wind comes
brother north wind swoops and prances, dancing into our valley, finds all the nooks and rushes us to the seasonal night. along with the leaves and frogs and squirrels we bustle. it's all in preparation, it's all to be warm. warmth: firewood gathered, chopped and stacked. sheltered. warmth: a merino kidney cosy to inhibit drafts. warmth: ginger. warmth: apples baked, sauced, sliced, juiced, fermented into cider and vinegar, luscious red everywhere. warmth: a winter home for our beloved friend(s), soil and straw around tender plants, daffodils (120 of them--i'm so excited!), trading in all layers of wool and silk.
some of our oldest memories are up in the house, by the windows. we share sunlight with grandmothers, great uncles, aunts, grandfathers, lost young friends, stilled garlic bulbs, shiny red apples, heirlooms. they're here to watch the day rest, the leaves turn and fall, and the end and the beginning wrestling each other. i'm excited for quiet and simplicity after all this. are you full, too?
my autumn dreams, i pinned them, but just to let you know:
tasha's daffodils settled in (which they are, i am so pleased to congratulate myself).
spinning lessons. i'm thinking of asking the oldest woman in the valley.
our kitchen cabinets painted. really. this fall.
health (self care, food choices, yoga, not doing, learning to meditate for real, and all that goodness).
practice: yoga.
tend to our houseplants. they just don't look happy these days. another summer, another sunburn. will i ever learn?
it's a small and simple thing, this autumn. notice impulse to jump into winter dreams too. there are seed packets nearby, to be sure, for that deep inside potential. but i'd love to see where i am when the rain turns to snow and the day ends before dinner.
some of our oldest memories are up in the house, by the windows. we share sunlight with grandmothers, great uncles, aunts, grandfathers, lost young friends, stilled garlic bulbs, shiny red apples, heirlooms. they're here to watch the day rest, the leaves turn and fall, and the end and the beginning wrestling each other. i'm excited for quiet and simplicity after all this. are you full, too?
my autumn dreams, i pinned them, but just to let you know:
tasha's daffodils settled in (which they are, i am so pleased to congratulate myself).
spinning lessons. i'm thinking of asking the oldest woman in the valley.
our kitchen cabinets painted. really. this fall.
health (self care, food choices, yoga, not doing, learning to meditate for real, and all that goodness).
practice: yoga.
tend to our houseplants. they just don't look happy these days. another summer, another sunburn. will i ever learn?
it's a small and simple thing, this autumn. notice impulse to jump into winter dreams too. there are seed packets nearby, to be sure, for that deep inside potential. but i'd love to see where i am when the rain turns to snow and the day ends before dinner.
love you,
k
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