Pondering and dreaming

It rained all day yesterday, and the landscape has attained the colors of velvety royal garments—maroon, scarlet, wine-burgundy, mustard-yellow and reddish-purple. My heart yearns for the flight of birds; to fly the earth with my eyes turned skyward and from my windows on the upper floors head over to the purple-blue mountains reaching out the heavens... mountains and sky; like some lovers embracing each other in the ether of eternity.

In the back gardens, the roses are still perfuming the atmosphere in a thousand dreams. In florid skirts I walk barefoot through scattered petals, and the scent of autumn is everywhere.  “Weave, weave the sunshine in your hair”—I hear the roses sing, and I do, I do… my soul swells in the warmth of golden days and ripe apricot colors, before melancholy settles upon our winter nights.

And how fast had seasons come and gone; how swiftly had life strolled through my hours; leaving me so full of questions to ponder about, to stretch out my arms to the heavens in an earnest desire to leave a trace of wings in the air… and ask, in reverie, Am I broken, or special, or better, or worse?  Each month comes with its own memories, and tomorrow I will be celebrating another birthday and remembering the woman who carried me in her womb an eternity ago.

Gypsy life

October 6—the sand dunes—I love the dunes in October; the immense, open landscape of golden-haired grasses, bright yellow, daisy-like blossoms and magenta flowers against the gray backdrop of those prodigious columns of sands grasping the bluest of horizons.  So, even knowing we were to brace some cold nights under the prevailing winds of the high desert, we went along with our plans and made camp among the Russian Olive trees in sand dunes that began by a flood that took place about 15,000 years ago.

Colorful pillows, cozy blankets, small plants and windblown designs in the sand under a blue sky… desert, prairie, dune, marsh and lake habitats; black-tailed jackrabbits, coyotes, mule deer and porcupines under great open skies supporting an abundance of birds.   

Colorful, big warm bed...

And one more, in case you want to show up too!

Good books and good coffee for windy days and cold nights!

And yummy food too!

To enjoy inside or outside the gypsy caravan!

That first morning after our arrival, I woke up suddenly at about 6:00am.  It was still dark as night outside, and beside me the Fisherman slept peacefully.  It felt cozy and warm inside our tent, and in the placid stillness that surrounded me, I felt this yearn for God’s presence; his voice summoning me to come to Him.  A sincere desire, a need deep in the deepest part of my soul; a yearn, and a thirst of the spirit to be filled with the fullness of God possessed me, and took me down on my knees, and I prayed—prayed for a sign of God’s nearness and favor upon His servant in the song of owls… I wanted to hear an owl as an indication of God’s nearness, until alas, from above our tent came the hunting sound I was expecting; magnificent and revealing, the song of an owl resting on one of the trees right above our humbleness and faithful hearts.

I kept kneeling there, just there, listening to the beats of my heart in the deep voices of the wild, unable to move in wonder and awe.  Then, unexpectedly, from the distance came the voices of coyotes; uniting and blending with that of the owl, forming one single song with the song of my own heart.  For hadn’t I also asked God to let me hear the voices of those creatures of the high desert?  And how beautiful, and how spiritual the moment at the break of the new day was!  My heart was overflowing with the fullness of God’s joy.  And I knew, without a doubt, that I had been with the Lord.


PS:  If you enjoy reading about our gypsy trips in our gypsy caravan, don't forget to visit my "Gypsy Dreams" blog for more!  

See you around friends!

Rain

October 4—rain, delightful rainy day.  A pitter-patter on my windows all day long, and all throughout the day the sky remained ashen and the earth leaden with a hushed, nostalgic feeling.  I stepped outside, and all of a sudden, fall arrived at my front porch…

 

Rain fell, leaves swirled and the wind sung the song of autumns...

And it seemed like it was only yesterday when the house got painted in June, and the sun was shining and the weather was sweet and yellow butterflies looked like flowers flying through the warm air.   

Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

And how fast everything came and went this year, how quickly life strolled through my hours making new memories, and leaving me so full of questions to ponder about, to stretch out my arms to the heavens in thankfulness and in an earnest desire to leave a trace of wings in the air… 

The house in the roses

We were away travelling this past week.  The entire week I attended meetings, met new people and ate at some awesome restaurants, always yearning secretly for my favorite place in the entire world—home.  Then, the following morning after we came back, the first thing I did was to go out into the garden.  And what a breathtaking view, and what surprise waiting for me there... for the entire garden was in bloom!  

Every rose bush had come into flower; so many roses as I had never seen since we moved back, as if some angel had decided to come by and worked his magic all around just to amaze me.  How beautiful, and how plentiful had Nature rewarded me!

I made a huge bouquet with the Chicago Peace...

And brought it in!

On Monday, I removed the final lilies from the garden; droopy as they were, and unable to put forth a single flower throughout the summer, and which had become sort of an eyesore to me, and on Tuesday it was the Mexican Petunias around one of the fountains in the rose beds along the bedroom wall.  I love these little flowers, but they had become too rowdy and overgrown and had stopped blooming.  I also wanted to free up some space in that area and just let the roses be the focal point.  So that’s done.  

On Tuesday, I decided it was time to work on the roses that have become wild and, finally, mustering enough courage and the strength necessary to accomplish the job, I removed the first one.  This 13 year old rose was something else to dig, with roots almost with the width of a man’s neck—not exaggerating.  Roots had to be severed from the midsection, which means that part of it still remains in the grown and most probably the Dr. Huey part of it will resurface again.    

Our mornings and evenings are cold and swift, with beautiful sunny midafternoons. There is a magical type of a harmony everywhere I look, and the sky has a different luster to it.  Trees, in the distance against the greyish background of the mountains have acquired the colors of coriander, turmeric, pumpkins and crisp apples, and I almost bought the sweetest little kitten the other day.  Tillie was her name.