Dear Neighbor . . .

 

 

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3 ESTATE LANE, Nova Scotia
-7*C/20*F Sunny clear skies
expected to warm up quite a bit as the day goes on

Dear Neighbor,

I hope you don't mind me calling you that. Neighbor.  I feel as if we are neighbors, or at the very least friends.  We may not abode close to each other, but we are neighbors in the heart. This I feel strongly. We are kindred spirits and that is not a bad thing to be at all.  At least, not from my point of view at any rate. I hope that you feel the same.

I had a bit of a low day yesterday.  You know the kind I mean, I am sure.  A day where it felt like everything was getting on top of me. I think we all have them every now and then.  A day when all of the sadness I hold inside and manage to keep at bay most of the time was hovering close to the surface and I felt as if it would not take much for it to come bubbling up and overflow, drowning me in its murky waters.

Cindy stopped by for a brief and that did help. I love my sister so much. She has always been my best friend and greatest advocate. My day flowed much better after having spent just that short time with her.

The evenings are a lot brighter now, with the time change I suppose.  This photograph was taken after my evening shower. I had just settled in to watch a bit of television and noticed the king of the castle stretched out on the carpet.  He is a very large cat. I think when Cindy and I weighed him a while back he was 16 pounds.  He is easily the size of a small dog.  He lays next to me on the sofa most evenings, tucked snug into my side. He is a bit of a ham really. Cindy clipped his nails for me when she was here yesterday afternoon. She is the cat whisperer.  My two seem to settle for her and allow her to do that small chore, whereas for me they do not. Funny how that goes.

 

 

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When Cindy was leaving yesterday, I went out on the doorstep to wave goodbye.  I usually wave goodbye from the window or doorway.  It was bright and sunny, so I went out on the deck. I noticed small green shoots beginning to appear, pushing their heads out of the cold soil in the front of my deck.  Little signs of life to come.

This is the time of year that the winds begin to roar down the great canyons of the skies . . . March winds.  They help, along with the warming temperatures, to put the run to the snow. I have only the smallest little pile left on my lawn, the rest of it having disappeared.  Branches crash, brooks race and snow scuds.  The world seems incredibly clean and fresh as the strong and vibrant energy of March pounds in the pulses and starts to thaw the chilled lungs of Winter . . . 

Wind is a law unto itself. Nobody really knows where it comes from or where it goes. The dark of North woods is in it, the white breath of polar bears, and underneath the sweetest whisper of melting warmth as it passes some sun-warmed hollows where the secret little flowers of Spring woods are already stirring.

 

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It blows away the settled feelings of the snug hearth and flickering candlelight.  I think suddenly, with Edna St. Vincent Millay . . . 

It's little I care what path I take

And where it leads it's little I care;

But out of this house, lest my heart break,

I must go, and off somewhere . . . 

I can fancy popping a sixpence into my pocket, a loaf of crusty bread, and a wedge of creamy cheddar in a handkerchief upon my back, and setting off for the world's end to see just where the wind comes from.

I have always loved those English stories about men who took to the road, eating under leafy hedgerows, sharing their bread and wine with fellow wayfarers.  Mixed up with the blossoming of the hawthorn, amidst the song of the nightingale and the silvery rattle of a tinker's pans as his cart jolts down the path.

 

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And I am off. My imagination carries me aloft to these places and always has done. I have the visions of a dreamer . . . spinning stories and places in my mind as it carries me over cobbled inn yards where small boys are scrambling about, genteel ladies peering demurely down at them from the leaded casements of the Inn . . . 

I often need to bring myself back down to earth, arriving with a crash.  I remind myself that I am pushing clothes into the tumble dryer in a small town in Nova Scotia, not bending against the wind and wandering far away.

But I have been blessed to walk those cobbled inn yards, and wander the hills and dales, down country paths. I have climbed over crooked stiles, and entered the fields through kissing gates, and wandered amidst meadows of wildflowers colorfully undulating in the breeze, the sound of birds chattering in the trees amidst the buzz of bumblebees and the skitters of unseen creatures beneath the dried leaves that lay along the breadth of the hedgerows.

Oh, how blessed I have been to be able to wander in real life amidst the visions of my childhood ponderings and dreams.  I will be ever grateful for that experience.

 

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I really should be writing all of these stories and experiences down.  I have always had a heart for nature and have been happiest when surrounded by its beauty and beckoning call. It saddens me at times to know that with my arthritic knees and back, those adventures are in all likelihood long past, except for the memories I hold in my heart of those many nature walks and adventures.  Oh, haven't I been so very lucky to have had them?

 

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My blanket grows . . .  I have thirteen beautiful blocks of it done now. I really must lay then out upon my bed and see how big of a blanket they are already, when laid out next to each other. I do not want it to be overly large, but neither do I want it to be too small.  I am excited to see it come together. I have crocheted most of it while I watch train and plane travels on YouTube and it will forever in my mind be associated with visions of these journeys of armchair travel I have taken. It is a happy thought.  This week I have flown the skies over Dubai and wandered along the pristine hillsides of Patagonia.  I have even been mooned by earthbound fishermen in their small canoes along the stony creek beds of Colorado. Who know that was such a thing?  It makes me smile.

I am not sure what I will get up to today, perhaps we will take dad and Maryann out in the car if the day is nice.  They do enjoy these little adventures as do we, but with that possibility in mind I best be off the computer and get on with my day.  The time is fast passing.

A thought to carry with you . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

 *.When there is an original 

sound in the world,

It makes a hundred echoes.

~John Shedd  ° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

In The English Kitchen today, a Traditional Irish Boiled Fruit Cake.  Fabulously tasty spread with butter and quaffed with copious amounts of hot tea.  

I hope you have a fabulous Friday my dear neighbors.  Be happy, be blessed, don't forget!

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⊰✿░G░O░D⊰✿⊰L░O░V░E░S⊰✿⊰░Y░O░U░⊰✿
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And I do too!