All Things Nice . . .

(source)

I like to lie in a still darkened room

And think of all the clean things that I know,

Sand filtered water in a country well,

The white unearthly purity of snow.

A new plowed field of steaming virgin sod,

A white beach when the tide is going out,

The crumpled newness of unfolding leaves,

A small pig with his tiny wrinkled snout.

New coppers shining as the purest gold,

A scoured step . . the clean scales of a fish,

The white deck of a ship . . a gleaming sail,

The pearly lustre of a china dish.

The smell of mint and apple trees in bloom,

A field of lupins . . new hay in the mow,

The brass tipped horns of oxen in the sun

New sheaves . . the shiny moleboard of a plow.

The sheen of pewter . . old plates on a rail,

Small white washed stones in little tidy rings,

The world is never lonely to me now,

I have the company of lovely things.

~Edna Jacques, Clean Things

Beside Still Waters, 1939

I do like things like this. To lie in the dark and think of things that bless me and my life. I doubt that much would be of worth to anyone else, but to me they are the world. It is no small thing to lay in the quiet and count your blessings, no matter how humble they may be. Each is a gift, of that I am certain. Something given over to our stewardship . . . just for a time. Do we value what we hold? I like to think that I am a person who does.

And now for something completely different.

Look at this pattern of light. I noticed it on my wall yesterday at some point. Probably mid-morning. I could not figure out what was causing it. I thought it was very unusual and quite pretty.  I have never seen anything quite like it. What do you see in it. I see a trumpet bloom, an angel's horn, a goblet, a mushroom cloud, the roots of a tree, a storm falling from a cloud with lightning strikes at the bottom spreading over the ground. I think it is quite beautiful and unusual, no matter what was the cause or the source.  A gift that might have gone un-noticed were I any other type of person than who I am.

I know I have spoken of this book to you before. If you have not already gotten it for yourself, I ask myself why. This is one of the most beautiful books that I have ever purchased. I am moving through it slowly, through the year, week by week, and it delights with every page and word. It makes me ponder and think. It helps me to slow down and be. It speaks to my nature loving heart.

"On YouTube there's a video of a man pointing at a big rock. When he stops to upend the heavy stone, his companion's camera reveals an underground hollow where a broadhead skink is guarding her eggs. She is curled around them protectively.  She does not stir when her secret is revealed. She will stay there until those eggs hatch.

The man shows us the skink and her eggs and then slowly sets the rock back down. He is taking care, but every time I watch this video, I am worried for the far-more-capable mother skink. After the man puts the rock back in place, I want him to tell us that the skink is safe, that he has not crushed her in teaching us what a fine mother she is. I want proof that the skink is safe.

But proof would require him to heave the rock up again, and more than I want to be assured that the skink is whole, her eggs unharmed, I want the man on YouTube to go away."

~Margaret Renkl, Praise Song for the Skink Who Has Gone to Ground

The Comfort of Crows

I find myself wanting to look up this man on YouTube and at the same time not wanting to. There is a huge part of me, after reading this, that hopes and prays that the skink was safe, but there is a larger part of me that is dismayed at the disrespect shown to one of God's creatures who is doing all that she can to protect her young as nature intended for her to do. At the disturbance . . . I, too, want him to go away.

See what I mean?  A book that makes you think and feel. A book of substance and worth. if you are a nature lover and you don't have it already, you really need to get it for yourself. This book is a gift.

But then again, all the words which spring from the minds and pens of those who write are gifts to the world given into our care.

 

(source)

For most of my life, with the exception of the years I spent living in Alberta, I have never been much more than an hour's away from an ocean or the shore of a lake. Although I am not a very good traveler upon the waters I do love to sit at the water's edge, and to enjoy the fresh clean air that they bring, with a smell that exists no place else on earth, my toes dug into warm sand while the cool breeze from off the waters wafts around my cheeks and forehead, ruffling my hair and delighting my soul.

This is a special privilege to be able to partake of these things and I am guilty of taking it for granted more often than not.  There is a commonality that exists surrounding many of these places and yet at the same time they are quite different.  A lake is not an ocean is not a bay. And yet they are all wet and cooling and alive with pleasures and treasures you cannot find anywhere else. 

In Manitoba, it was Lake Winnipeg, in Ontario I lived in Meaford on the banks of the Nottawasaga Bay,  also near Barrie on Lake Simco, here in the Valley next to the Bay of Fundy, with the Atlantic ocean to the South for most of my growing up years, in England near The English Channel at one point and the Irish Sea at the other.

Yes, always within the close proximity to a great waterway . . . with the exception of my few years spent in Alberta. 

I love to sit and watch the waves; to see the sparkling glint of sunshine rippling across the water like a million little jewels, fresh air tinged with the slight tang of ozone and sea life. 

I have never been a great sailor. I get seasick, but there is a part of me what wishes that I could sail out over the waters without feeling ill.  To skim across the water's surface beneath the shadow of the sails . . . 

Glenna was telling me on Sunday that there is a place here in Nova Scotia on the South Shore where you can pick up Sand Dollars by the handful.  Sand Dollar Beach in Rose Bay near Lunenburg. I have never seen a Sand Dollar in real life, but I would love to. Alas, my beach walking days are over . . . 

(source)

Too much?  Perhaps. It does look a bit sterile, but I love the red and white. Red and white or blue and white, both color combinations sing the song of my heart.  I would be happy with either or.

I don't really have an awful lot to muse on this morning. I don't know why. I guess some days are just like that. I marvel most days that I have anything to write about at all, but somehow, I manage. And for some reason you keep returning.  I appreciate that. 

It is a somewhat solitary life, living here on my own with just my two furry friends and my faith. But I don't get lonely. Not ever.  I have my sister of course, and dad and Dan, and I have you. That has made all the difference in the world. My friend Jacquie complains often of being lonely. I think her life is very narrow perhaps. My life is full of purpose and well, life!  There are not enough hours in my day to do, see, read, experience, all that I would wish to. That is a great blessing that I do not take for granted.

And you are all a vital part of my daily excitement. Sad perhaps to some, but not to me.

A thought to carry with you . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚

˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
*.˛.Everyone's life is a fairytale

written by God's fingers.° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

~Hans Christian Anderson° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

In The English Kitchen today  . . . Easy Swedish Spice Cake.  Simply delicious. You need to bake this. It's amazing.  Even three days later.

I hope that you have a fantastic weekend!  Stay safe, be blessed, love and be loved, and 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!!