the blue muse

November marches into December and the world becomes magical. Sparkling, glittering, twinkling magical. No snow, yet, but frosty mornings and hungry birds tell Mother Nature’s secrets long before she reveals them to us.

Already, the mood is changing, the holidays fill my heart with warmth and wonder and love and gratitude. Life is filled with gifts. And not the kind you buy in a store. Tiny moments of contentment that weave themselves into a blanket of beautiful.

Tiny gifts that so often, go unnoticed. In fact, the true gift is in finding them at all, seeing them, breathing them in. Allowing them to be gifts.

A rosebush bare of everything but rosehips, bejeweled by a rain that carried no wind. Droplets dangling like diamonds, even on a day with no sunshine. A gorgeous gift.

And all I had to do was look up.

I am always amazed at how much my garden makes me happy. How much it means to me.

I am grounded here, in my own tiny postage stamp of paradise.

You would laugh if you saw it, it’s not a perfect paradise at all. In fact, quite the opposite. It’s a very flawed version that requires time and patience in which to find the beauty. A slightly wild, untamed version that keeps me guessing.

Filled with secrets and gems, mud and blossom, thorn and lamb’s ears.

Filled with life.

On second thought, perhaps it is quite perfect, after all.