Breathing Space.

So we have slipped past the longest night,

the storms that blew for days have abated, and we find ourselves out tramping the sodden mulchy pathways that criss cross the significant hills of our days. We have gathered together our families, eaten our fill, making merry til the long dark hours are forgotten, pushed aside by the rush of words we swap and share and weave together, for there are months of catching up to be done with those dear to us.

And here we find ourselves again, in the quiet time between the years, the lying low, the resting, mustering ourselves for the New Year to come. 

I find myself reflecting on this past, most eventful year, and looking forward down the path ahead to the exciting one to come. 

For the second year in a row I find myself standing looking into a great big Unknown - and last year did not disappoint. We didn't even know where we would be living by Christmas, this time last year, and now we are here we are amazed, for it is as though we have always been here. 

This year I was ~ packing up ~ losing India ~ leaving the marsh ~ moving house ~ attending weddings  ~  in Cork ~ at Inis Beg Estate ~ meeting friends ~ in Sligo ~ discovering Bray ~ climbing that hill ~ flying to Virginia ~ delving into caves ~ flying home~ swimming in the sea : Sandycove, White Rock, Killiney, Bray, Greystones, Kilcoole, Silver Strand, Magheramore, Morriscastle Strand, Clogga Bay, Baginbun, Carnivan, Coral Beach Carraroe, Mullaghmore, Bundoran, ~ at Lough Key Forest Park ~ doing yoga ~ starting work ~ seeing our co-op shoot towards the sky ~ organising pop-ups ~ taking photos ~ making drawings ~ stitching ~ walking ~ cycling ~ reading ~ feeling very grateful and heart-full and excited about the coming year. 

I want to say thank you, to all you folks who have stuck by Milkmoon, despite this most sparse years of all. There is still more to be told here, and I am not done yet. So here's to 2014, and all that it brings.

So, Happy New Year to you all,

may 2014 bring you Enough.

Sending love to you wherever in the world you may be.

~Ciara~

xx

These Friends Of Mine.

Well, this week has seen us struck down with an 'aul dose' as we say, four of us are at various stages of a stinker of a cold, and my ears pricked this morning as The Smallest headed out to school with a suspicious sniffling. It seems he will be the next to fall.
But next week is mid-term, thankfully, so I anticipate lots of lazy pyjama days, slow breakfasts, and maybe a walk or two, once we are all well. Though there has been a flurry of snow, and more to come, they say, so we shall see.

babaá - no.7 - Flame

Regular readers here know I love the seasons, I love weather of all kinds, and although, unusually for me, I am finding this winter particularly long, let me just ignore that and talk about something I love about winter, which is Winter Woolies! One of my great loves in life; all things knitted. It's the first thing I look for when browsing in shops.
With four children, we have gone through a lot of clothes, throughout their growing years especially, and I have found that it is often the hand knitted goodness that I fold away affectionately, into the box of Keepsakes, like tender memories I am afraid will disappear. And there they wait for the next child who will wear it, who will add their memories to it, as though knitted into the very fabric of it.
How many of you are lucky enough to have had items from your childhood to put on your own children, when the time came?
I love this weave of threads through our lives, the continuity, if we allow it.

babaá - shop

And so, this brings me to Something Lovely. Something new and lovely, and I hope, regular, here on Milkmoon. As I said in my last post, I am bringing back an old Milkmoon model of regular, themed posts, that somehow fell by the wayside over the last couple of years, but with a new spin on it.
To start, I have a lot of very talented family members, and friends, and I just can't help myself, I want to share their goodness and creativity with you. So, introducing a new tag, to sit side by side with my Something Lovely tag: These Friends Of Mine.

babaá - shop

Given the wintery weather we are having, I would like to begin with someone who, while is not officially my sister, is like a sister to me, whom I first met when she was the same age my daughter is now. She was 14, and I was 22, and unusually, in spite of the age difference, we became instant friends. And have remained so to this day.

Ciara and Marta
Dublin - 1993

Marta is now living back in her native Madrid, and has recently launched her children's knitwear label; babaá, and yes, you can immediately see one reason why we get on so well! These are definitely Keepsakes. Timeless, but quirky, with just the perfect balance of functionality. (Is there anything more wonderful than someone you love creating something, and it turns out that you genuinely love it?) You can read here what babaá is all about, and you will see exactly why this gorgeous knitwear is destined to become family heirlooms. And while you are there, take a peek in her shop, (there is a sale on) especially if you have any small people in your life who are growing up before your eyes, and you long to hold onto a little longer, and items like these are perfect memory making additions to your Keepsake Box.
And all these babaá photographs are by the exceptionally talented Clíona O'Flaherty, my lovely sister-in-law, who will also be featured here over the next while.

babaá - jumper no.4 - Coral

I am making my order for one for my Smallest, as we speak, because almost all his keepsakes already have a history to them, and I want to have one that begins with him.

I Want To Stop The World From Spinning....

...from carrying me away,

from the tumble of waves that will not hold me,

that shake and toss and throw me.

I want to take hold of things again,

my grip sure and strong,

a steadfast hold on things that matter,

and bring me into calm....

Last week, for a few days out there, it was as though someone opened up the sky, a sudden explosion of fine moisture that seemed to hang, all day, suspended in the air, catching the sun where it hid on the other side of this gossamer veil.

Every day I drive my familiar route, eyes longingly on the trees, and everything is shades of greys and browns, the trees silent in a rain that blends into milkiness. Gentle, pale, nacreous. A bloom of white on everything. And it is as though my mind expands out to merge with the damp diaphanous air, and in my minds eye I no longer see my car, it melts into moisture, drifts away into the misty rain, and I am flying, leaving the road, into and up over the trees, oh!

The cold air on my face is a welcome slap, as though a trusted friend shaking me out of my stupor, and I am here again, in the world, I lift my head and look around me, suspended now.

Here.

And then I see it. This place, this road that I travel every single day, that has become a chore, a blind drudgery, is revealed to me again.

And so, one day becomes the next, and the next, and then the first day of February dawns with a crisp, coldness of azure blue, a bright, perfect day, on this same road all becomes revealed in rust and browns and frosted sage. The blue sky is not a hard, bright blue, rather an opalescent wash, jet trails bleeding gently into it.

There, look, a sloping field, crisscrossed with hedges, and the occasional tree, everything smokey silver and brown in it's winter palette, the heavy frost giving the grass a milky sheen.

I know now, the lie of the land, each line and curve and slope and drop, hills and mountain crisscrossing one another, the long descent to the open sea, this road that snakes through, all of it, has become like a path in my brain, a mirror of my spirit skin. One that is part of me now.

In all that I am in an endless blur of Doing, these days, I see now, my constants are good things. Things that nourish, there, like a backbone, a perfect skeleton to lay my days on.

And I am grateful for this.

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....

Where To Now? The Post I Could Not Post....

Last night I lay awake in the dark as a storm raged outside, shaking the walls of our little house, and as so often the dark, like an insidious creature, creeps in beside you, and it is hard not to imagine great foaming walls of water towering up out of their sea bed, straining at the leash just beyond the railway tracks. And as sleep tussles with the dark, and the contents of my days tumble about my head, half-thoughts, glimpses, resolutions, notions, conversations, something settles in my heart.

In the morning I sit in the cold kitchen, watch the blue night turn into day, and as the room finally begins to warm up, and a rainbow falls out of the gloomy grey onto the shadowy, rain-clad hills, I know in the end I will post this, simply because I am annoyed at myself, (and reading Martin's similar themed post over on Square Sunshine gave me the final prod).

I would like to acknowledge something that has been nagging me for some time: it has been a rather slow decline here, a ponderous denial for many months now. After four years, and many, many readers, more than I could ever have hoped, this Milkmoonish place of mine has been neglected of late, (not just Milkmoon, but A Year At My Back Door too, and Scenes From The Moth House, two projects that are dear to my heart) and I now find myself at the beginning of a new year, and considerably unsure of the path ahead of me.

Do I want to continue? Have I paused and realised I am a bit lost, a bit unfocused, and a lot uninspired?
I have no idea. And surely that in itself is not a good sign? Ever since this tiny seed of uncertainty burrowed into my blithe and untroubled mind, it has grown and taken hold, and I cannot shake it. Yet I am reluctant to stop. So reluctant to close the door on Milkmoon and walk away. I really do not think I can.

And yet.

And yet I find my mind has wandered away, to some other place where images spin by but have no substance, where words flit about somewhere in the ether above me, too diaphanous to grasp, and I do not have the impetus to try. And so I post lazy, lackadaisical posts like the previous one. And I am ashamed of it. I can do better than that! I can. So why am I not?

It is laziness that prevents me from taking proper pictures with a proper camera, which is what I started out doing, which is why I started blogging in the first place. The dratted iPhone just makes it so easy, because it is so clever, and so pretty, but the pictures are, ultimately vastly inferior, as anyone viewing them on anything other than a smartphone can see....sigh.

So, I resolve to limit my iphone shots to this other place here, and to my Flickr, for those who cannot access Instagram, and we will see if I can manage to get back to basics here.

The past year has seen quite a number of changes, and the coming one sees even more to come, and I have no idea what they will bring. All I can say is time will tell.

I feel it could go either way~a quiet slipping away into silence, or something of a shake-up of things. I honestly cannot say right now.

So for today, I will update my blogs as heartily as I can, and then, I will leave the door ajar, and the light on, and hopefully Milkmoon will take matters into it's own hands and find inspiration for me, and time, to separate the magic from the mundane, and continue posting.

I do hope so.

After The Long Hiatus, Unplanned, A Recap.

First things first, dear readers, a Happy New Year to you one and all. I do hope the holiday brought good cheer and festive shenanigans, with lots of jovial folk around you!

Ours was lovely, with lots of walks and baking and visiting and do-nothing days. We've sadly had no snow so far this year, although last years white Christmas was a spectacular anomaly, and we do hope we get some yet.

And so, a quick recap of the season's festivities in the Milkmoon household:

Walking the Solstice Spiral in school.

Christmas Eve in our kitchen.

St. Stephen's Day walk.

Out Walking.

My MIL's Christmas tree.

Visiting Family, Friends, Neighbours.

Every good wish to you all, dear friends, for bountiful blessings,

both big and small, for the coming year.

May you be surrounded by lots and lots of love and happiness.

Follow Me....

...come into the woods, 

for I'm afraid we are not ready to leave yet, no,

but give me your hand and we will take you with us and you will see why.

Into the cool green we go, the seeping damp, the air surprisingly warm on our skin. We follow the path, a slow meander, voices murmuring through the trees, quiet footsteps ahead, the rustle of leaves, the distant chirp and chatter of birds.

Hurry now, and hush, for there is One who must not hear us. Quick! Light feet and haste!

 Here we are now, look, everyone is here, I don't think we are last. There is a little work to be done, for we are here for a very special reason.

There is a birthday, here in the woods. A Very Significant 8th Birthday, and we have been invited along to celebrate.

There is a flurry of activity as little wood nymphs and rabbits dash and scamper and scuttle, pulling streamers out of the trees, balloons out of burrows.

A mad dash to prepare, arrange and assemble, for the Birthday Girl has not arrived yet. And she does not even know we are here!

So, as she is 'out for a walk' in the woods with her Nan, the bustle of activity continues, until all is ready, all is set.

And so we wait.

Until it is time to gather together the scattered dearlings, the wayward rabbits and knights, the Tweedledums and Tweedledees, and hustle them all out of the clearing, for a little bird has told us She is on her way!

And for a moment this little dell rings with excited shrieks and squeals and hoarse whispered shouts,

'She is coming!! Quick! Hide! Everyone hide!'

And then a giggling hush descends, and everyone takes their place, the excitement quivering in the air, a tremor in the leaves.

'Here she is!'

Oh the little face as she is surrounded by her family and friends as they spill out of the trees around her, the round eyes and astonished countenance, and we all cheer and clap and our voices echo up into the treetops above:

Happy Birthday to you ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪ Happy Birthday to you ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪Happy Birthday Dear Darling♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪ ♪♫•*¨*•♫ Happy Birthday to you!♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪ ♪♫•*¨*•♫.........

And then the games begin in ernest, the cakes magically disappear, and the Birthday Girl, aka The White Queen, holds court and regales us with fantastical Tales of Great Adventures.

And the day draws in, the sunlight finds us and persuades us to stay, the forest echoes with the glad little voices. A joyful sound that will linger long after we are gone.

And happiness gathers.

Oh! Are you leaving? Must you?

No, we are staying, for just a while longer. 

The weather is mild and surprisingly dry for November, we have sandwiches and tea, and birthday cake to come. 

We love it here. We are not ready to go. 

Just yet.