Winter arrives…the temperatures drop, winds begin to howl, there’s a pink to the atmosphere, heralding, perhaps, a coming storm. I’m ready for a wall of snow. I’ve been waiting for the winter of all winter’s ever since I moved to the Northeast. Five years, I’ve been waiting. I’d be lying if I said that IContinue reading “A Pink to the Atmosphere”
It’s Monday. A blustery blustery Monday. A blustery January Morning and all I want to do is sit on this leather couch underneath a Pendelton Indian blanket and sip my maple creamed coffee and stare at the Christmas tree. Yes, it’s still up. And listen to the wind. It comes and goes, gale force thenContinue reading “Winter. Happy happy. Joy joy. “
Winter is hard, my dears. Waiting is agony. Until you apprehend the story. The beauty of spring and summer in the northern climes depends on time ticking ever so slowly. Soon enough, the first bud, the first bee, the first peeper in the thawing pond. If not for these endless days we’d lose our wonderContinue reading “Last day of February. Winter in full freeze. Words to live by for Northern climes.”
I love old barns, each one a snowflake and their elegant dissolve, slow motion as it is, is a thing of beauty to behold.
You know it must be February when a vole leaves a love note in the snow that your heart understands.
“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” ~John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America
“I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.” ~Charles Bukowski, Love is a Dog from Hell ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dunga Brook Diary, looking back, spring/summer 2011… I bought a farmhouse that I found on Facebook. I bought a farmhouse that I found on Facebook named DungaContinue reading “County Highway 19 and a tiny slap of Bukowski…plus Dunga Brook Diary in which I confess my Dream of being an iphone Ansel Adams…”
“One must maintain a little bittle of summer, even in the middle of winter.” ― Henry David Thoreau Last winter we lived on a farm in Fly Creek that had 20 of the most beautiful rolling acres I have ever lived on. The property was owned by an artist and all through the fieldsContinue reading “Chevy seen through a link and a tiny bit of Thoreau…”
So, its about 11 degrees out, snow on the ground, and I come home late from the art studio and, since they’ve been in the house for hours, I let the dogs out. Chevy disappears into the night. I call and call and call. Time passes, I wait for his scratch at the door. NowContinue reading “Monday night, February 18, 2013, let the waxing gibbous moon be your guide…”