The Sun Sets on November

I really wish I had a better camera. I really wish I were a better photographer. This was so much more beautiful in person, but maybe you get the idea. I am puzzled as to why some birds, including seagulls, choose to remain in cold places during winter. It will be about ten degrees here tonight - how on earth do they stay warm enough? Regardless, they are welcome companions right about now.

Gathering Up Fall

For the rest of November, I'll be the girl gathering up the remnants of fall, for winter dreams. I'll carry its visions proud and girl-like, as I roam my fields, still as the night and quiet as the hush of dawn. Farewell. For now.



Photo credit - Morgan Weistling, "Emerald Dreams"

Week of Thanksgiving

How did it get to be almost the end of November?
It was only yesterday that I stepped outside my back door
and saw leafy green trees neath the blue sky.
Now there is haze over the moon,
and most nights powder pink skies.
Turkey and pie are on the mind,
and the crowds are lining up at the stores.

Enjoy every moment this lovely week of Thanksgiving. Make memories, step outside your door, and breath in the brisk November air. It comes only once every year. It is thanks. It is giving.

Room Windows With Views

The only books that influence us are those for which we are ready, and which have gone a little farther down our particular path than we have yet got ourselves.
~E.M. Forster

This is so true, and we do find ourselves on a particular path that not everyone saunters on. Each makes his or her own way, and thank goodness, or the paths would be overcrowded. I love the path I am on, and wouldn't trade it for any other. I've walked with John Keats and Fanny Braun, been in a white tower looking down to Camelot, and looked out of lots of room windows with views. It's been impressive so far, and I cannot wait for more.

Pausing For Gratitude

Pausing for gratitude that is written on the heart.There is room to spare for an increase of thankfulness, for there is much to be thankful for.

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder

Windswept Raven Hills

Midnight on the open moor.
A nocturnal walk on windswept raven hills,
Rolled out like velvet carpet.
Stirrings of freedom ignite and awaken.

I'd walk that velvet carpet on the stroke of midnight quite Emily Bronte-like, if I could, (my obsession with moors). I imagine them to be sort of like this.

Roses Between Thorns

These photos were taken about a year ago - roses between thorns~ but you know, the thorns have their own stately sentinel beauty, too. It's all about evergreen this time of year. In December it will be all the rage. Drink it in.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

~Robert Frost