Take Joy!

Rime Ice

 

I took these yesterday—the top one was from a stoplight on the way down 70, and the lower one from Berry's Feed and Seed in Swannanoa while John was inside buying corn (against yet another winter event this week)—that's rime ice on the trees. There's still snow on the ground, of course, but the ice was gone by midafternoon.

Serena, Sleeping

Poetry for Imbolc

I do not have to go
To Sacred Places
In far-off lands.
The ground I stand on
Is holy.

Here, in this little garden
I tend
My pilgrimage ends.
The wild honeybees
The hummingbird moths
The flickering fireflies at dusk
Are a microcosm
Of the Universe.
Each seed that grows
Each spade of soil
Is full of miracles.

And I toil and sweat
And watch and wonder
And am full of love.
Living in place
In this place.
For truth and beauty
Dwell here.

            —Mary de La Valette

A blessed Imbolc to you all, friends, as the wheel of the year turns toward spring and the rebirth of green growing things; and honor to Brigid, the great Triple Goddess of healing, poetry, and the forge—transformations of all kinds—and Mistress of the hearthfire, the center of the home and the source of light and warmth that mean life itself.

Moon Circles

This is my January page for the Bead Journal Project. I called it "Moon Circles" in honor of last week's full moon . . . After piddling around trying to design something for nearly the entire month, I finally just sat down this weekend with a bunch of beads and my piece of backing, and did this on Saturday and Sunday, while we were snowed in and I was tired of reading.

Specs:

The size is 2 1/2" by 3 1/2" (ATC size—I was afraid if I made them too large, I'd never finish). It's worked on something called Bead Backing, from Sova Enterprises, which feels like stiff interfacing; and backed, after I finished the beading, with white wool felt. (I'm using what I have, since money for new toys is mostly not in the cards for a while; at least, not until after the dental x-rays and the car insurance. And I'm pretty sure something else will rear its head after that . . . Fortunately, I have a pretty large supply of odds and ends to draw from.)

Anyway, the face is one I bought a couple of years ago on Ebay; I don't remember who it came from. The long clear-and-silver bugles I purchased from a friend's bead shop (long since closed) when I lived in Charlotte, about 2000 or so. I don't usually use bugle beads, because I never know quite what to do with them, and whatever I do usually doesn't look right, but I loved these and I've been hauling them around for ten years or so now, and getting them out to admire them periodically . . . and I still have a couple dozen left, I think. The circles are mica doughnuts I got a few years ago when I was doing collages, centered with irridescent flower beads from Joggles, and edged with silver beads from Chevron Trading Post here in Asheville. And the background beads are vintage, I think . . . some sort of faceted glass. I had a small hank of them, and I have no idea from whence they came. I suspect that maybe Daddy got them in a box lot from some auction and passed them on to me a few years ago, but I'm not sure.

I'm always amazed at just how much stuff I have accumulated over the past twenty or thirty years, and how I can usually remember where it came from—but usually not why I got it or what I planned to do with it!

Velvet Shoes

Let us walk in the white snow
    In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
    At a tranquil pace,
    Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk,
    And you in wool,
White as a white cow’s milk,
    More beautiful
    Than the breast of a gull.

We shall walk through the still town
    In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
    Upon silver fleece,
    Upon softer than these.

We shall walk in velvet shoes;
    Wherever we go
Silence will fall like dews
    On white silence below.
    We shall walk in the snow.

                    —Elinor Wylie

My contribution to the 5th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival (information here, at Anne Hill's Blog o'Gnosis).

Walking in the snow is all very well, assuming (A) you live somewhere flat and (B) said snow is not overlaid with half an inch of frozen sleet. Around here, the only walking we're doing is down to the chicken lot and back, very slowly and carefully. So this afternoon, instead of going out for a nice bracing mile or two down by the river, I vacuumed and hauled stacks of already-read books into the 'library' (i.e., 'room already full to the gills with stacks of books, both read and unread').

And I notice that there is the distinct possibility of more snow next weekend. Feh.

Oh, drat—more of that white stuff!

Can't you people do something about this?

Guess what we have (again)?

But only six inches this time. (And the power stayed on this time, mostly.) This was taken yesterday afternoon, when it had been snowing for an hour and a half and we already had nearly two inches. Isn't it beautiful? (Of course, I don't have to go out in it, either . . . when it's slippery, John feeds the stock and I just throw out seeds and peanuts for the birds. From the porch.)

Victoria the Literate

  . . . if sleeping on books makes one literate, that is!

Look! Finished Objects!

I have managed to emerge from the Mid-Winter Funk (TM) long enough to actually finish a couple of things!

This vest, which went to Wool-Aid's Warm Hands January campaign, to be delivered to the Innu in Labrador; crocheted of KnitPicks Wool of the Andes in Maple Syrup, Pumpkin and Daffodil. 3 skeins of each, plus a little more Maple Syrup to edge things. The pattern is from afghans for Afghans; it's easy and fairly fast. (I dug into The Stash, and I have enough yarn on hand for two or three more; good winter work, and they can go to the next a4A campaign, which is due in March.)

 

These hats went with the vest; they're crocheted of Plymouth Galway. I had one skein of the turquoise, and three (!?!) of the multicolor—I cannot imagine what I bought it for, but there it is. Now I only have two skeins left, and I have another skein of some sort of wool in an odd pinky-orangey color that will go with the multi, I think. (I don't remember buying it, either. Perhaps things are breeding in those boxes . . . )

And now, I have lost my very favorite scarf—the only piece of knitting I ever managed to produce, garter stitch Noro. I am bereft. But . . . I have more yarn. (Surprise, right?) Not more Noro, but there are two skeins of Mountain Colors Winter Night, and I still have the knitting needles, so I shall embark . . . soon. (Unfortunately, not in time for the snow that's predicted for this weekend, but soon. Definitely.)

Once upon a time, the sun shone . . .

A couple of weeks ago, before all this rain melted the last of the December snow, the sun shone gloriously for an entire day,

and it was [relatively] warm, so we all went out . . . 

 

 

 

I sat an elderly lawn chair with a blanket over my lap and crocheted. And a fine time was had by all!