 |
 |
 |
 |
I’m still floating in the mist. I think it’s called a brain fog. The signs of life I refer to are (unfortunately) not mine. Not yet. They are outside, here on the coastal homestead among the flora and fauna and wildlife. Spring flowers, mint, oregano, garlic, purslane, parsley, dandelions, sage, spring onions, rhubarb, and asparagus are all peeking up now. My fig tree and wisteria survived the winter and have new buds. There are signs and indications that I will join them soon. Last week began the long slow tease of a spring which never quite arrives. Then it will be summer. We’ll sneak in gardening days whenever the sun miraculously appears or the whip winds of a sudden storm off the Atlantic. I love it though, living and gardening on a cliff by the sea. It’s like resistance training for the spirit.
The compost came out better than I had hoped and there is plenty of it. Rich and black. Nitty gritty down and dirty with the earth is what really wakes me up and gets me going. Solar power also helps. My cozy by the fire evenings and lazy daze of winter woolgathering are over though…until December.
Wild turkey trot through the garden.
Nemo is fascinated.
“Those are the biggest chickens I ever saw!”
I just rediscovered the work of Father Paul Plante on a website for a New York City gallery called Mixed Greens. I am excited to see his new work and that he is doing well. I love his philosophy as well as his art. I think I once read that he makes one of these small works every evening as a kind of meditiation. His is the first art that I ever collected and could afford. I have his Weedy Seadragon and one other pastel of a birdâs eye which I purchased at the