Watch this.

Found via White Feather Farm.

Finally. Other than the big snow dump in late October we’ve barely had a dusting of the white stuff. I thought it might be an entire winter of bare earth. But now this.

Walking out of the village we watched children sliding down the good slope at the country club, and one teenager attempting to ride his snow board with little success. The trees stood out in monochrome, each one clearly showing its unique structure.

We turned around at the house with the “BEWARE OF DOG” signs (that always make me think of this) and hiked back up the steep hill, feeling virtuous and looking forward to hot tea.

I was wondering where to start up again after a long break from the blog, then I was given this magnet.

Right. Anywhere is good.

Yesterday I had the door open and all day in the background was the sound of leaves rustling across the ground. Labor Day brought with it the orange undertone that creeps into everything green. Even the light is getting that low angled rust color to it and the squirrels and I are rushing to hoard the end of summer bounty.

In among tomatoes of every shape and size, the first little Benning’s Patty Pan squash. Fresh light green, to remind me that in the not too distant future it will all start over with spring.

Irene blew through here and we were without power and water for a couple of days.

We were lucky compared to many, but we did get a little swimming pool in the basement, so there’s been some throwing out of damaged things, and a lot of laying stuff out to dry.

Being without hot water for four days sure makes me grateful for my shower now that it’s back.

Mornings are the low point of my day. I have wisps of dreams and their strange worlds left in my mind and it takes me a while to get going. The best approach is to move slowly, and to “take the day gentle”. When I do, I notice things. Moments of light. Subtle, constant changes that bring me into the current moment.

Seems the shadows aren’t only in my head, but moving all around me.

There was a moment, walking in the sun, that I got a feeling reminiscent of early spring and I realized with a shock that this winter has been so deep and consuming that I had forgotten that spring will come again. But it will!

Most everyone has seen this already, but I was sent back to this wonderful talk and want to post it here, as a reminder to myself, and a signpost for the year.

I’m so busy in this run up to Thanksgiving weekend, and I’m very grateful for it. I’m hunkered down at the big table by the wood stove, with my beads and my order list, my cup of coffee, and War and Peace on CD. I kid you not. Forty-eight CDs, sixty-one hours!

My name is unusual so I get a kick out of seeing it out in the world. Seeing it knit makes it even better!

Found via yarnbombing, which I hadn’t heard of until my friend Liza sent me the link. Thanks!