Light

We live in a teeny, tiny cottage. It is sweltering in the summer and icy in the winter. The bathroom is wee. There is only one. When the children were younger and the boy needed to pee and the bathroom was occupied, he was encouraged to tend to his needs outside.

The rooms are square. Small. Each room has two small windows, from these windows stream the most delightful light. It is warm and pink and filled with the shadows of Cosmos and Marigold, dancing tree limbs and warm and cool breezes.

The two small western windows in the narrow common space are filled with a lovely bush that blooms sweet white flowerettes in the spring. The light shines hot at the end of the day, but sometimes, the balance is just right. Pinky, soft light lilting in with birdsong...

Autumn

I have been embracing the Autumn with open arms and a loving embrace. Here in Los Angeles, one must be very diligent about spotting the signs of the seasons. It is subtle here, the Liquid Amber trees can only hint of rolling hills of crimson leaves as they drift toward earth. The mornings are cool, the afternoons hot and dry. The day closes early and darkness descends as supper is being placed on the table.

The down comforters are layered on the bed, so the windows can remain open in the night. We are so lucky.

I promise to be more attentive to this space. I crawled inside myself and found it cozy and warm, grief and healing and sorting of emotions swirling about...A post a day, even a wee one. And a photo. There are so many eating up my computer space. XO

So Quiet Here

There has been a lot of quiet here of late. Maybe it was the tail end of the heat, there was a family death, a cancer diagnosis, it has been full, but quiet. I don't have cancer, it is a matriarch of the family, I have had the privilege of caring for her a few days a week. I get to cook for her, make her tea, sit up with her while she tries to fall asleep. She is a hoot. Really funny. I woke her one afternoon to give her her medicine. I whispered, " Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Without missing a beat, she replied, "Is my handsome prince on his way?"

Many of my mornings have been spent painting, sitting with the dog, tending to daily tasks like baking, laundering, gardening and tidying up. Quiet. Really quiet. Normally, I would be in the beginning intensity of a new school year. The quiet can be unnerving at times. Yet, I like it. 

Now the rain is falling here in Southern California. I am beyond delighted. I sigh every time I hear the trickle of the rain outside the window. Before the sun set, I would peek out the window and smile as I looked out over the garden. The garden is even more delighted with the rain than I am! It is perfect timing before winter planting. The ground will soak in this steady rain, deep and needed.

I love falling asleep to the rain. I love waking in the dark, damp night and hearing the drumming of the water over the earth. I find such comfort and contentment in rainy nights. I covered the down comforter with a handmade quilt, loved and laundered and used over many years. I feel enveloped by all the other rainy nights under these covers. In Hawaii, I would listen to the rain on the steel roof of the garage. Now that is a sweet sound.

So I am quiet here. It is okay for now. A time of few words.

Michaelmas Time

Michaelmas

Michaelmas time, Michaelmas time!

Time is turning under the plough.

Under the stars, under the signs,

the ploughman toils with deep furrowed brow.

He turns his thoughts against the cold,

buries his fears ‘neath earth’s deep mould:

frost, like fire, burns white on its blade

of his iron share that red fire made.

I love this time of year. I love the chance to plant morsels of dreams and hope. I love working through the difficult times, tucking them safely away in my heart, allowing them to marinate and transform into the bright blossoms of possibility and clarity. Especially now, as we ready for the deepness of winter, and spring is but a faint glimmer on the other side...I honor my struggle.

On Turning Ten

On Turning Ten

The whole idea of it makes me feel

like I'm coming down with something,

something worse than any stomach ache

or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--

a kind of measles of the spirit,

a mumps of the psyche,

a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,

but that is because you have forgotten

the perfect simplicity of being one

and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.

But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.

At four I was an Arabian wizard.

I could make myself invisible

by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.

At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window

watching the late afternoon light.

Back then it never fell so solemnly

against the side of my tree house,

and my bicycle never leaned against the garage

as it does today,

all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,

as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.

It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,

time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe

there was nothing under my skin but light.

If you cut me I could shine.

But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,

I skin my knees. I bleed. 

-Billy Collins

The Circle Game

Please, go get a hankie and make sure you listen through at least one chorus. It gives you hope. It gave me hope. Courtesy of Andrea.

Apollo

Hymn To Apollo

GOD of the golden bow,

And of the golden lyre,

And of the golden hair,

And of the golden fire,

Charioteer

Of the patient year,

Where---where slept thine ire,

When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,

Thy laurel, thy glory,

The light of thy story,

Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?

O Delphic Apollo!

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,

The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;

The eagle's feathery mane

For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound

Of breeding thunder

Went drowsily under,

Muttering to be unbound.

O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?

Why touch thy soft lute

Till the thunder was mute,

Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?

O Delphic Apollo!

The Pleiades were up,

Watching the silent air;

The seeds and roots in Earth

Were swelling for summer fare;

The Ocean, its neighbour,

Was at his old labour,

When, who---who did dare

To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,

And grin and look proudly,

And blaspheme so loudly,

And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?

O Delphic Apollo! 

-John Keats