Morning.
White haze beyond the window.
Eyes, hands, hair; a warm blanket nest.
Coffee, a whisper.
Peace and a day?
Or a splash of grey?
Soft.
Beyond the sunrise.
Life as it may.
Categories
Tag: Winter
Categories
The Cottage House
I suspect this weekend will be beautiful.
I’m not sure how much you’ll see me here, if at all, my lovely bloggy friends. I’ll be all snuggled up under a blankie with a steaming cup of tea and a book, alone in a lovely little cottage house on a hill, among a thousand trees.
I couldn’t think of a more beautiful way to gain my strength back.
I’m house-sitting for one of my oldest friends: my wonderful bestie from high school. No matter how long we’ve gone without seeing each other, she has remained a constant support to me over the years. Whenever I’ve needed her, she’s been there, never once complaining about my tendency to disappear for vast stretches of this introverted life of mine.
She and her twin sister (another dear friend of mine) were the ones who taught me how to make a real cake at the ripe old age of fourteen. When I realised that all cakes did not actually begin in a packet…my eyes must have widened a mile. I will never forget how we laughed.
Anyhow, that’s where I’ll be this weekend. Looking after two cats, a bunny rabbit, and four teeny tiny newborn bunnies. What bliss.
All the Friday love hearts, my merry bloggy friends. May this day bring you ALL the awesome things.
Categories
The Magic of Rain
Because rain was always meant to be magic.
Now do you remember?
Categories
In The Black Of Night
I’m sitting by the fire in the black of the night.
The sun shines on the other side of the world and yet here my mind is, alive without it, wondering when sleep will call for me again. My nose is cold. I’m wondering how I might fix that, too.
When the night wakes me, I lay in bed for the longest time, quite clear about the world inside of me. It’s a mystery, isn’t it, that the answers we seek in the light of the day seem somehow more visible in the dark (the actual dark).
Perhaps this awake time is good for me. A gift of energetic privacy: a land of alone, where there is no one but me to answer to, no societal rules to burden me, no expectations to snuggle in with them.
All there is in the dark of night is me, and the fire, and the moon.
I am soothed by the quiet of that.
The wild in me
craves
the touch
of the wild out there.
Categories
Sad Hands
My hands are not happy with me. If there were little faces in the middle of my palms, both faces would feature a raised eyebrow and an angry forehead, absolutely. They’ve had a big day, the poor muffins. But because they’ve had a big day…I’ve had a good one. A satisfying one.
It all started when a GIGANTIC load of firewood landed in the driveway. I’d just finished putting my little girl into bed when I noticed the truck and the man and the wood, ALL the wood, goodness gracious me.
I called my husband and tried to explain to him the faces my hands had begun to make in preparation for the mammoth effort that lay in front of me. In other words. Oh, bother. Wood. In driveway. Who is going to move it? Oh, yes, that’s right: me.
My husband (who was at work, probably grinning) suggested that I tidy the firewood storage area and, If I could do that by the time he got home, he would happily do the lifting, the wheelbarrowing, the stacking. The stacking. The stacking.
Well, could I just leave it, and wait for a man?
I would not just leave it there, NO, Sam I Am!
Instead, me and my little people bundled into our ‘cold day’ clothes, and with the Super Mario Brothers theme song blipping away in the background, Mummy moved the wood. All of it. All-of-it.
What a legend.
What an amazing, awesome, mega wonderful—and unbelievably modest—super champion I am.
Now.
How to convince my aching hands that this whole wooden adventure has all been worth it?
This may take a while.
Categories
Somewhere Summer
When the leaves start to fall and the sun slides all the way ’round to the other side of the world…
I get a little bit grumpy.
A little bit cooped up.
A little bit sad.
You could say I’m allergic to winter.
I know. Poor me.
Just think of my cold little toes!
Maybe I just prefer bright.
Colour.
A bit of gold on a cloud.
A bit of glare on a train track.
A bit of peace from the wildlings who leap the couches and roar…
And climb me, like the ladder I so clearly am.
And the gym!
My goodness, they’ll be pleased.
We miss you, they said in summer;
A pointy-fingered email for every time I chose to exercise in the great outdoors…
Instead of on their sweat-crusted cross trainer.
Yes, gym. It’s true.
The grey skies will bring me back to you.
And don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad.
There’s the wood that crackles in the fire. The quiet moments that dull the adorable LOUD.
And then there’s you.
My friends in the north, peeling off your chunky wool sweaters. Frolicking in the splendor of a sun-lit strip.
I’ll think of you and your sweet, sweet summer and do you know what I’ll do?
I’ll smile. Because at least someone will be sipping Pina Coladas, pool-side.
Even if it won’t be me.
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