from where i sit

a simple oak tree in a bottle.

a bowl of beloved stones.

a candleholder gathered on a favorite beach.

a whirling dervish.

a whimsical robot.

a window in need of cleaning.

and golden light lasting only a fleeting moment.

a glorious light between the squalls.
during the squalls, i wonder if we shouldn't have built an ark.
my favorite sweaters are back in rotation.
as are the scarves.

i've started to knit a bit again.
it's like starting all over from the beginning.
i'm actually the same way with playing cards.
i have to relearn the game, despite 100s of games of whist and hearts played over the years.

pepper cat had four kittens last night. 

they're so tiny.

and i fear it's too late in the season.

but so far, so good.

she's attentive to them.

we're entering a cake contest on friday.

and the regional t.v. folks are coming out to film us making our cakes that afternoon.

so we need a new house by friday.

and it doesn't look good for that happening.

by the way,
with my earlier post about the elderly having sex,
i didn't mean to offend anyone.
or imply that older people shouldn't have sex.
or even that people in their 60s are elderly.
because that's not really true anymore today.

i'm GLAD that older people are having sex.
i just wish they wouldn't talk about it so much on the radio.
mostly because i think that what sex feels like can't really be described.
it's so personal.
and i guess i'm enough of a prude
to think it should stay that way.

so if you were going to make a cake

for a cake contest,

which one would it be?

we know sabin's will be something like this.

but i haven't yet decided.

sunshine helps

these days of endless sunshine make the world seem a friendlier, better place.
it makes it easier to handle all of life's small frustrations.
because they do come anyway, even when the sun shines.
but they matter so much less.
especially in the golden light of evening.

what you can't see is a bit of a nip in the air.
they predict frost tonight.
so all of the little plants are tucked in.
as are the strawberries, which are loaded with blooms.
it's going to be a great year for strawberries.

it's shaping up to be a great year for a lot of things.
but not always in the way you expect.
but i'm trying to let go of expecting.
and complaining.
and fault-finding.
and negativity.
and of fear. mostly of fear.

i'm not there yet,
but i find the sunshine helps.

soar

some days are better than others. 

clouds don't help.

one can feel overwhelmed by responsibilities and expectations.

especially one's own.

but also those of loved ones.

and one can wonder if that light

at the end of the tunnel

is indeed an oncoming train.

independence is both elating and scary.

scary right now.

when it's grey.

there's only one thing to be done...

push though it.

in dreams,

when it feels like falling,

is often when you take off and fly.

ode to a weekend well spent

the beginning of the garden work.

clearing last year's raspberries

with a real scythe 

felt more russian than bergman.

husband away for an evening of port and steak

with the guys. 

that's quite ok.

he needed it.

and it meant i got to spend my evening with a quiet glass of wine

and a book.

and i needed that.

blissful golden sunshine.

bunnies out in the grass.

a cup of tea in the garden.

drinking in the warm sunshine on our faces.

the bunnies did too.

lots of laughing and swinging and chasing away

the barn kitties from the bunny cage.

rejoicing in the light returning.

an orange-pink-purple sunset at 6:37.

the sun taking up a completely different spot in the sky.

as we move in earnest towards spring.

a good wind

hurricane force winds blew through last night.

they've settled down a bit,

but haven't yet died out completely.

and yet i feel peaceful.

a bit washed clean.

floaty even. 

there's something about a good wind.

it's cleansing.

and sweeps all the tension away.

impatiently awaiting 2011

gorgeous jewel-toned snowflake by lisa from pursuing art
part of the ornament exchange sponsored by elizabeth

i have grown weary and vaguely irritated with the reverb10 prompts. 

nothing against the fine and well-intentioned people who have written them, 

but i think i have to abandon the project here, 

so close to the end, 

because i feel like i'll just be repeating myself

if i talk about one more defining moment or gift that the past year has given me.

reflecting is a good thing - therapeutic, even.

but i want to look forward now. 

i feel butterflies in my stomach contemplating the new year ahead. 

i can't wait to get to it. 

it feels
like a new beginning,
tho' it's just a new page on the calendar -
there's something so unwritten about it -
a blank page on which to put my mark.
or my many marks.

so much i want to do in 2011:
words to write,
photos to take,
things to sew,
projects on which to embark,
paint to paint,
gardens to plant,
eggs to gather from chickens not yet acquired,
places to see,
people to meet,
magic to be felt,
sparkle to be sparkled.

i want it all.
now.
now.
now.

moving back towards the light

-13°C

pink sunrises and sunsets.

clear, cold, sunny.

for now.

but promises of snow.

baking on the horizon.

and a bit of sewing.

the last day of school.

a year winding down.

and a new one on the horizon.

fresh and full of promise.

moving back towards the light.

  

* * *

a few beautiful, inspiring things...

stories of film

triptychs

at this moment

at this moment..

i'm cold.

i want to brush my teeth.

there is an ache in my shoulders.

i fear i'm not eating enough salad.

my tea has gone cold.

i wish i had a good book to read.

the moon is illuminating the snow

in the most amazing and unphotographable way.

so i take a picture in my head.

*click*

speaking of my head,

ideas tumble in there.

fabric designs.

website words.

owls.

viking ships.

the environment.

paintings.

husband needs a haircut.

on the other side of the world,

it's tomorrow.