Back to Normal.....

....it has begun to rain here...it has been so dry and lovely and so abnormally warm for this time of year and in this place.



The wind is picking up, the sound of the rain falling is deafening.

I am loving it now. When I go to bed, I will be pulled into sleep with the water lullaby.


The wood stove is going filling the house with warmth. It is what it should be here and now.


Tomorrow, I may curse the wetness and the leaves that the big dogs bring in after their breakfast, but for now I will give thanks for the comfort of a warm house, the sound of the precious water, clean sheets, a warm feather bed, gentle snoring of those big dogs and the gratefulness of a home that keeps me dry and safe while listening to the autumn adagio of the rain.

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For Crying Out Loud.....!!!!!

This is what greeted us on April 19th and again on April 20th. WE live in the Pacific Northwest, not the North Pole. What is happening?

Snow this late is unheard of...that is, until now.


It was fortunately very dry and light. Snow is always tough on the greenhouses and I am sad that my blossoming cherry may not produce this summer. We'll see.


I am very grateful that we did not start our vegetable garden!


Besides the snow, we were greeted with hail the size of pregnant peas, rain and flannel gray skies.

The weather report promised "episodes" of sun today. I have yet to enjoy that, but at least it is...
not snowing.



I love the poetic turn, "episodes of sun". I am always fascinated by the opposing statements of "partly sunny" and "partly cloudy". Is that akin to the "glass half full" and the "glass half empty"? I am eagerly awaiting the sun episodes and hope that these will soon turn into "Extended Visits", "Homeric Epics" and a "Long Running, Sold Out Solar Production of Mammoth Proportions".
Best!

Winter's Persistance, Spring's Hope and My Little Soldiers....

This small troop of soldiers has been steadfast and faithful every spring for the last eight years. Right now they are hunkered down; bellies in the bunkers, protective spears pointed at the enemy...a potential army of hope. They are the determined platoon of my tulips that have endured seasons of assault. Upright and brave, they know instinctively not to unfurl their beauty and expose their vulnerability to the vagaries and whims of the season's wrath, petulance and moodiness.
The rabid dogs of Winter are still at the gate. Frothing and foaming, they have sent wind, rain, hail and snow. I can hear their claws scratching to be let loose. The gabble ratchet of their voices has filled the air. They are hell bent.
Mother Nature, on the other hand, is doing her best to keep the gate closed to Winter's scrabbling hands. She sneaks the gate open, sometimes tentatively, at times with hope.
Spring glides forth in all of her beauty, like a shy young woman at her first cotillion, then like a brazen hussy she blares her blueness and assaults our eyes with her brightness. She is nothing more than conflicted. Dancing at Mother Nature's gate, she slides in and out without purpose or determination. She is young and unformed: She is testing the waters in her hesitancy. She needs time.
Indecisive, Mother Nature closes the gate once again and allows Winter to wrest the birds from the sky. Winter steals the words of my breath in a meaningless mist: Winter sends the wood smoke in messages that confound the newly arrived humming birds. Winter pounds us in a cacophony of ice, darkness and melancholy.
I will take heart and mirror the courage of my little army of tulips: Be full of hope, be brave and protective of one another. Embrace the message that Spring will come in all of her mature glory and we will be filled with joy: A promise to have the space and place to bloom, to rejoice.


edited to add:Winter blasted through today; snow, hail, wind and rain. Spring shed her blue gown, her daffodil yellow hair.
I can wait. My faithful soldiers still stand at attention. They will relax their spears when all is safe; opening them as colorful receiving cups to welcome Sister Spring.
All will be well.


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Feet In One Place......

...they do the dance. I can't hear the music from inside the house, but I can tell by their movement that it's not a slow waltz that's playing.
The maples articulate their bare and bony arms against the sky: the scudding clouds like scarves seem to catch and pull at woody elbows and twisted, arthritic fingers.
The firs persuade their skirts to sway wildly back and forth, rising, falling, then carrying them in whirling circles: blousy ladies whooping it up with abandon.
The ornamental cherry parsimoniously holds fast to her freshly minted pink jewels, unwilling to relinquish them to the spring tumult.
Alone, the staid oaks refuse to participate in the dance. With only a slight nod now and then in a stiff begrudging manner, they signal their disdain for such undignified behavior.

Welcome spring storms!


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