sun or, for the photographically orientated eye, You might liken the scene to an outdoor red room! Well, the story was that I happened to have splintered away from my siblings somewhere over the River Seine, my senses exuberantly infatuated by the many streets-side stalls crazed with trinkets of all shapes and sizes. Dusty old covers of LPs, vintage books whose smells would require new adjectives, and film prints of pivotal films from the sea of noir that is French cinema. All fluttered in the breeze, but ONE, yes ONE, poster found me. IT found me and not the other way round. Le Corbeau translates as ‘The Raven’, the plot synopsis is rather sinister and macabre and I had never heard of it but that was not why it peers out so prominently in this photograph. It shone with singular energy because I knew in my gut – in my tummy – that it would serve me well in the future. Literally! You see, in Alice In Wonderland, a notoriously famous and world class riddle is cited by the Mad Hatter to Alice for which she cannot reply with an answer.

The riddle is as follows: “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

I shall now prove to You that Magic does walk with me. A nonsensical riddle will always refuse a smooth and uncluttered consensus however if You click on the link below and read the first line in the main box that begins with ‘The answer..’ , the chances are that You will either sink in a puddle inundated by tears of joy, or burn Your bubble cheeks in ravishing strawberry blushes! Whichever it is, be prepared to undergo an over-reactive explosion, in an INSTANT…  :))

LINK: http://www.wisegeek.org/why-is-a-raven-like-a-writing-desk.htm

P.S. Say CHEESE….! :)) :)) :))

The Trinket Streets Of Paris

“It shone with singular energy because I knew in my gut – in my tummy – that it would serve me well in the future. Literally!”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Near Saint-Michel| Paris | France 2015

Charlie & Lizzie: Meeting Halfway!

The meandering brick walls of the Cathedral ornamented by its gothic high arches forever implore to the eyes that it would indulge in sweet pleasure if it were to witness intimate meetings take place within its maze-like heart. It is an engrossing quality of the art of architecture that it possesses within its shapes, curves and angles the suggestive power to hint at You its idealised function. Alas, I did not have a brooding Mr Rochester and the outspoken intellect of Jane Eyre to stage such a clandestine meeting and thus appease the desires embodied in the mute bricks of the building. HOWEVER, as You very well know now, I did have at hand two very fierce young friends who successfully dared me to play the role of a fashionista photographer! A tough challenge because, as the colloquial goes, “it is SO NOT me!” On the other hand, I do enjoy testing the limits of my endurance and if all else fails, so what, there will always be a honey pot of learning to take away from it!

“Mazzy, this would be a cool place to take a pic!” Charlie was once again calling the shots on where to register a capture. Under the arches and flanked by a dry riverbed of horizontal bricks I could hear the ancient ruins whisper, “Meeting halfway…” As if a diamond revelation had fallen into my lap I knew instantly the composition of my next frame.

“Ladies, I am going to moonwalk back to the end of the passageway and you guys are going to do the same, then we are going to turn around and face away from each other. For a moment pretend that we have not seen each other for many, many years and that we have arranged to meet under these arches. When the role has enveloped us fully, we’ll turn around and walk towards one another, meeting at the half-way point on this path. Deal?” Elated by the ingenuity of my masterplan, I giggled with excitement and my mates issued forth an energetic, double thumbs up! Hurrah!

For Your exquisite delectation I present to You a scene of magical warmth sparkling with the joy one feels when the success of creative collaboration has sent You to the farthest reaches of the Milky Way! You may wish to consider the real possibility that this image may serve to be the blueprint of how You and I may wear expressions on our faces the day we meet… :))

 

EPILOGUE & BREAKING NEWS:  I ought to clarify that since my Circus Vision is knitted out of the most topsy-turvy of magical components, yet to be categorised by the Periodic Table itself, I tend to find that if I bring something to life in my words it often comes true in the real world at some later date – no matter how ridiculous and incredulous the contents may sound to the reader! SO, today I came across some fabulous news of a creature that I have always found quite the adorable character and if I ever build my own farm I should like to own a whole flock of them! Yes, I refer to the THE GOAT! A long time ago I composed an insightful poem to a Student in which I had personified the chap as a goat. He got terribly upset and vanished! If only my dear Student had believed in the Unseen, meeting me halfway in my words with a contribution of words from his own side, perhaps today he would have seen what I had originally meant… :))

LINK: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-33792054

Charlie & Lizzie: Meeting Halfway

“… For a moment pretend that we have not seen each other for many, many years and that we have arranged to meet under these arches. When the role has enveloped us fully, we’ll turn around and walk towards one another, meeting at the half-way point on this path. Deal?”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015