My Soul Seeks Its Bloom

I am singing Suite Judy Blue Eyes.

My mother comes to me in dreams wearing purple, wearing blue, smiling, arms open.

I miss him and there is nothing I can do to change that.

Except drive to the swamps and scan the fields, the still frozen waterways for the ghost trails of snowy owls.

There is the dualistic sensation of everything falling apart, of dire circumstances looming, and the breaking dawn of positive at-long-last change. Of things, of life finally congealing to rise.

There is an urge to maximize my resources: money, physical energy, time. I think of each of them carefully. How to use what I have to my fullest benefit, to sculpt a fulfilling life. A life I finally agree to live.

I am working quietly behind the scenes in support of the rise, my rise. I am stepping over the wide chasm in the sand carved by my mother's death. Money, energy and time are focused on the old and new urges of my soul: a business, flowers, nature, horses, people I love.

Words have failed me regularly for the past year and a half. I hope a new well will be dug. I miss the soothing flow. While waiting, in support of my rise, my urges, I am writing pictorial poems. You can now find me here~

http://instagram.com/thesoulinbloom/

http://www.pinterest.com/gracielrose/

Life is moving on.

My soul seeks its bloom.

Please join me.

ode to the polar vortex

crystal clear

heroic

heartfelt

grounded

wired

contemplative

soul and winter shoes

winter shoes

what peace looks like

standing where deer lay

buck and doe bedroom, wind break hill

monochromatic rise, fresh prints

winter shoes, reclining

fresh prints, she-beds to confuse the deer

winterlude

Woody's Beerman with snow

there was a saucepan of cheater's chili simmering on the stove and i ate it right from the pan, standing in front of the burner. we're having a winterlude, called by some, "the blizzard of twenty fourteen" and i've got things to do. like, getting on with the business of turning back towards life after a long, long pause in which that turn was, at times, doubtful. but the timeline on stasis seemingly ran out and moment by moment a word returned to me. that word, joy, was a choice and a mantra from a few years back and let me tell you it failed miserably as a word i lived by for whatever year that was. and so, it presents itself again and this time, i am buying it. because it has already injected itself into my year, even my end of last year.

i had entirely forgotten what joy felt like.

it is not big, it is little.

it came full on in a holiday with no presents, only food and lights and family. then it tackled me at the horse barn with not one, but a two horse triumph in grooming and care. a triple joy day came in the form of dearest friends, new flowered barn boots and a surprise beerman made of snow. and now, the winterlude with its string of days off and the busyness of rest and reading and digging out a dusty box of collage paraphernalia for a project that will not wait another second and hence, the cheater's chili from stove top while gluing said paraphernalia onto a garbage-picked thing at the kitchen table.

i have gained weight and i am lighter. wrinkles creep in and i am younger. the soles of my feet hurt and i am dancing for joy.

tis the season #11

vintage steiff

looking back and looking ahead,

 may your treasured memories

always involve being together.

Joyful New Year!

tis the season #10

my cousin's replica of our oma's christmas cookies

remember those who are no longer here this season.

in so many ways, they are surely still with us.

tis the season #9

wilson and tina                           solomon and judy

equine therapy continues.

christmas photo shoot at the boarding barn.

giddy up jingle horse!

{mr. wilson, shire/thoroughbred cross, recently joined tina

in mending her heart over the loss of mr. chance. they're a good, good match.}

tis the season #8

today is my personal christmas. today is a triumph and blessing. today i took the day off to make my mother's stollen recipe. and it worked. it worked!! this is a yeast bread i have made alongside my mother and last year, alone, i failed in my attempt. but not this year.

this year, i altered the recipe (how daring, considering my very green culinary skills). i eliminated the candied cherries (that dye must be toxic) and substituted dried ones instead. i only made 1/2 the recipe (who has room for 6 loaves in the freezer??) i added more spices. generously. and i will forgo the white frosting on top. melted butter and sprinkles of cinnamon and sugar are what this rustic triumph calls for.

my home smells amazing while they cool. even if the insides aren't as well done as i imagine, they are perfectly perfect for me. finally my mother is here again.