Wednesday, 30 May 2012

What I Was Grateful For Today.

5am kitty paw patting my face,
the silence as I walk through the house, 
outside the garden rings with birdsong,
peacock, pheasant, finch,

this evening,
sun salutations in the heat,
the window open to no effect,
we toil and persist and sweat,
crows in the hot, still air outside have 'India' in their cries,

and in the silence of shavasana at the end,
I give thanks for the normal, familiar day that came between,

Tuesday, 29 May 2012

...And Without Further Ado, Summer.

It was rather abrupt in the end.
Overnight, in fact.
One morning Summer had just turned up at the door, bags deposited, feet up, fanning herself where she reclined in her deck chair, before we had even risen.

Can you imagine the welcome?
And what has made it all the sweeter is that with her came my only sister, her husband, and their darling little daughter, all the way from the US.
So there has been a significant gatherings of Family, of coming together from the all quarters, to eat, drink and be merry, and just catch up with one another.

And so, while blogging is still sporadic, at best, round here, we have been busy, and there are significant changes afoot here at Milkmoon, of which I hope to have more on in the near future.

So for now, I do hope that the sun is shining wherever you are, and I will be back here soon with some drawings, musings, and news.

Monday, 7 May 2012

Where I Think You Are When You Are Not Here.

This last week, I spent mostly in my car, zooming around the greening land, like a busy spider weaving a web in haste and without time.
Jay has flown again, to the Land of the Rising Sun, and as I have never been there, I cannot image him anywhere solid, but instead he floats, Somewhere Out There, like a sleeping balloon man whose ribbon I hold in my hand without thinking. You know when you are holding something you never want to put down, but you carry on with your day, and forget it is there, except for a vague awareness of how hot and clammy your hand has become, or how awkward or difficult things are with only one hand.
And so above me he follows me, floats, sleeping, throughout my day, and Up There, where I cannot see, he drifts through beautiful moss gardens that drip with water, where the breeze rustles the leaves over his head, tickles his sleeping beard, and stirs the bamboo, making them clack together, through bright lights of city nights, between gleaming glass towers that shower him in little bokeh balls of sunlight.

Though I know in reality he is not at all sleeping and dreaming, that in fact he is actually more likely running, just running, flat out through the night, leaping over obstacles, throwing aside impediments, barely pausing to rest, running to get home to us. And I like to think he too holds my ribbon, and somewhere above him, I am streaming out behind him, floating in a sunlit garden where children play and laugh, and we bake cakes and read to one another, pausing to tickle the cats, lie in the grass and watch the clouds roll around the sky, and thinking about what to make for dinner.