A little festive fun. Red winter berries seem more vibrant this year. Green leaves quiver in the wind. We walk amongst the spruce and pine, sighing with their creaky bough songs, listening to green needles tingle.
There may be snow for Christmas. Candles bright in windows. The sky darkens quickly in the afternoon. Stars visit twinkling early in the winter night.
Are the bees warm in the bamboo, wire and pine cone insect hotel? The birds have removed the sheep’s wool from the fences to line their nests.
We are wrapped up in our own soft wool. We smile. With the other animals we slow down, later we may hibernate.
Deer rush down from the mountains of Harris and the broad swathes of moorland drawn by the fresh, new growth of grass to soar over fences. And so it is with us humans. Deep inside we run with the deer; we too feel the machair sap rising and in the rhythm of the tide, the …
Quiet contemplation and contentment. Short days and frosty nights. A coolness of light. The quietness of time spent observing, being aware, noticing the beauty in every tiny moment. I am knitting a sock on tiny needles with rustic 4 ply wool rough against my finger tips. Ice crystals slide down the window glass. Letting all …
“And a bird overhead sang Follow,And a bird to the right sang Here;And the arch of the leaves was hollow,And the meaning of May was clear.”~Algernon Charles Swinburne~ The dawn chorus of robin and song thrush, blackbird and wren. The sweet scent of gorse on the breeze. The clear blue of wild bluebells and a …
Winter: woolly berry, spruce and ice festive holidays
A little festive fun. Red winter berries seem more vibrant this year. Green leaves quiver in the wind. We walk amongst the spruce and pine, sighing with their creaky bough songs, listening to green needles tingle.
There may be snow for Christmas. Candles bright in windows. The sky darkens quickly in the afternoon. Stars visit twinkling early in the winter night.
Are the bees warm in the bamboo, wire and pine cone insect hotel? The birds have removed the sheep’s wool from the fences to line their nests.
We are wrapped up in our own soft wool. We smile. With the other animals we slow down, later we may hibernate.
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Deer rush down from the mountains of Harris and the broad swathes of moorland drawn by the fresh, new growth of grass to soar over fences. And so it is with us humans. Deep inside we run with the deer; we too feel the machair sap rising and in the rhythm of the tide, the …
Winter: quiet contemplation
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