Tokyo Tower Through the Tree

 Red steel rising through green and blue-  Tokyo's heart in the sky. 

Sometimes the most iconic places look different when you find your own way of seeing them. When I looked up at Tokyo Tower through the green leaves, it didn't feel like just a landmark anymore - it felt alive, part of both city and nature. 

The red and white tower rose brightly against the summer sky, framed by the calm greens of the trees. In those moments, I felt a balance of opposites - modern and timeless, steel and leaves, city and calm. 

Taking this photo reminded me that even the busiest places have quiet ways of showing their beauty. You just need to look up, pause, and see them differently. 

What is a place you've seen a thousand times, but still find new beauty in when you look again?

Grace in Stillness

A flower that rises from the mud, carrying only grace. 

The lotus has always been a flower of quiet strength. Floating gently on the surface, it rises from muddy water yet blooms in pure grace. When I photographed these lotus flowers, I felt like I was looking at hope itself. 

I've always admired the lotus flower for its meaning: purity, resilience, and calm. No matter how still or murky the pond, they stand tall and beautiful. They reminded me that even in difficult places, beauty can rise. 

The white lotus was serene, glowing softly against the green lily pads. The purple lotus, on the other hand, was vibrant and full of life, its golden centre shining like a little sun. Together, they looked like a conversation between calm and joy. 

These lotus blooms felt like lessons in patience. Life doesn't have to be perfect for us to bloom. Even when we feel weighed down or lost, we can still rise, gently and beautifully, just like the lotus. 

I left the pond that day with a softer heart. The lotus flowers reminded me to breathe, to rise, and to bloom where I am planted. 

What flower teaches you about life when you see it? 

The Koi Pond at Twilight

When the moon touches water, even koi become light. 

Some paintings begin as colours, but end as feelings. This koi pond was one of those - and it wasn't just mine. Jane painted the background first, filling the canvas with deep reds and purples. Then I added the koi and lily pads, letting them swim through the dreamy water she had created. 

I've always been drawn to koi ponds. The way koi glide slowly under lily pads feels like poetry in motion. Their slow, graceful movements remind me of peace. But this time, the magic began with Jane. Her playful strokes become the water itself, and it felt natural for me to add koi drifting gently across her coours -  like her joy had turned into a pond for them to live in. 

The background was all Jane's - free, bold, and full of feeling. I loved how her colours blended, almost like twilight falling into water. On top of that, I painted the lily pads and pale koi, adding little ripples and a faint moon reflection. Together, it became a shared canvas of mother and daughter - her freedom and my details joining into one story. 

To me, this painting insnt just about koi. It's about collaboration, about sharing creativity with Jane. She reminds me to play, to be bold, while I bring in patience and details. The koi gliding across her colours are like our connection - moving together, at our own pace. 

This koi pond is more than paint on canvas; it's a memory of Jane, stitched into colours and water. One day, I hope she'll look back and see that her art was the heart of this piece. 

Have you ever created something side by side with someone you love? 

A Field of Little Joys

 

A thousand tiny petals, singing softly together. 

It wasn't the roses or tall sunflowers that caught my eye this time. It was these tiny pink blossoms, clustered together, shining quietly in the garden. 

Individually, they looked delicate - but together, they painted the ground with light. Their colour felt like laughter, like a soft chorus rising in the breeze. I found myself smiling without even realising it, because sometimes beauty doesn't need to be grand to touch us. 

These flowers reminded me that joy often comes from small things: Jane's laugh, a cup of warm tea, a single crochet stitch in a quiet moment. Alone they may seem little, but together they become the fabric of our days. 

So today, I carry this thought: happiness doesn't always arrive as something big. It blooms in small petals, and it stays when we notice them.

What tiny joy has bloomed in your life recently?

The Hippo by the Sea

 When yarn meets sunset, even a hippo learns to dream. 

Some creations just make me smile the moment they're finished - this hippo is one of them. With his rosy cheeks, striped shirt, and gentle expression, he looked like he was ready for a beach holiday. So I took him to the shore at sunset, and he fit right in with the waves and golden sky. 

I've always loved hippos for their round, sturdy shapes and surprising cuteness. They might look big and heavy, but they carry a sense of calmness, too. I thought it would be fun to crochet one that felt soft, friendly, and easy to hug - a little hippo companion with a cosy outfit.

When I held him at the beach, it felt like he belonged there - watching the waves, enjoying the sea breeze, and quietly soaking in the evening light. Jane loved him instantly.

This hippo reminds me that even simple creations can bring joy. He is soft, cheerful and full of character - a reminder that happiness doesn't have to be complicated. Sometimes, all it takes is yarn, imagination, and a touch of sunset. 

Which animal would you love to see crocheted next? 

Layers of a Rose, Layers of Me

Soft, quiet, and endlessly unfolding - like love itself. 

Some flowers bloom quietly, yet they carry entire stories within their petals. This rose, soft and layered, seemed to glow as if it held the morning sun inside. It wasn't just a flower - it was a reminder that beauty takes its time. 

Roses have always been timeless to me. They are often seen as a symbol of love, but when I look closer, I see patience. A rose doesn't bloom all at once - it unfolds slowly, layer by layer, just like life itself. 

As I photographed this rose, I noticed how each petal curled gently into the next, forming a spiral of softness. It felt almost like a meditation on growth - how we, too, are built layer by layer, shaped by time, love and experience. 

What I loved most about this rose was its mix of strength and gentleness. The petals were delicate to touch, but together they formed something full, rich and lasting. It reminded me that strength doesn't always look hard - sometimes, it looks soft. 

This rose became more than a photo. It became a symbol of self-kindness. Just as a rose doesn't rush to bloom, I don't need to rush myself - not in healing, not in growth, not in motherhood. 

This rose will fade in time, but the lesson it whispered stays: beauty is in the patience, the layers and the unfolding. 

 

The Rose and the Caterpillar

On fiery petals rests a caterpillar - two stages of beauty meeting in one moment. 

When I found this orange rose, it was already glowing with warmth. But what made me pause was the small caterpillar resting gently on its petals. It felt like I had captured not just a flower, but a story about change and becoming. 

Roses are often seen as complete - symbols of love, beauty and bloom. But this rose reminded me that every stage of life matters, not just the "perfect" flower. Even in its moment of glory, it was sharing space with a caterpillar still on its journey. 

The orange petals looked like fire, each layer unfolding with energy and life. The caterpillar, by contrast, was still and quiet - a reminder that transformation takes time. Together, they made me think of balance: blooming now, and waiting for what's next. 

This picture felt like a gentle massage: You can bloom where you are, and still be in the process of becoming something new. The rose and the caterpillar showed me that beauty isn't one moment - it's the whole cycle of growth. 

Sometimes we see ourselves as the rose, sometimes as the caterpillar. Either way, both are beautiful. Both are enough.