“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

10.19.2014

somerset life and sunday morning


keeping my toes warm.

i'm once again in its beautiful pages, toes and all.  so is this place i call home.  so is the lovely, lovely katie in a fabulous yellow dress.  when michael saw her picture, he asked if that wasn't his old fishing hat she was wearing. ummm . . . yes.  yes, it is.  i stole it from him sometime last year when he bought a new one, when he said the old one was too worn out.  i thought it was getting just about right.


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i've been running a slight fever, an autumn ritual for me, all allergies and sneezes, and have done nothing the last few days.  it comes and goes, and i do the same - to work and home, staying caught up on everything except cleaning the house.  i read, buy groceries when i run out of cat food, do the laundry when i have nothing left to wear, read some more, watch football on the television, read some more, sneeze a lot, sleep not enough.  i've not been writing, not much, just a word here and there, saving them up for a sentence later.  the sun is warm, the temperature cool.  the breezes blow in all that stuff that makes my eyes water and my sneezes sneeze, but i leave the door open anyway.  i don't think it makes a difference, in fact think it maybe helps.

sunday barely after noon and the neighborhood is full of barking dogs and dozy cats.  leaves skittering down the street, the songs of birds everywhere.  the shadows of leaves shake in the wind and butterflies flutter by.  the grass is still green and ditto the trees.  the ginkgo across the street has lightened to a pale green, and also the tops of some trees i can see in the distance.  east texas autumn.

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full of good stuff.
i am honored to be featured and i thank everyone involved.
available online or at bookstores.  

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10.11.2014

saturday morning with rain and daisies


october.

i begin collecting broken twigs from the yard, blown down by every storm that passes through. by december there will be enough of them to glitter, just the tops, just enough to reflect candlelight.  i am such a girl.

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it feels like the year is almost over.  it may be a baseball thing, my annual circadian rhythm set to that season. still a bit to go, but not far, not long.  i will catch my second wind then and the rest of the year will push me in the direction of thanksgiving, of christmas, of the new year soon to come.  last weekend was the weekend of books and solace, of no news and comfort movies.  kelly suggested pride and prejudice and when i checked out the library's only copy, the librarian sighed.  my favorite movie, she said.  she is such a girl.  i bought flowers and slept later in the mornings and it was too quickly gone and suddenly monday.

and now suddenly saturday once again.  early afternoon and i am thinking mexican food for lunch. salsa and chips, garlic and chicken.  enough to last until tomorrow.  i want more nothingness and less too-much-ness.  i am such a girl.

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10.03.2014

the night before the weekend


wasn't it just september?

the cat and i climb the outside stairs up all 3 floors and i sit on cold metal and pieces of pecan shells the squirrels have tossed, and the cat purrs loudly, happy to be up this high with me. we are almost in the trees and no one sees us, not even the stars.  the night is quiet and we have a bit of candlelight, but not enough to disturb the darkness. not enough to bother the owls.  we go quiet with the darkness.  i tell secrets only to her and no words are necessary.

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