When did you last take time to lie back
to watch clouds
and hawks soar?
Copyright © 2017 by Diane LaSauce All Rights Reserved
Winter is my dormant season when I have time to hibernate with good books, good movies, and good searches on the Internet…
here is a good garden find:
And if you are in the mood to root around your closets, here is another good project for the dormant season:
IF I lived in my perfect world, this is what my home would look like…
yes it would…
Finally, if you love your photos and are in a techy mood, try these ideas:
How are you spending your dormant season?
Slightly dented, this little glass jar holds more than sugar and cinnamon.
It was part of my childhood, eagerly sought after school to add sweetness to buttery toast following the end of a long school day. This little jar waited in my mother’s kitchen cabinet for decades, quietly, still full of sweetness, until it became part of my household upon her death in 1995.
I drifted from this childhood ritual, yet recently found this little jar, still waiting quietly in the cupboard, ready to deliver me back to my mother’s cedar paneled kitchen and our seventeen-acre horse farm. Merely a glimpse transports me to a simple, fine time of innocence.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Copyright © 2013 by Diane LaSauce All Rights Reserved
October slipped into place this week right on schedule. Dawn arrives later and dusk creeps in earlier. The past few mornings temperatures were in the 40’s forcing dramatic change in the summer garden. Basil must be harvested today, for what may be the last time, before frost. The mighty seven-foot okra stalks were cut down yesterday, while attempting another flush of tender edibles.
Yes, October is transition time—time to release the past nine months. My body yearns to slow down, sleep longer, rest. Flannel sheets feel so yummy! While the garden sets a perfect example, there are chores waiting and many clients to satisfy. True rest will not arrive until January. Only then will I join the garden and take pleasure in a long winter nap.
Farewell summer of 2011. You were a challenge: I learned a lot, wept a lot, grew a lot, and created a lot. Now to enjoy the splendor of October, one of the two months each year when I truly benefit from life. This afternoon, I will throw a leg over a horse and reconnect with my true loves—nature, horses, and the scent of leather…I may even write another poem.
Fortune, the neighborhood kitty, continues to visit my garden each day, and comes dressed for Halloween. Perhaps she will bring a rally to the sagging fourth quarter.
COPYRIGHT © by Diane LaSauce 2011 All Rights Reserved
These continued days of 100-degree temperatures and high humidity find me dreaming of an escape. “How can I miss you if you never go away?” is my summer mantra.
This home, this garden, this life. I must go away and soon. To a place where cool breezes stroke my brow, where views are easy, where food is memorable, and where music is restorative. A place away from all responsibility. A place to unplug. A place to laugh…hard.
As it turns out, that place is in my own backyard.
Copyright © by Diane LaSauce 2011 All Rights Reserved
This morning as I gaze onto the landscape, much of my view remains dormant and crispy brown, yet persistent daffodils appear without fail, pushing out of the soil despite whatever life or Mother Nature delivers. Robins returned by the hundreds last week, and the resident mockingbird who found her mate with lightning speed, now busily crafts her first nest. These magnificent events unfailingly prod “to do” lists while the remnants of the long winter past tug at me to rest, reflect, and live in the present.
Therefore for today, I shall merely glance at that chore list, observe the busy birds, slip back into bed with that unfinished book, recharge, and be thankful to be a part of this incredible world.
Sustainable living cannot be more personal, especially as we age…a reminder to do less and be more by preserving the source. Moreover, the source begins with each of us and that responsibility lies within.
Copyright © 2011 by Diane LaSauce All Rights Reserved