Ornamental

not for babies: 1

hello, friends.  i have no photos this time, and am keeping things brief:  i write this from halfway around the world, on the west side of beautiful, rugged australia, and am simply sending out a note to tell you that my heart continues to beat... that there is so much incredible beauty to this vast wide world of ours... that hearts are BIG down here, and dear, and i feel so very loved.  i've seen wonderful things, felt an enormous range of emotion.  life is such a jolt - and when i see that golden light of the "magic hour", just before the sun dips down below the hills, behind the eucalyptus trees, just as it pours across the surface of the world in front of me and bathes me, my hands, my face with that rich, rich honey light, it is then that i know most of all that i am Alive with a capital A.  imagine these things: kangaroos standing in the shadows of moonlight just beyond my cottage door, echoing laughter of kookaburras at dawn and into twilight, morning mist rising from ponds and through twisted wisteria wintered vines, glowing coals within a woodburning stove... familiar smiles in a now-familiar land, the southern cross high in the indigo early evening sky, pale white gum tree bark, tan and black woods that are called the Bush.  the smell of a peppermint tree's leaves crushed between finger and thumb.  the smell of wood smoke in the cold.  a cup of tea made from rain.

picture all of that.  it's true.  i'm living these things, and they are real.  i've gathered them, i hold them, i will remember everything.

there is beloved australia tonight, and tomorrow in daylight, for me.  tomorrow night, i fly into the stars and farther back down, on to my treasured new zealand.  more wonders are waiting there, for me, yes! for me.

through all of this, i do ache and pine for the love of my mother, my boys, my pup, my home, my sweet guardian angel.  the flickering lights of firefly road will be there without me, as summer begins to slow down.  i can pine, and live life Big, if i squint my eyes hard and imagine my heart beating as it does in all these many places.

thank you, beautiful women and men of down under.  thank you for allowing me to feel all things, thank you for loving me, for showing me the tenderness of far away friends.  thank you for laughing and for creating and for stirring the coals.  their warmth, in the heart of winter, is a welcome and wonderful thing. xo

opening up

 here i am, keeping quiet.  flying under the radar for the past few weeks, trying to walk quietly, leaving no footprints, breaking no twigs.  gathering no leaves.  smelling the breeze, feeling it too.  it has been a time of great and deep contemplation:  how to write about that?  i haven't known what to say, or how to tell you what i've felt.  so i've chosen to be quiet, and to feel and think, without having to explain.  surely this is a natural thing, the need to withdraw into one's self, after loss.  surely, what i've felt and feel is normal, when walking this path. 

 lucky star, found at the bottom of the washing machine, shining up at me

 and now?  i wasn't even going to share this with you until i had gone and come back; having suffered through not one but two burglaries at my house in the past 18 months, you'll understand that i'm a little shy to share a schedule of going and coming again.  but the robbers were recently apprehended (yes, indeed, although my things were not), and my treasured and loyal friend julie will be staying at the house with walter while i am off and away.  this time, many planes will carry me all the way across the world, to a beautiful place filled with kind and loving people; i am headed to the western side of australia to teach in tranquil gardens, i am headed to be with women who make me feel very special and pampered, who make me feel grateful to be who i am, to do what i do.  i'll be walking these grounds in deepest awe, so thankful to have the opportunity to be there surrounded by distant beauty.  (and i have to admit that right now, i'm feeling more than a little anxiety at heading so far from home, as well!!).

i'm writing this from a little cafe in town; the computer connection at home just seems to get weaker and weaker, and it is a major effort to write a post, to share a photograph.  i will be walking in beauty, trust me with this.  and it will be very, very good.
there has been something very soothing about putting together little boxes of workshop treasures, bits of metal and porcelain and glass from the neglected drawers of my studio.  it has been an exercise in sharing and in reflecting, in looking ahead while continuing to glance back.  to tie faded silk ribbon around sea colored boxes, to tuck under those ribbons old photographs of smiling travelers, of families celebrating life - all of this has brought me peace, has helped me keep at bay my overwhelming desire to stay close to home. 
  these have been unfamiliar days, these past six weeks of uncharted mourning and grieving and transition; it is time to step out, to try on my folded wings once again.  i'm flying into places that i love, to see people i adore.  hello, beautiful western australia!  hello, hello, beloved new zealand.  it will be good, more than good - and i will try to share some stories and images with you somewhere along the way.  xo