Sometimes The Sea

Sometimes the sea

has lots to say

Sometimes the sea

is just the sea

Thoughts are like rocks

Some to be thrown

Some to be placed 

in my pocket

Saskia Kidd, 22 March 2017

words / photography: Ora Et Decora 2017



let us return

to the Lord.

For He has torn us,

but He will heal us;

He has wounded us,

but He will bandage us.

He will revive us

after two days;

He will raise us up

on the third day,

that we may live

before Him.

So let us know,

let us press on to know

the Lord.

His going forth

is as certain

as the dawn;

and He will come

to us

like the rain,

like the spring rain

watering the earth.

Hosea 6:1-3 (ESV)



Design & Photography: ora et decora 2017

Good Friday 2017: The Way of Jesus – The Path of Descent

The Way of Jesus always includes the path of descent. The way of the cross. The way of dying to self and trying to trust that life can grow, even in darkness. There is a continuous cycle of life and death, and life again, to be found within all of creation. The tenacious way a tiny seed can sprout, underground. Shadows, indicating the presence of light. An almost ridiculous hope against all hope that love can, and will, have the last word. 

Design/ Photography: Ora Et Decora, 2017

Lent 2017

Decor & Photography: Ora et Decora 2017

Ash Wednesday 2017

Art & Photography: Saskia Kidd,

“Blessing The Dust”
A Blessing for Ash Wednesday – from Circle of Grace by Jan Richardson

All those days

you felt like dust,

like dirt,

as if all you had to do

was turn your face

toward the wind

and be scattered

to the four corners

or swept away

by the smallest breath

as insubstantial—

Did you not know

what the Holy One

can do with dust?


This is the day

we freely say

we are scorched.


This is the hour

we are marked

by what has made it

through the burning.


This is the moment

we ask for the blessing

that lives within

the ancient ashes,

that makes its home

inside the soil of

this sacred earth.


So let us be marked

not for sorrow.

And let us be marked

not for shame.

Let us be marked

not for false humility

or for thinking

we are less

than we are


but for claiming

what God can do

within the dust,

within the dirt,

within the stuff

of which the world

is made,

and the stars that blaze

in our bones,

and the galaxies that spiral

inside the smudge

we bear.

©Jan Richardson,

Said The River

“Said the river: Imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.”

Photography: ora et decora 2017

excerpts from

At The River Clarion, by Mary Oliver


I don’t know who God is exactly.

But I’ll tell you this.

I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone

and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.

Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,

and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.

And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.

Said the river I am part of holiness.

And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.

I’d been to the river before, a few times.

Don’t blame the river that nothing happened quickly.

You don’t hear such voices in an hour or a day.

You don’t hear them at all if selfhood has stuffed your ears.

And it’s difficult to hear anything anyway, through all the traffic, the ambition.


If God exists he isn’t just butter and good luck.

He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke.

Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.

Imagine how the lily (who may also be a part of God) would sing to you if it could sing,

if you would pause to hear it.

And how are you so certain anyway that it doesn’t sing?

If God exists he isn’t just churches and mathematics.

He’s the forest, He’s the desert.

He’s the ice caps, that are dying.

He’s the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts.

He’s van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert Motherwell.

He’s the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing their weapons.

He’s every one of us, potentially.

The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician, the poet.

And if this is true, isn’t it something very important?

Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and each of you too, or at least

of his intention and his hope.

Which is a delight beyond measure.

I don’t know how you get to suspect such an idea.

I only know that the river kept singing.

It wasn’t a persuasion, it was all the river’s own constant joy

which was better by far than a lecture, which was comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.


Of course for each of us, there is the daily life.

Let us live it, gesture by gesture.

When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?

And should we not thank the knife also?

We do not live in a simple world.


There was someone I loved who grew old and ill

One by one I watched the fires go out.

There was nothing I could do

except to remember

that we receive

then we give back.


My dog Luke lies in a grave in the forest, she is given back.

But the river Clarion still flows from wherever it comes from

to where it has been told to go.

I pray for the desperate earth.

I pray for the desperate world.

I do the little each person can do, it isn’t much.

Sometimes the river murmurs, sometimes it raves.

Be A Lamp

Decor & Photography: ora et decora, 2016