yesterday, late afternoon, here at our “bit of earth”
rose hips gathered from the yard, with plenty left for the birds
a wreath for the breezeway’s sliding door. see “how to” here.
Oh me, oh my. This is a grand time to be in Vermont. Neighborhood cider pressings, bustling farmer’s markets, lovely days and chilly nights, the glowing Hunter moon, with hippie pumpkin bread baking in the oven (using pumpkins from the gardens here on the hill)…the Vermont Sheep and Wool Festival (last weekend, where I did not buy anything, but soaked in the inspiration), meditating in the dark as the sun comes up behind the ridge…so much to gobble up. And the colors…the exquisite colors give me a lump in my throat and make my eyes teary. There is something at work in this world that is so much bigger than any of us, dear friends. I’m not sure what it is, but I am humbled by it.
And because this is when I feel most alive and fully me, I’ve committed to a few new creative adventures. I’m a bit daunted and a lot excited about moving ahead. At the same time, I’m plugging away at my queue of existing projects. Pell mell. That’s how October feels each year. Like a kid who starts running downhill and is suddenly in the grip of gravity and can’t stop and squeals with delight. That’s me.
I do so wish you could be here, dearest ones. We could hold hands and run down our meadow together (or slide on a piece of cardboard, or just imagine the fun from a comfy chair.) Then we could come inside, drink some neighborhood pressed cider and chat about our hopes and dreams for our lives and for this wild world we’re living in. I would love that. xo
P.S. I did, just now, reply to your thoughtful comments on my last post. :-)