…noticing that what I most want to do these days is lay outside upon the earth when it is dry enough to…or read a book…or take a bath…or put words and pictures together. And these are happening- in between the dishes, and tending animals and people and my work.
What is it about words and pictures? Especially those that don’t have to be printed or made for anyone beyond myself and the moment. They transport us, I suppose. I wanted to go on working on this new page much longer than it needed me to, taking away most everything Blogger thinks is useful and adding just enough to make it comfortable…with the ever-changingness of the blog roll to keep it enlivened…finally finding the image that spoke best to me. Let me tell you, it is a much nicer place to visit than bloglovin’ or feedly or any other option I’ve tried…so I highly recommend making your own “secret” blog just for following other blogs.
Later, work finished, a sunset bath and reading…but still, the restless-but-languid mood persists. Putting the hens to bed, some moments by the fire nibbling kale chips while the last of sun shines low onto the kitchen sofa, a new book started and I took myself to early-bed. Closing the book after only ten minutes to keep the picture of a woman walking a coastal path in Spain, in search of her voice and her center again…
And here in front of the computer this morning, hens out, small walk taken, trying to put together this post so that it makes some sense…but sense isn’t the feeling of these days. As I checked to see that this morning’s post for Wisteria & Sunshine was there and looking as it should be, I contemplated the picture I had chosen to adorn it…some white rags pinned to a washing line in a hedgerow…and remembered noticing it on a morning in Ireby, Cumbria, England seven years ago or so. Then I remembered the strong feelings that washed over me a few days ago when I found myself suddenly missing our rooms in the castle in Northumberland from that same trip in 2009. And I’ve just checked the dates, and of course, it was seven years ago that we were there. No wonder I am unsettled and longing and my heart is full of thoughts of walks along cliffs and across short-cropped springy turf. I may be here…but my spirit is elsewhere.