where the writers are
In the company of men...

There is nothing quite as special as evening rain especially after a long dry day when finally the light fall of moisture appears to be perfectly measured like the gradual sifting of sugar into egg white, nothing jars and all will be well until the desired effect is achieved.

The meandering laneway not far from here droops with new growth and I stop momentarily to drink in the scene, to admire the bounty of hawthorn blossom and blue bells that cascade along the narrow green tuft of grass, the furrow that carries my glad eye to a lone cottage that I would gladly call my own. Life appears glorious for that moment, that moment of wishing of possibilities that can never be grasped.

Dinner conversation turns to basketball and I retreat into a world of a court full of daisies and light-footed dancers wearing pink tutus, scented of orange blossom and elusive but magical wafts of gorse flower, light as Panacotta, a soufflé of sorts.

Life with men can be challenging at the best of times, my femininity compromised so I head upstairs to the cold cream that soothes my woes. I whip it into a mask, spread it onto my face until I coat my skin with hawthorn blossom and cleanse the day. Below in the bowels of this house I hear the male voices, they dominate over a ball, a ball that glides effortlessly into a net and it seems to me that it surely  must fall as easily as the Spring blossom falls, like a light coating of snow that drifts into a soft breeze and settles for a time.

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You gave me the phrase I have been searching for as I am enjoying the greenery here at Woodsong and Southern Illinois: droops with new growth. Perfect! As I drive to town tomorrow or just look out the windows at all the trees across on our little island, I will think how it droops with new growth.

Yes, you are outnumbered in your household.

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Glad you can carry the

Glad you can carry the phrase at Woodsong Sue, the drooping of another Season and all that...very best, mx

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The Feminine View

Interesting visual that: Cold cream on the face, men's voices in the bowels of the house and thinking of spring blossoms falling like snow. Pretty unique, and definitely evocative.

So, the hat. How are we going to do this?


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Christine, I changed the

Christine, I changed the title of the blog! The men in the house read it and well it feels better this way-thank you for your comments - they mean a lot to me, as for the hat, well, I dream about it, it would look so good in this little town land with the soft breeze all around me, the buzz of the bumble bee, the call of the wild, the bray of a distant donkey, the constant clucking of chickens, the pure chic quality that is only PG, why the possibilities are endless! ha ha, mx

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Flying Your Way

The hat likes the idea of traveling to Ireland. The wind came up in gusts, lifting it from my head all of a sudden. There is a conspiracy afoot, me thinks. Have you summoned the wind from the Emerald Isle to steal away my finery?


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We be witches in these parts

We be witches in these parts Christine and our magic is unmatched to those across the seas! I glanceth thouth famous hat in the sky but it kept on going to yonder England and I believeth toward a wedding proposed to be fit for a king! mx