A phone call from my sister warmed my heart this morning. All I've done so far is sip hot tea from a mug and watch the flocks of birds eating the seed we scattered all around for them. Finches, Blue and Stellar Jays, Alaskan Robins and Flickers; how entertaining. Even my soap opera was pre-empted for storm news.
Not a lot of snow but the streets are treacherous with ice. And the new persimmon tree John planted this spring is shivering and fragile looking.
Here is my desk with momentos from friends lovingly propped nearby so I can feel surrounded and comforted. And I do. I love the internet so much. This morning I "talked" to a friend in Australia and heard from friends closer by. We are connected and fortunate to feel it.
My journal is not even half full and already the pages are splaying out and one of the coptic stitches has broken. What to do? Rebind or tie it up with an old silk stocking?
She has much to say in the winter. Complaining, some of it. Also conjecture and memory and fantasy and dreams and just keeping busy. Drivel.
Isn't it interesting that our brains keep us out of trouble and allow us to survive while also working overtime the way they do? Even while sleeping my brain chugs along non-stop bringing me the most amazing adventures and naughtiness. I think I'll name my brain Shaharzade for all the stories it spins.
Hmmm, maybe waxing over pages in my journal is what's making the pages stick out the way they do. And that plaster. That can't be good.
These are the books I'm reading while I watch the birds, the snow, the wind and the computer.
Every once in awhile I shoot a random photo but my heart's not fully in it.
My friend William sent me a video this morning and in honor of all the street buskers with which I share a history and an affinity I pass it on to you. It is also a tribute to artists everywhere who brave poverty and discomfort to lift spirits. Go here. xo