the blue muse

that chilly whisper in the breeze reminding us that winter will soon come a calling. Golden leaves cling to branches as they shiver in the cold. It’s getting dark outside much earlier.

Another shift, another season, another year. So much of life seems to be spent in the constant realignment and readjustment to these shifts as they happen. Some days, some months, some years, they are large and noticeable, we have to stop and steady ourselves until they pass. Other times, they barely register and we walk through them without even realizing it.

I love these shifts, and I am forever reminding myself to pay attention, to notice them, even when I am being pulled in other directions. Looking up, around, feeling the wind on my face. Rustling through the leaves in the path I walk along just so I can hear their crunchy song. Enjoying the long slant of the afternoon sun as it pours through a window. Simple pleasures.

It seems like it shouldn’t be so hard to do, this living in the moment. But often, it manages to elude me.

I’m getting better at it though. Remembering to pause, to breathe, to observe.

And perhaps more importantly, to enjoy it when I do.

in that tightly furled bud, all candy-caned and poised with potential. Last night the weatherman mentioned the s-word, and looking out my window just now, it seems hard to imagine the possibility of snow. The sun is shining, the temperature pleasant, and there are die-hard flowers standing at attention all throughout the garden.

It’s going to be another busy weekend filled with work, but it is also supposed to be cold and rainy, so it won’t feel so bad to be forced inside.

This morning as I walked past a window, a blue jay was standing in the driveway, and when I looked again, he was gone. It will be the same with autumn. Before I know it, I will be bringing seed to hungry birds on cold, cold winter mornings.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how wonderful I have it here, in the tiny bubble of my own little world, and how different it can be out there, in the rest of it. Pondering how much I should strive to keep up with the news when it always seems bad, the politicians that all seem suspect, the state of the earth and the mess of the economy. There is so much that we cannot make sense of.

It can be so hard to know how to make a difference.

But I figure it out one day at a time, each morning there are those birds and that garden and that favorite teacup, and these are the things that ground me. I may never be able to solve all the problems of the world, but I can embrace the life I have and live it and love it and cherish it all just the same.

I can strive to live my best possible life.

And perhaps that is the best I can do.

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How is it possible to be so  in love with a kitten?

A kitten who is technically no longer a kitten, but most definitely, a cat.

A kitten who is almost always up to something naughty,
except when he’s asleep.

Even when he’s naughty, he makes me smile.

And that is all the answer I need.

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This past weekend was absolutely gorgeous, sunny and 80 both days. Summer is clearly over, last week we had a hard frost that killed all of the tomato plants. But it was nice to pretend for a day or two, nice to feel the sun on my face, nice to go for a run wearing shorts and a tank top, nice to eat outside at the last family picnic of the year.

Soon enough, the landscape will be turning to gray and then to white. My garden still has a few things blooming, anemones and hydrangeas, perennial sunflowers and monkshood. Red rose hips polka dot what remains of the rose bushes, and the tall grasses are tall enough to dance in the breeze, though they have not yet turned the tawny color they will wear all winter.

The squirrels and chipmunks are busy busy, and the hummingbirds have already moved on to warmer places. Of course the mice are trying to do the same thing, attempting to make their way inside. My naughty outside kitten has been busy on mouse patrol.

Nights are cool and sleeping is good. The geese that arrive in great flocks on their way south bed down for the night at the swamp down the road and sing me to sleep. Well, it’s more like honking than singing, but it always makes me smile, it sounds like such a party.

The air smells different these days. Fresh and crisp and full of change. I stand here and I breathe it all in, never knowing where life will take me.

But quite content to be here just the same.

Sixteen years ago today, I got married on a wooden bridge over a stream strewn with tiny wildflowers. My step daughter, who was around ten at the time, had crept up beside me earlier that day and asked if I thought it would be okay if she put the flowers there. It was so sweet it melted my heart.

It was a day much like today, crisp fall weather, autumn leaves crunching underfoot, cool enough that I had to wear tights under the gauzy hippie-style dress that I had chosen.

My husband wore his favorite flannel shirt and blue jeans, as did everyone who attended. We’d both already been through the more formal type of wedding, and we’d decided early on that this time it would be very small and very casual. So, for the ceremony, it was just us two, our three kids, and my sister as the required witness. Our family wedding photo still makes me smile, all that plaid and flannel. We were the Brady Bunch, grunge style.

Our friends and family came to our cabin after the ceremony, and we had great fun celebrating. We had chili and chicken wings, shrimp and pasta, chips and dip. And a giant bonfire accompanied by lots of laughter.

It was a good day.

And it’s been sixteen good years. We’ve had our moments along the way, who hasn’t? And merging our two families together came with all the usual challenges. We’ve gotten our jeans dirty, torn holes in them a few times, and lost a button here and there. But everyone knows that broken-in jeans are the very best kind, the kind you hold onto forever, the ones you always feel most comfortable in.

Tonight we’re going out to dinner, just the two of us.

And yes, we’ll both be wearing blue jeans.

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Happy Anniversary, Mr. Muse.

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this post is part of texture tuesday over at kim klassen’s place

We had a wonderful trip to the Adirondacks, and I have some pictures still in my camera, although the weather didn’t cooperate with sunny days. I didn’t let that stop me from going sight-seeing, and those pictures are forever in my mind. I just love those mountains.

But it’s also nice to come home, it is always nice to sleep in my own bed. Last night I set my alarm for 6:30, knowing that I have much to catch up on today. Except I set it for p.m. rather than a.m. Oops.

It only took four days for me to get out of practice. And it will probably take me another four to get back in the swing of things.

But I came down from the mountains with a heart full of gratitude.

And I will carry that around with me for some time to come.

Welcome home, heart.

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all a morning glory

needs

to be happy

is the sun.

. . .

go ahead,

tilt your face up.

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this post is part of texture tuesday over at kim klassen’s place

All the greens have turned to golds, and the world is burnished by autumn’s paintbrush. It’s kind of funny that fall is my favorite season, when red and orange are my least favorite colors. I love the cool tones, especially purple and blue.

But that doesn’t stop me from loving autumn, the trees changing color, pumpkins and apples, scrunchy dried up leaves beneath my feet when I walk.

When I was kid we used to rake the yard and pile all the leaves up just so we could jump into them and make a big mess again.

That sounds like so much fun, doesn’t it?

Autumn is the season when change seems most obvious. Nature’s big party of hurry up and sow your seeds and bloom your blooms and live it up before winter comes and forces you to slow down a little and rest.

Well, at least for the flowers in my garden, anyway.

This weekend I am going to go and breathe in the scent of autumn in the mountains. The trees should be at peak color, and I’m going to do a little slowing down and resting as well. And reading. Lots of reading.

And maybe, just maybe, I’m going to find a rake and some leaves, and well, we’ll see what happens…

Just one sweet little bud
left on an almost-bare rosebush,
leaves having already scattered
in autumn’s breeze.

A little gift from Mother Nature,
one tiny jewel
nestled in a box
of fallen yesterdays.

On Saturday afternoon I took a break from all this work to go sit in my garden. My garden that is a complete disaster. Really, it is. Next spring I am going to have to dig up whole sections to get it back into shape.

I say this because every time I go out there to sit in my garden, this is what I think about. How many weeds there are, how much dead-heading needs doing, how much taming of the jungle lies before me, rather than just enjoying the moment.

So there I was, trying to take five minutes to relax, and all I can think about is my ever-pervasive to-do list.

I grabbed my camera and my notebook, thinking I could distract myself with a little writing and then take some pictures of whatever I might find to be picture worthy. (At this point, so much of it is not.) I haven’t been out to wander around and take pictures in a while. In truth, I haven’t done anything but work for a couple of weeks now. But I’m not complaining, I am grateful.

When I had wandered through all my flower beds and taken all the shots I could find, I sat back down in my blue plastic adirondack chair, which is where I love to sit in the afternoon, and turned my face to the sun. I titled my head back and breathed in… aaaah.

My garden might be an utter mess just now, but it is still my garden. The spot I was sitting in used to be driveway and lawn. I built it up and brought soil in and created  a place filled with flowers and birds and buzzing bees. I love it out there.

The main seating area is pebbled, which has its pros and cons. I love the way it looks, but so many seeds manage to take root in it. (Although it has proved to be the best place to grow dill….it pops up everywhere!)

Right next to where I was sitting was a cleome volunteer that had sprouted up through the pebbles. Almost spent, mostly a sculpture of seed pod and faded blooms. But right at the very top, just under my nose, was this tiny, perfect heart. It’s probably an 1/8 of an inch high.

It took me a while to spot it, this little heart o’ mine. But it made me smile as I sat there, tired, neck aching, more hours of work before me.

My garden was sending me a little valentine, just exactly when I needed it.

How sweet is that?

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this post is part of texture tuesday over at kim klassen’s place