Scratch the Sky

And maybe the clouds will part.  A concrete parking garage would be almost as hospitable. Everything outside is cold, solid, grim, gray.








Portland must not be the only place like this.  Bloggers everywhere, even the foodies who cook their way through winter, seem to be yearning for spring, if you can imagine.  Here we are not yet a month into the season, and folks are clambering for the end of it already.  Seed catalogs.  Sunshine. Warmth!

Ruby shoots of a Red Canna

While scurrying about outdoors to finish the Things I get to do today, I saw little squirts of Nature herself making ready for the burst out of winter's sleep.

White, fragrant flowers of the Mexican Orange waiting. . .

These sweeties don't care what the season is called.  

Maybe it's not just bloggers. Maybe it's not just us.














Perhaps we're taking our cues from Nature.  Please note: she's willing to wait.







These quiet months are available for  snuggly, warming occupations of the hearth. Find something to knit. Grab a good book.  Light a couple of candles if you don't have a hearth. The sky will take care of itself.

Summer Dust

It's not all the same.  Summer dust is totally different from winter dust.  In the usual rain-every-few-days-except-in-August Portland, we can safely say we never have the summer kind.  Summer dust is the result of dry:  dry fields, dry dirt roads, dry earth combined with wind.  Rain puts an instant stop to the very thought of summer dust.

This past summer and fall it was amazing to see fine grit on the furniture--summer dust.  It rested most on the window sills left open to welcome a breeze and admit the comfort of fresh air during the night.  Though not much of a duster, I removed the grit more frequently than I thought possible in August, September and October.  When the rains put an emphatic end to grit in the wind, it seemed that perhaps all the summer dust had been removed from the house.

Gritty "summer dust" behind hidden behind the books
on the library wall.

However, when Things I get to do today encompass taking down a wall of bookcases in order to paint the surfaces behind, unknowns become known.  Behind the books (and even in front of the books--gasp!) lay a significant amount of summer dust.  Perfect time to see it on its way and dust the books.  Perfect time to settle into the rain and damp of middle fall and winter and to allow time to gently bless all surfaces with the lint and fluff of winter dust.

Bloom of Winter

Pink is a color of hope.  Don't ask me why I know that, but when things are "in the pink," they are doing well.  When a person "pinks up," it's a sign of good health:  pink cheeks, pink in the finger nails.  So when I see pink at my front door in winter, I'm most certainly inspired.

Right next to the front porch grows a camellia bush.  It's had various shapes over the years as it and I work out a deal over how much space it can occupy.  It would like to crowd visitors off the porch, and that seems inhospitable to me.  It also, however, comes forth full of hope at the beginning of winter.  Buds, tight as little pebbles,  have been maturing for months.  Our first weeks of cold and frost slowed progress, but came early enough to spare the flowers.  Buds, closed tightly, are not fragile as are the petals fully exposed.

Photo by Julie Furber, DDS

With our recent rush of warm air, blossoms have thrown caution to the compost and are extravagantly, unashamedly, flashing their full glory--right here in front of God, neighbors, passers-by, and you.  Not concerned about the consequences or outcomes of their irrational display so close to possible browning, wilting frost and ridiculous odds, this Apple Blossom camellia uses the moment for this moment.  Do it now.  Do it deliciously.

Live my grandest vision and bloom in winter:  Things I get to do today.  Be brilliant, be vibrant, be alive. Be, be, be.  In the midst of general struggle, hard work, challenges, problems, we'd all feel better if someone, somewhere were blooming, holding hope, giving it their all and their best, living their highest right, refusing to give in to the cold, wet, dark winter in any form.  May your soul pink up with this bloom of winter.