We Count The Days Until You Return.

Thoughts on how I am suspended by the temporary absence of my man. 
(Photos from my archives)

Now we are on the side of winter. The midpoint has been passed.

In the mornings I rise before light, the wind moaning through the house like an unhappy ghost in the silence. That silence that sinks to unknown depths just before dawn. In the distance the sea booms, I feel it under my feet as though in the night we have broken our moorings and slipped away into dark waters. I imagine the walls trembling with the weight of white water breaking on their steadfast sides. Our children sleep their deep slumber, dreaming of ships and narwhals, unfathomable dreams of briny blue.

All to soon, tentatively, the light creeps in, tapping at the window.
My mind returns to the day.

And all day the reeds tussle and toss in the bluster, the mountains loom out of the clouds, then fade into mists again, lost in the rains as the night draws in.

And the days whirl by.

The days whirl by.

The days whirl by...

What To Do When The Birds Take My Words?

Do you have weeks like this?

I think I must be tired, but I have spent the last week sporadically looking at my computer screen and wondering will I ever have anything to say again! And my camera is like a good friend who, through no fault of their own, I suddenly find annoying and don't want to see.
The evenings pull in around us like a cosy cloak, hugging close, murmuring in our ears sweet words like 'laze', and 'fire', and 'comfort', while at the same time the prospect of such things tripping our way, just around the bend, is enough to cause a flurry of clearing, cleaning and organising...while all I want to do is, yes, laze.

When I lay in the grass today...

 I'll be right back...

The Sweetest Balm For A Broken Heart.

Meet Sparrow, the loveliest of tiny things that has brought the sparkle back to My Only Girl. You may remember our most heart-rending little tragedy, still regretted today and every day.

She was worried about how she would feel, afraid she would be trying to replace Oz so soon, (she was adamant about no more black cats~that would just be too heartbreaking) but this only girl of ours needs something small and helpless to love. We all need some unconditional love in our lives, and as I know many of you know full well, the love of a pet is wholehearted, unreserved, and unlimited, and a perfect, pure balm to the tribulations of life.

Somethings just go together, and need no explanation, and a girl and her cat are one.

What Is Hidden In The Garden.

This years Sculpture In Context exhibition is taking place at the moment in the National Botanic Gardens in Glasnevin, Dublin. This wonderful annual show is in the most lovely of settings. There is something reassuring about botanical gardens, don't you think? The sense of order and symmetry, peacefulness and even discipline appeal to my inner control freak! And it's not just the neatness of the gardens, but that satisfaction of nature and plants knowing just what they need to do, and everything being efficient and logical. Ah yes...

And so it is a delightful wonder to wander and discover unexpected hidden gems of creative explosions, some of which have no bearing or relevence to their environment, and some of which are like marvelous imaginings of the garden gods who have taken a moment of madness and thrown caution to the wind.

Vertical Garden
by Deirdre Judge.

I am particularly thrilled to bring your attention to the above glass piece that was made by none other than my mother, Deirdre Judge! A delightful representation of my parents abundant, bounteous garden that is bursting with life (and flavour!) and here rendered as a gorgeous wall hanging.

Specimen 3
by Michelle Brady.

Redwood Spore Drip
by Andrea Cleary.

A Match Made In Heaven
by Joanne Murray.

The above piece by Joanne Murray thrilled me beyond words, seeing immediately the Julie Arkell influence which is a guaranteed lasso around my heart. Gorgeous work, and I do hope to track her down at some point and feature her in a long overdue Something Lovely post.

If any of you are in the vicinity over the next few weeks, do take an afternoon to wander these most lovely gardens. We didn't even see half of the exhibits, I am sure and feel the need for a return trip while these mild days the summer forgot to take linger on...

A Little Milkmoon-ing Of Another Kind.

One day not so very long ago, on a bright sunshiney day I gathered my best-loved everyday things,  put them in my doughty, dependable bag and ran out, (leaving the door wide open for hedgehogs and lizards and herons to come calling) of this little blog-place I call Milkmoon, hair all asunder, cardigan-in-case-of-clouds all askew, and I think I may have lost a shoe. Or two. And in the last days of this most lovely of summers I lost my way too, followed too many white rabbits to too many beaches, took trains and boats and marvelous travelling contraptions to places I'd never seen (and some I had before).

We lost days and days and days I am sure. For it is the only explanation I can find for how we have ended up in the rainy windswept grey autumn place we are now. But I thought I would not spoil this lovely sunny memory with that just yet, so will keep those pictures tucked away in a brown paper envelope under my book pile for another day or so.

But I have returned. And look! A small flurry of leaves have crept in the door, a tiny mouse sits on the windowsill, and oh my, a film of dust on everything.

So I promise to set to work, to roll up my sleeves and polish and scrub and scour, and set to rights all that has slipped into this sorry, neglected little pile of Milkmoon-ness. And I will practice my extraordinary powers of ignoring the obvious, (in this case the fact that School has started again), and I will instead turn my attention to my trustworthy little car-companion: my Little Red Tin.

So here's to busy autumn fingers, and I hope yours is being productive too. And now, back to some proper blogging for this tardy lady. I promise.