New Moon & Magic (Summer Solstice)

 

 

There is magic in the air.

Fairies flutter about enjoying the day, preparing for their feast, and, perhaps, causing a bit of mischief. And, this year, they have even more to celebrate. A new moon accompanies the solstice.

This weekend, I’m celebrating with the fairies.

Wine will flow, my friends. And I will run barefoot in the grass like when I was a child. I’ll breathe deeply, inhaling the heady scents of blossoms that, weeks ago, were tiny buds.

At twilight, I’ll light candles and search for blinking fireflies.

Of course, after this longest day of the year, the days will become shorter. But I will bask in the sun and light and magic then welcome the dark half of the year.

When the sun decides to set after its long journey, I will marvel at the pinks and purples of dusk. I will fill my glass and toast the twinkling stars who, in my wine-induced bliss, will merrily wink back at me.

I will toast the dark, new moon who smiles at me from the shadows, offering me a fresh start. I will soak up the night and all its beauty.

Because, if it wasn’t for the darkness, I could not appreciate the light.

 

My random thoughts in 200 words or less.

ThoughtBubble

 

To my friends in Australia, Happy Winter Solstice to you!

(Four years ago, I wrote about a full moon falling on the solstice. I thought this a fitting time to revisit that post.)

 

This is the longest day of the year. What will you do with your extra hours of sunlight? New moons are associated with new beginnings. What will you do with that opportunity? Love and light to you, gentle readers. Cheers! 🥂

 

 

 

When Beauty Is Not Enough

 

 

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.

Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

It’s spring. Though it feels more like a distant cousin. A time of year in which we struggle to find our place during the uncertainty of seasons. When we throw off our jackets and listen to blue jays. Then huddle in our heavy coats and listen to howling winds. When we both turn our face to the sunshine and dance between raindrops.

It is that unpredictability we crave when the earth beneath our feet is frozen solid in winter or lush with summer greens. But the fickle springtime plays in quicksand, leaving us wishing for stability, making us wary.

Sometimes we know what we know, regardless of the beauty around us. Sometimes in spite of it. And, sometimes, it just ceases to be enough to quiet us.

It is then we raise our voices. To communicate. To be heard. To say that we will not be lulled into silence with the unfurling bud and promise of a bright and beautiful thing.

 

I found this post from last year and thought how fitting, in a very different way, it was this year. The struggle to find our place during this uncertainty. Our craving for unpredictability then, when it arrives, our wish for stability. The wariness. The need to communicate. The promise of an unfurling bud turning into something beautiful not being quite enough anymore. 

Be well, gentle readers. Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other. Create your own joy. Dance between raindrops and turn your face to the sun when it shines.

 

My random thoughts in (a bit over) 200 words.

 

 

You can read the entire poem here: Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

My Blog is Special

 

pink flower in spring

 

Want to know my secret?

Do you want to know what makes my blog so special? Why I stand out like a fuchsia flower in a mess of dirt and weeds?

It’s the clean lines. The crisp space. The typo-free paragraphs, easy-to-read word choice, frequent fragments, awesome alliteration…

There is nothing special.

 

There is no special here. This blog is just a blog. I am just a girl. Standing in front of my readers, asking them to love me.

I like my bloggy friends. They talk to me. And listen. Which is not easy as I can go on a bit. I ramble. I freewrite and hit “publish”.

That’s bad. But, also, good.

I feel like we’re hanging out in a coffee shop, sipping a mocha latte, you know?

Better still, sitting at a bar with a bottle of wine in front of us. *pours another glass* Cheers!

If you read this, you’ve pretty much met me.

This post? This whole blog? It’s just me. Unfiltered me.

The completely awesome thing about you is that you talk to me even when the popular kids walk by.

There are far more fashionable, trendy, nichey, blogs out there yet, week after week, month after month, readers still visit and chat with me.

And that’s pretty special.

 

My Sunday (on Tuesday) thoughts in 200 words or less.

ThoughtBubble

Do you have a nicheless blog? Do you feel like you’re “just another blog” in the big blogosphere? Do you care?

 

When the Year Grows Old

 

 

When the Year Grows Old

And often when the brown leaves
Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound,

She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget–
The look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net…

But the roaring of the fire,
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her…

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

The year has grown old, died, and been reborn. It is ‘new’. There are beginnings. Yet I acutely feel the year growing old.

When the clock struck midnight December 31st, when the calendar ceased to count days for 2019…what happened?

Nothing.

It’s as if I’m waiting for some unknown force to press the ‘reset’ button.

As I work on my One Word for 2020, I realize I’m stuck. Not in my decision of which word to choose but in the way I feel caught at the end of last year. In a time when I listened to the wind whistling a melancholy tune and brittle leaves scraped the window panes, begging to be let inside.

When I had the look of a frightened bird flapping helplessly inside a net.

Yet there is a difference. The trap has weakened, loosened. I can breathe.

I find familiarity in the world around me and there is comfort and beauty in that. In the moments when I take that first sip of coffee, tie my hair up with an elastic band, lace my warm, winter boots. When I lose myself in sunlight creating intricate patterns on my floor or notice wind catching a hydrangea flower hidden since last spring.

Sometimes, when the stress is too much, when the weight is too heavy, when the ropes are too tight, our struggles increase the pain. Sometimes relaxing into the discomfort and fear is all we can do and, sometimes, that shifts our world enough to see the beauty.

 

Health and happiness to you, gentle readers.

 

My Brain Freeze

 

 

I looked at the frost on my flowers the other day and thought, “Huh. That’s like my brain right now.”

You know when you were a kid and ate ice cream too fast or slurped one of those slushie things? It was like, “Whoa! Brain freeze!” Remember that?

Yeah. That’s not what I’m talking about at all. It’s more like stumbling out of bed at ridiculous-o-clock, shuffling into the kitchen, opening the cabinet, and staring at the coffee mugs.

Almost daily now, I find myself in the middle of a task and I get brain freeze. I just stop what I’m doing and my mind goes to sleep for a second. What was I doing? Why did I come in here? What was I looking for?

This has happened to me many times, of course. Usually in the early morning. But now it’s like permafrost—it lasts all day.

On top of that, I think magical things are going to happen. Not consciously but in a “this-will-be-completed-with-no-assistance-from-me” sort of way.

If I stare at the coffee maker, I will have coffee. If I stare at the computer screen, my page will be edited.

I’m getting time back by focusing on what’s important and ditching the rest (which is awesome) but I’m not getting the stuff done I’ve made time for. I know. Irony is delicious. Just don’t eat it too fast.

Maybe I need to get used to having that bit of extra time before my frostbitten brain can thaw and function properly.

ThoughtBubble

My Sunday thoughts in (around) 200 words.

 

I know everyone wonders what they went into the kitchen for at one time or another but, realistically, how often does this happen to you? Should I be worried? 😉

I think I just need to adjust to this new-ish schedule. Hopefully, after a transition period, this will mean I actually finish the books I’m working on and get them out into the world! *fingers crossed* 

 

 

I’ve Known This Season

 

 

Four years ago, I wrote a post about a leaf. It was the last one on the tree outside my window.

And it would not let go.

Some people commented that it was possible the tree was the one who wouldn’t let go.

A few days ago, I was reminded of that post when I wrote a tweet about a tree anticipating the upcoming season. How the tree would be bare and vulnerable. How it had been through this before.

So, yes, I’ve known this season.

Many seasons of losing bits of myself. Allowing the chlorophyll to seep away and show the world my true colors. Making myself vulnerable while being brave enough to bare leafless branches. Letting go of the leaves I’ve worked so hard to grow. Ones I thought I needed.

The leaves are just beginning to turn. They are changing. Dying. I need to remember there is beauty in these deaths.

I will survive. I can let go.

Dried-up dreams are getting caught in autumn breezes and whipping around my feet. I can let them scratch my ankles or I can dance with them.

ThoughtBubble

 

🍃🍂

My Sunday thoughts in 200 words or less. 

 

This tweet also inspired a response to Sue Vincent’s #WritePhoto over at Lemon Shark Reef. I love the way one, tiny thought can bloom into a flash, a poem, or a navel-gazing blog post (or even a book). It’s part of the magic and beauty of the writing process. 

 

How about you, gentle readers? What is changing for you this season? Have you let go of anything recently? 

 

Just a reminder: Hinting at Shadows is on sale for only 0.99 during October. 🎃
If you’d like to download a copy, here’s the link:
Hinting at Shadows 🖤

Beauty Is Not Enough

 

 

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.

Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

It’s spring. Though it feels more like a distant cousin. A time of year in which we struggle to find our place during the uncertainty of seasons. When we throw off our jackets and listen to blue jays. Then huddle in our heavy coats and listen to howling winds. When we both turn our face to the sunshine and dance between raindrops.

It is that unpredictability we crave when the earth beneath our feet is frozen solid in winter or lush with summer greens. But the fickle springtime plays in quicksand, leaving us wishing for stability, making us wary.

Sometimes we know what we know, regardless of the beauty around us. Sometimes in spite of it. And, sometimes, it just ceases to be enough to quiet us.

It is then we raise our voices. To communicate. To be heard. To say that we will not be lulled into silence with the unfurling bud and promise of a bright and beautiful thing.

We will not hush.

We will shout.

 

 

My random thoughts in 200 words or less.

 

Here’s to finding your voice, being heard, and speaking up for yourselves. Happy shouting, gentle readers. ❤

You can read the entire poem here: Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

Stampeding Rhino

 

 

 

It’s the end of the month. The end of the mini WriMo I took part in. I’d love to say I crushed it but, in fact, it crushed me.

The way Diana set this challenge up, with all the choices and flexibility, there was kind of no way to fail. But I am spectacularly inept and managed to do it. Fail, that is.

So. I can beat myself up, as I’m wont to do, or I can move on. I can try again next month or wait a month and try again or never try again (ever) and realize this type of challenge is not for me. We’ll see.

Regardless, I don’t get a badge with a star. But I did get this adorable drawing from the fabulous Ree and I’m excited to have this sweet little Ninny Rhino to keep my cold keyboard company. Maybe she’ll inspire me to attempt this challenge again. Who could say no to that face?

 

My not-so-random thoughts in 200 words or less.

How did you do this month? Did you reach your writing goal? Did you write at all? What did you accomplish? I’d love to hear of your successes. Drop me a comment and let me know. ✍️ 🦏 

 

top photo source: pixabay (inspired by the dynamic D.Wallace Peach)

Ninny Rhino

 

 

 

I’ve posted before how I’ve never participated in NaNoWriMo and how I’ve never had the slightest desire to and how I applaud those wacky writers who do.

But this is a rhino of a different color. Ninny can be any color I want him to be. He may even have polka dots or stripes. Who knows? Point is, Mini-Wri-Mo’s a different sort of challenge, as Ms. Amazingly Prolific Peach explains in her post.

March is looking like a difficult month for me but, eh, which one isn’t? And that clichéd quote “It’s never a good time for…” is cliché for a reason. (It’s true, people. That’s what I’m saying here.)

So off I go. Ready to take on this month-long writing challenge. Wish me luck, fellow writers. I’ll need it.

 

My not-so-random thoughts in 200 words or less.

 

Joining in Diana’s challenge? Why not, right? Set your own goals and celebrate your accomplishments. You get to create a Rhino that’s all yours. (And you get a badge. I mean, honestly, who can resist a badge? With a rhino. And a star.) ✍️ 🦏 

Starts today, March 1st, so figure out what you’re doing and get moving, my friends.

 

photo source: pixabay (inspired by the dynamic D.Wallace Peach)

Light & Hope at Midwinter

 

 

In many cultures, past and present, February 1st is a promise of release from the dreary darkness and bitter cold of winter. Beneath the frozen earth, life stirs. This midwinter celebration, halfway between the first day of winter and the first day of spring, gives us hope.

Like watching your children grow, you look up one morning and say, “When did you get so tall?” Those extra minutes of sunlight each day since the Winter Solstice have accumulated. Lift your eyes, look around, become aware of the light. The lengthening of days is a slow process—but the change is now noticeable.

The pressure to set goals, reflect on last year, or make resolutions to better ourselves is associated with the calendar New Year.

The first day of February offers a fresh start. It is about new beginnings. It brings knowledge that the seeds we planted are deep within—there is life underneath the frost and snow. These plants will soon break through the soil, reaching and growing.

Trust that there is life in the darkness and there you will find hope.

 

My random thoughts in 200 words or less.

 

Health & happiness to you, my friends. ❤