Dreams are born
on quiet nights.
Dreams are born
on quiet nights.
I might walk tomorrow. And sit. With trees and music and life flowing through every piece of wild in my soul. My energy hasn’t been flowing as nicely of late, and where the old me wouldn’t have noticed any change in my being whatsoever, the new me looks at the trees and wonders why I can’t feel into their branches today. Why music is just there, and not the magic it became after the universe woke me up to my extra feeling self.
I have one errand to run in the morning, and then after snuggling my little muffins and sending them off for a fun day with Dad…it’ll be just me in my world for a day. Me and some trees, and hopefully the Soft Girl, who will very likely be tempted out from hiding by the trees and the music that call her.
Anyway, it’ll be lovely. Perhaps while I sit among the forest, with my eyes closed to the breeze, I might think of some things. I might think of taking my bubbas out into the forest one day when they’re bigger. I might think of how proud I’ll be to show them that it’s okay to be the crazy girl who places her palms upon a tree trunk and closes her eyes while she does it. The girl who smiles into the sky when her heart feels all shiny and nice, and calls that very feeling the essence of her soul.
And then there’ll be tomorrow evening. The evening will bring me an entire night with one of my dearest friends. There’ll be too much wine. Maybe some burgers. Probably some tears. Plenty of smiles. And talk of somewhere over the rainbow, that place just beyond the wall that our eyes and hearts just cannot see yet.
Perhaps I’ll fill you in on my adventures another day. Perhaps it all might be so wonderful that I’ll need to spill the happy onto someone nice.
My glasses are shining back at me from the library window.
In hindsight, I should have eaten. Actual lunch I mean, not just the Honey and Date Loaf that quite accidentally fell into my belly at around lunchtime today. I know I should have chosen a more appropriate lunch because I’ve been wandering around the library for an hour, in a daze, and only now have I begun to write: a blog post, might I add, that will likely make little to no sense at all, whatsoever, in the slightest, or even a little bit. (See what I mean? I have no one to blame but myself.)
Apart from a total lack of regard for my perfectly innocent human body, it’s been a wonderful day. The ‘wonderful’ began with a song about a garden. I was on my way to meet my husband and little people at the pool, wrestling with the gear stick of my husband’s zippy little beetle bug (I’ve never been a multitasker) when the lady on the radio announced the next song. Inspired by a home garden, apparently.
A song about a garden: I was intrigued.
By the end of the song— a dainty classical number, whirling with piano and violin— the butterflies in my heart had moved me out of my body and into a lavender-scented cottage garden.
Beautiful. Magical. Lovely.
Really it was.
When life returned to normal, I swam with my ‘watch this Mummy!’ little girl. I ate cake and I drank coffee. I wandered the shops, and I wandered the library, and here I am now. Writing a completely random blog post like only a hungry cooky girl can.
It’s been a happy kind of day (however random) thanks for asking. ☺️I’m sorry about the ‘not really about anything’ blog post.
Tomorrow will be better. Maybe. Probably.
I’ve blown up the heater, again. Both of them. First the ducted heating, then the little beige buzzy thing I set up to replace it. That went within ten minutes of me turning it on, so I suppose this means we really will need to get the fire going tonight. (Not a tragedy. I so adore the warmth and romance of a wood fire, don’t you?)
I thought I’d do a bit of a waffle session on the blog, today. The ‘soft girl’ has been punishing you all with philosophical musings for quite a few days now, and let’s face it— some days are absolutely made for waffling. Today is one of them. Friday! My favorite day of the week.
Friday is like a deep breath, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s even a gasp, for some, like breaching the surface of a way too deep week of work. The end of the working week is a comfort that most of us cling to as a means of reward, celebration, and escape. And, by most of us, I mean…me. I’ve always loved that about Friday, the feeling of peace and closure attached to it.
But I also hate that. Why should we (human folk) feel the need to rush through life, just so we can make it to that place where all the good things live. Family. Me time. Time to work for ‘the self’, rather than for ‘the self of someone else’.
I dream of the day we all slot into our perfect puzzle pieces. The day we all stand up and say, actually no. I feel there is something more for me, something that will light my soul on fire and have me feeling just a little less excited about Friday. About the weekend.
Yes, I’m a dreamer. But it’s possible. Anything is.
Well. At least, I think so. 🙂
Happy weekend, my beautiful bloggy friends.
Oh! And, Happy Friday! 🙂
Here’s a story.
A love story.
There once was a girl
who never stopped believing
in the magical powers
of a chocolate
It’s the third day of Christmas.
And here I am
sitting under the shade of a barky tree,
listening to the river,
counting my blessings as they float on by.
What is this beautiful life?
What is this warm breeze
that gives me everything I never knew I needed?
This feeling soothes me.
And every time it finds me
it’s essence fills me more
like a drug that’s addicted to me.
Oh, how I crave it.
Oh, how I wish it would stay.
When your happy place gets lost
It will always
Darling is the wife, the mum, the daughter, the friend who says:
Tonight is my gift to me.
Tonight it will be only me.
In a cosy room.
And music. (You know I’d never forget the music.)
Darling is tonight.
The night I’ve stolen from the world.
All for myself, for no particular reason.
You’re welcome me.
You are very, very welcome.