Spring Morning Songs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These photographs tell their own little story, separate from me, of my days these past few months.  They can't tell the whole of the story.  Nor, I think, can I.  The story is still being written, being lived, being known.

 

Strips become squares become patchwork becoming a quilt.  Garden flowers on tables welcome special Easter guests. Bulbs buried in autumn in struggle, blossom in spring to life.  Meaning that now Sir Winston Churchill lives in my garden.  The Queen is having her day and Yellow Cheerfulness spreads into my home.  Or so I hope.

 

A little experiment is at play in the kitchen.  Taking inspiration from different places and adventuring to create something of my own. Drawing from a recipe found in "Garden Design" magazine from the previous winter and mixing it with a scone recipe given to me years ago by a coworker at the time.  Using the fruits of the season.  It almost turns out just the way I want.  A few tweaks still to try. I don't mind trying again.

 

Dreaming of embroidering little flowers using the crabapple blossom photo as inspiration alongside the beautiful work of Caroline Zoob and too the ladies participating in The Stitchery Journal project.  But first a quilt must be finished.  It is now policy for me to only do one craft project at a time.  Hard as it can be sometimes to stop myself from delving into the next new creative thing.  Life for me flows better this way.  I do wonder if the desire to stitch these little flower pictures will come into fruition or if by the time I finish the quilt something else will strike my fancy more?  It's a real fear.

 

So many things not captured in photographs.  Not captured in words.  Only quietly, with a whisper, felt with the heart.  Joy, sorrow, grief, emptiness, renewal, hope, struggle, and strength.  Music and silence.  It's all here.