The last golden sunset light sifted away into the shadows a few minutes ago, and now there is left a sort of  stillness, grey but cloaked in dusky shades of blue and rose, haunting the hilltop. Inside, lights are sparking on, and the last words of Chris Rice's album What a Heart is Beating For have died away--I guess it's time to turn on something else now. The dishwasher is humming steadily away, furniture is being moved around upstairs, an occasional footfall sounds along the hallway, and a solitary baker remains in the kitchen, stirring a passion fruit filling till it is something more substantial than its current watery state. I hear a murmur of friendly voices and soak in the light laughter of my family as I sit coiled up on the couch.
The greater portion of today was spent at Costco, heaving large quantities of various food items from shelves into shopping carts, from shopping carts to counters, from counters to carts, and finally from carts to car. Oh, and then there is always from the car to the garage fridge. I had no idea that a wedding could require so much food, but apparently it does, and it will be a beautiful wedding! All of the clothes are here, complete with several sets of darling, lace-covered ballet flats, the food is here, programs have been created, a place is  acquired, and all is in preparation for my sister and brother-in-law-to-be's wedding. I haven't the slightest idea how I will feel when I see that cloud of short, dark hair wreathed by a gauzy veil, or what I'll be thinking when I walk down the grassy hill (hopefully with sunshine on my shoulders) but I feel that whatever my emotions are, they will be extremely profound. Maybe not, though. Maybe I'll just be hoping that I'm smiling the right way and that my hair is still in order. For now, I'm content in the knowledge that it will be a superb wedding ceremony, followed by a lovely reception.
How will I ever wait for Sunday to arrive?

The list goes on

There are too many favorite things to compile into a list of fourty, so just remember, as you read, that the list extends far, far longer than I could probably ever write down. My closest friends are:

 

1. A green, purple and white field at sunset

2. The music halls at WOU

3. My family laughing around the dinner table

4. Remembering family reunions

5. Walking in the rain with my Dad

6. Climbing to the top of a maple tree

7. Picnics with chocolate, sparkling cider and cucumber cream cheese sandwiches

8. L.M. Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, Edwin Way Teale, Elizabeth Goudge, God (authors of all my favorite books)

9. Realizing that my family is a choir 

10. Swimming in St. Mary's River

11. Playing piano by lamplight

12. Folding laundry

13. Slicing watermelon

14. Asking Mama questions about cooking

15. Talking to my little brother

16. Reading aloud

17. Writing and receiving letters

18. Touching soft cloth

19. The moon

20. Talking to my sister till midnight

21. Candlelight dinners

23. Beautiful dessert

24. Worship in music

25. A small cabin in the woods

26. Maple leaves with  afternoon light shining through them.

27. Embroidering

28. Going on adventures with Chesterton

29. Roses and daffodils

30. Reading the Bible while drinking a cup of tea and watching the sunrise

31.Family conversations

32. Kindred spirits

33. Fir trees

34. Planting a garden

35. Running

36. Writing poems

37. Mud boots

38. French bread and cheese at the beach

39. Watching the sunset from my hill

40. Quiet moments to think about how good life is

How I could I ever survive without just a little bit of beauty?

Memory

It's sunny again; the hills are glowing and green, salted with daisies and touched by purple wild flowers. Some small, singing creature is buzzing and chirping among the tall grasses, and the nostalgic humming unfolds layers of June memories in the warm air. The pluming mauve frond at the head of each meadow grass stem is like a long sunset cloud, rippling with the wind and glistening under the light of a golden sun--how many sunsets have I watched out here again? The giant bushes of scotch broom are a lacework of clustered yellow blossoms and dark green threads weaving webs. They foreshadow each year's firework display over the river, and the tiny, bright dandelions close to the ground are their reflections. We look out the big front window in the morning to see how the dew-drenched scotch broom profusion has grown, but we watch the fireworks bloom and  fade  in a single hour of summertime wonder. The fir trees are bending and blowing with each gust of cool spring wind, almost exactly the way they did on that first afternoon when we came here to look at the property, but a big house has sprung up at the top of the hill, and the road is no longer a strip of gravel, but a real paved driveway. Still, though, there are lots of things that haven't changed, and maybe they never will. Things like the shiny green oak leaves, the moss crusting the path back through the woods, and the small scars we gave the  Climbing Tree when we were building forts with the lowest branches. I look at these, and listen to the crickets and the robins, and feel that the sunshine is back again.

Garden Time

The deer have finally realized that my garden is not entirely worthless to them, and thus it has become even more important to me. They have scored one flower head and are probably going to try for the others soon, but I'm still contemplating how to carry out my defense. Deer repellent? Attempt to build a very tall wire fence? I'm very  much at a loss...
I'm hoping that sometime soon an answer will just pop into my head (the kind of answer that I could easily put into practice) and I'll be able to fix the deer problem and secure safety for my little plants. But in the meantime, I guess I should just enjoy watching most of my garden grow up and try to protect it as best I can. There are now eight of my ten gladiolas up, all three of my dahlias,both of my lilies (though they are decapitated at the moment) and a lot of nasturtiums and bachelor's buttons. I also bought and planted two osteospermum plants, three gorgeous marigolds, two geraniums, and a little tea rose. I even have a tiny bench composed of two  stumps from the forest and a few planks of wood stretched between them, and on this I will sit and watch my garden in the mornings while I journal and read; it's very handy, and the more time I spend out there the less opportunity the deer have to enter and conquer (though I expect most of  their schemes take place in the dead of night, while they know that I can't fight  back). So I sit and think and hope that my dear little garden will survive, especially the flowers  that I have named, and sometimes I think up little spurts of poetry to write down later. This is one I composed a few days ago on my way home from a picnic with my sister:

Casting Rainbows

 Sweet moment of noon in the blossoming May,

Glad hour of time's blessed rest.

Peace with the sun on the hills where I lie,

Among grasses the wind has caressed.

The iris is raising her chorus of praise,

So satin and purple and dear.

She's touching the sky, though miles away,

Which in dreams may be ever so near.

Wind of the fairies in maple and fir,

Blow silk of the spider about.

Cast rainbows of cobweb in glistening air--

Cast a line for the salmon and trout.

Puffs of white float lazily by

Amid the clatter of branches in dance.

The shadows that leap are nymphs of spring;

Sunshine is their drink spilled by chance.

Travel

I should like to rise and go

Where the golden apples grow; -

Where below another sky

Parrot islands anchored lie,

And, watched by cockatoos and goats,

Lonely Crusoes building boats;-

Where in sunshine reaching out

Eastern cities, miles about,

Are with mosque and minaret

Among sandy gardens set,

And the rich goods from near and far

Hang for sale in the bazaar;-

Where the great wall round China goes,

And on one side the desert blows,

And with bell and voice and drum,

Cities on the other hum;-

Where are forests, hot as fire,

Wide as England, tall as spire,

Full of apes and cocoa-nuts;-

Where the knotty crocodile

Lies and blinks in the nile,

And the red flaming flamingo flies

Hunting fish before his eyes;-

Where in jungles, near and far,

Man-devouring tigers are,

Lying close and giving ear

Lest the hunt be drawing near,

Or a comer-by be seen

Swinging in a palanquin;-

Where among the desert sands

Some deserted city stands,

All its children, sweep and prince,

Grown to manhood ages since,

Not a foot in street or house,

Not a stir of child or mouse,

And when kindly falls the night,

In all the town no spark of light.

There I’ll go when I’m a man

With a camel caravan;

Light a fire in the gloom

Of some dusty dining room;

See the pictures on the walls,

Heroes, fights and festivals;

And in the corner find the toys

Of the olds Egyptian boys.

~Robert Louis Stevenson

Daffodil Gully

It was a very balmy trickle of air that was blowing faintly over the green-tinted fields, and a very cloudy sky that billowed out over the blue and green mountains in the distance. Some of it, the shawl of moisture hanging just above the peaks, was brushed a lovely, pale rose color, fading to light daffodil yellow around the edges. A yellow that really did match the clumped mounds of bright gold flowers decorating the area. Dusting the hills, clinging to the little glades between the oak trees, were butter-yellow lilies, and daffodils graced the lower gully by the wet, wet gurgle at Brook Monday's base. The girl, sitting near a clump of sunny blooms at the bottom of the hill, was a very close friend to Brook Monday. She often wandered along the little banks as she composed short verses of poetry or drew a small sketch, kneeling down occasionally to get a closer look at a sprightly flower-nymph or a budding leaf - there is a certain attitude of fresh uprightness in a new leaf that the girl found very difficult to capture (especially since she wan't much of an artist). But just then she was content to sit by the daffodils, draw one, stare down the road at the cherry tree simply over-flowing with lacy pink loveliness, and write about spring.

To Celebrate Easter

 

 Four little chicks have arrived...

  Our Easter eggs are painted...

My clematis is finally in bloom!

Happy Easter (one day early)!