Hotchpotch

I sit on top of my days and count my hours in rose petals.  Count them in quiet blessings too, and in the fact that though my feelings come and go, God’s love for me does not. 

The month of August has its own song to sing.  A song that carries through its notes, the color of emeralds and the murmur of rivers, and the garden sits upon its minutes and sings a proper tune.  The tunes and sounds of bees and wasps floating about the flowery clusters of the Virginia creeper, wild grasses swaying in midday breezes and the fire that solitude presses against my lips.

August is rose bouquets in the house and salmon and summer squash with basil and pineapple chucks.  Happy to spend my hours here—under the heat of August and the songs of summer.

The garden is a different garden than that of the months of May and June.  A hallowed emptiness hangs over it, motionless and hot. It is emptied, too, of birds and those winged fairies of the air, the butterflies, with only the common house finches and Mourning doves for visitors, and a single, solitary squirrel, owner of the neighborhood. 

Rain… I dream of you. For it hasn’t rain around here from that time at the beginning of May, and my soul yearns for the cloudy music of rainy days—that wet tic-tic-tic spring happiness and the scent of wet earth and young leaves.

I miss the wood-wandering cats of my yesterdays, cicadas in midsummer and fireflies in June. Miss the ghostly fog after a rainy night, spring peepers in the pond and rabbits quietly munching all over the weed garden.  My soul years for something I can’t name. I long for it, and I don’t know what it is.

I gave the garden a deep pruning day, the other today—8/8/18.  This date holds a resonance all its own: Balance. You'll reap what you've sown. And what have I sown?

Roses and magic… magic when I come out here at the tender solemn dawn-time and stand out and throw my head far back and look up and up and watch the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the eastern sky almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun—which has been happening every morning for thousands of years.

I finally had to change my jogging route the other day.  Those big dogs at the end of the curb on the old Amity road just terrify me.  They give a hoot about their so called ‘invisible’ fence, but then, again, what can one expect of an ‘invisible fence’?  And thus, I am not taking that route again.  Running through some safer and less vehicle congested roads it really makes a difference on my nerves.  

I have been unintentionally working on collecting more art for my artsy walls.  I have to stop doing this I know, but I keep finding these beautiful canvases, paintings and work of art that I cannot put away and must bring home with me… cheap stuff that are always one of a kind, unique cheap stuff that I must have, because I love the small things...

I have brought in from the garden a few bouquets this year, and my Shabby Chic-romantic-girly room has been feeling happy and pink all throughout spring and summer!

On July 25 I bought and planted two crocosmia plants.  They are standing on the side garden path, aka the enchanted path and one is already dying out. 

I have bought a new laptop.  It took me two days to figure it out and set things the way I like it.  I lost my iPod on the airplane on our way to Rome last June.

I love how my little Pine tree looks all lighted up in the evening when the sun goes down and shadows start to creep in… I used to keep it lit all day and all night along with all the other dimmed lamp-light and fairy-light in the house, until the Fisherman got me some Sengled Element Light Bulbs, put an app on my phone, and now I can turn on and off every light in the house with just a click…

I truly value and appreciate all of you, and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all the comments you leave here and for your concern on how life unfolds upon my soul… I don’t think I could ever express well enough, and deep enough how much you all helped me and reassured me during those dark winter days last year, after my mother passed.  And now this with my dear husband.  I consider all of you my friends, friends from here and there, from nearby and afar and sometimes, I even find myself lifting you up in my prayers.  Although I don’t know your specific needs, I do know your names, or your bloggy names, and they are on my lips when I run upstairs to meet with my Heavenly Father. 

Thank you again for being here with me time after time.  My husband the fisherman is doing splendidly.  We were finally able to find a doctor here at home, a good doctor who’s looking after him and making sure that all of our questions are being answered.  Sometimes it is hard for me to fathom all what we went through on those Florida roads did really happened. It was real, and not just a bad dream. It could had been so bad, and yet all is well; probably better now after the medical procedure he had; something of which we hadn’t the slightest idea how much it was needed.  

Ah my friends… “All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.”