Come Sit By My Chair Awhile.

Look, there, through the westward window the mountains are adrift in a haze of white rain, like ghostly ships, sails at full mast, sailing on a sea of golden reeds that bend and blow and shiver in their bed. Seven swans glide past, a moment and they are gone, the sound of their beating wings lingering as they melt and drift into the white sky.

On the eastern side of the house, the sea is in a temper, heaving itself up at the shingle, and I open the windows all along the front of the house, the better to hear it grumbling and groan in it's ill~humour, and I sit, hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, scarf wrapped around my head, savouring the chill wind that fills the house like a purge.

The Smallest, a-bed, has a visitor.

You see, we have had a winter dose of unwell~ness here, of coughs and colds and flu that laid to waste even the hardiest of us, though thankfully not me, and yes, now that everyone is well again, or at least back out in the world, I am savouring the quiet and aloneness and the not having to minister to the needs of many, at last.

Day 5: Longing to get out into the air, but like a little flag he droops every now and then.

Is it the time of year? My mind is a slippery thing, unless I pin them down like moths, thoughts escape me, fly away never to be seen again. I rack my brains for that shiny nugget that flittered through earlier, a promise, like a door to a wondrous place but alas I cannot find it. Yet again.

I am surrounded by teetering piles of notebooks filled with scatterings and lines and words, reminders, fragments, whisperings from other days, of weather and wonderings and clouds, of names and songs, conversations, visions, people. All day I drive through the grey and the green, rushing here and there, feeding, tending, nagging, cleaning, sorting, driving, shopping, organising, conversing, picking up, dropping off, putting away, moving, ranting, cuddling, listening, loving, loving, loving, and all the while a bright stream of ideas and desires and creative longings that I simply cannot stifle
j u s t   k e e p   c o m i n g.
And no longer contained they stream out of my head like bright ribbons that flutter and gasp in the air, unable to go anywhere, but desperate to be out there, in the wide world.
I sometimes wonder do people notice? A faint distraction, a blur in the air around me, there out of the corner of their eye?
There one goes right there! In my head, quick as lightening, I did a little drawing of a Distracted Girl With Exploding Head, complete with ribbons.....sigh. Only that I wrote that down, she would have been gone by morning.

But I am shivering now, I think it's time to close the windows and get the fire going.  Will we make some more tea? (yes, The Art of Procrastination)

The wayward sun behind that door is beckoning. Perhaps I will draw her after all....