Today was March grey and rain like a blanket, but the green is stirring. The scent of earth when the wind picks up. Yesterday was blue, as blue as truth and china, it was blues on the radio and stones as blue and clear as the heavens; promises, promises...The birds are busy building and so am I; dreams and projects and ventures, setting sail once more, off the edge of that map... My days are filled with the scratch of ink on a page and needles through cloth, conjuring magics in my usual way, and tea, always tea, a subtle magic all by itself.
Today I love flannel shirts, porches and pizza, love is in the little things. I love the green of this land and rain on the windows. I love the English language; malleable and melodious. I love daffodils and popcorn and loathe kindless words. Today the woman I am wanders, she's tracing those paths, she's dancing barefoot under the stars, she wears the sky on her fingers and sometimes holds the probable future in her hands...
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