Sweet living has taken over. Here we are, already deep in fall--girls flicking on the electric heater in the mornings. Sweaters. Red noses at the playground. Stomach bugs. Halloween has come and gone. Silkie chickens live in a box in the dining room. Many babies are coming due . . . How and when did all that happen?
We are ever so much more settled here. The dryness of the air no longer surprises me. I have learned not to touch the prickly pears, even when they look like they won't do me damage. The carpet is wearing at the edges. The bunk beds my sister and I slept in when we were little are now in my daughter's bedroom. My parents have moved ten minutes away--into their own pastoral idyll (slash money-pit and time-occupier).
I can no longer organize my thoughts for long enough to sit here and espouse them . . .
I am a mama, Certified Professional Midwife, dancer/choreographer, gardener, photographer-in-progress, collector, yogi, and lover of the quirky/wild/wierd/wonderful. Myself, two daughters, one dog, two rats, two hamsters, and an ever-changing number of fish reside in an old farmhouse on two limestone-ridden acres in the Hill Country of Central Texas.
My irrational obsessions include: bright blue borage flowers, embroidered pillows, tunics, vintage tablecloths, shoe lasts, rusted iron, my daughter's smile, and the sunshine on my face.