Just like that the season has changed. those tiny yellow hands of the liquid amber trees waving up at me as I walk through puddled sidewalks, they brought tears to my eyes this morning, as if my childhood had risen up and punched me in the chest; that sweet smell that I always equate with the chlorophyll being breathed out of so many leaves all at once. The wintery sighs from plants.
The scarves have been dug out of boxes, the many cardigans, the woolly black knitting I never finished last year because SD seemed to have just run all out of chill.
Bobbie pins are back in style, my hair is growing and I know not what to do with it yet. Pins and pins and sloppy curls
My life feels like it is rotating from spin cycle franticness to that slow steady turn of contentment.
Stitching the lines, cutting the threads, whispering in the dark with my nephew in our fort, digging the soil until my sides hurt, riding the train on cloudy days, biking in the night with my scarf wrapped tight, chasing the cats with my rubber boots on.
drawing dark deep silvery spaces with graphite. Oh how I wish I could live in that silvery graphite sheen.
(p.s. these images came from my sister who always seems to nail it on the head, or maybe nature does that job, she just gets lucky, a lot.)
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