the blue muse

That light,
that almost autumn light,
reminds me to cherish the last days of summer.

Hang tight, absorb the sun, breathe in the sky.

The time for letting go comes later.

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Wishing you a weekend filled with light.

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There’s nothing like camping to remind you what’s important in life.

What you really need to survive,
and all the things you don’t need at all.

And how little it takes to make you happy.

Sky.

Stars.

Fire.

Water.

Morning tea.

Love.

Words.

Maybe a bit of chocolate.

A big, open heart.

And okay, an air mattress doesn’t hurt either.

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Wishing you an open-hearted Wednesday.

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It’s been years since I planted Jasmine Tobacco, and I’d almost forgotten how fabulous it smells. Two nights ago I sat outside late, to watch the meteor shower, and I have to say that the fragrance of these flowers added much to the show. I also realized that I don’t sit outside late at night often enough. Oh sure, I walk out there pretty often, to take the dog out or look at the moon, but I don’t sit for long periods of time with my face turned up to the heavens.

A new goal for the rest of summer.

The air has changed, already, autumn creeping in on subtle tiptoes. It’s been a fairly cool summer here, and we’ve had our fair share of glorious weather.

I have young hummingbirds visiting the feeder, still a bit fuzzy and all cute and funny. Another gift from the summer of smiles.

It’s Friday and I’m going to pull out the reclining lawn chair that’s been forgotten in the basement. I have a sky to watch tonight, wishes to make, jasmine to inhale, and life to embrace.

And I’ll be counting my blessings like stars.

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Wishing you a weekend filled with smiles.

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almost awake

green and gold

almost blue

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beneath the shade of tallest poplar

we sing the song of new beginnings

tiny bird sound rustle dancing

in a two-step with the sun

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wishing you a monday filled with music

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on a stage built for blue sky and birds

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nature’s early morning opera

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divine

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So far, August feels more like September. Sunny and in the 70s all week. Not that I’m complaining, it’s pretty perfect out there just now. My garden wanes and I feel myself letting go again, the way I do every year around this time, surrendering the battle for control and letting nature take its course. Allowing the mess to move in and stay for a while, the beautiful mess that is living.

I am quiet these days. Introspective. Reading with the voraciousness of a word-starved waif. I keep telling myself I should do other things, get things done and crossed off the never-ending to-do list. But each night I find my way to an open window and an unread story and there I am again, whiling away the hours.

Each year I feel myself settling deeper into my own cycle, repeating my own patterns, charting time and activity by season and habit. Small things change and life moves forward, but the rhythms inside me stay the same.

I am settled and boring and rooted. Content to take up space in my own tiny world. Content to sit in my garden or my favorite chair and travel only through other people’s pages. Content to write my own. My story is more May Sarton than Madame Bovary, and I am content with that, too, even though that hasn’t always been true.

The sky is August blue today, white wispy clouds floating high on their way to places I may never see. I watch them rushing by and smile at their impatience. I was like them, once. I may be like them again, tomorrow.

But today, I am here, watching the world spin all around me. Quiet and content and taking it in, this gift of sun and breeze and morning.

Reading life with love, and gratitude.

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She kept her heart

at the center

of everything

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We had a little love affair, you and I,

lazy days and sultry nights,

with extra time

to enjoy each other’s company.

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I’m going to miss you, July,

but I’ll always remember

our month of smiles.

xoxo

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And the trill of cedar waxwing, waiting.

Elderberry promises and grasshoppers, whirring.

A washed-out too-hot sky

above a jungle of my own making.

Leaves whisper-weaving tall tales

into the story of summer’s progression.

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