This evening we drove up island with Jer's parents (there is a long story here but they tell it better). The overcast day had given way to light rain and glowing golden haze in the west. Beyond the city, the mountains were faint as carved clouds. As we drove into the hills around Goldstream, swaths of cloud clung in chunks to the wet trees. Up on the farm under the dark, spangled sky, choruses of frogs were singing. On the way home, mist swirled on the road. Now, here at home on the striped blanket in our living room, Zephyr the bunny is getting extra sly at sneaking bites of houseplant.
the blue mountains
Several weeks ago, I walked home in the daylight. Reluctant to leave the mild fresh air, I decided to explore the yard. We moved in December, and several feet of snow has kept us from taking advantage of the half-wild slope below our house, and the ramshackle shed that perches there. The snow is receding now, and I trotted down to poke my nose into the little building. It smells like skunks live there under the patchy floorboards, and mice too, judging by the droppings. An old lawnmower sprawls out from piles of junk left by other tenants, occupying most of the standing room. Despite this, or maybe in some ways because of it, the whole place had the feeling of a rough hewn treasure. In essence, it would make a good fort. A secret shelter apart from the quotodien house, where I could stand dreamily at the old potting bench, tending seedling onions and gazing at the lake through wobbly glass. When it warms up some, I'll clean it out and claim my territory, so long as the skunks don't mind my visits.
This morning, day one, I woke up exhausted. Today is meant to be a switching gears kind of day. Recovering from work, maybe pulling the last of the root vegetables from the garden and putting some garlic in. Maybe I'll tidy the house a bit so I can focus, and bake something nummy to relax and get my creative energy flowing. As Kristie at work said yesterday, "baking is therapeutic".
So, this is it. Here we go! A taste of real, full-time arting.
I must admit, I have this idea that I'll be able to go for nice walks in the crisp fall air and admire the fiery leaves and misty mountains, and sit about drinking lots of coffee and maybe scribbling in my journal. These things might happen to keep me going.
The real plan though, is to shift into production mode. I need to set up my light table and emulse and burn new screens, cook up some dyebaths (I have some birch bark soaking in the basement that will hopefully yield a sweet rosy shade), do a whole bunch of printing and steaming and rinsing and probably more printing, then some cutting and pressing and pinning and stitching. Hopefully I'll also have time to pound out some more felt and make tea cozies out of it.