And everything is slower here. I have to keep reminding myself. This ice will melt. The evenings will lighten. The soil will warm. Spring will come again. And the slower it is, the closer it binds time to me. Binding it tight. Hundreds of seconds and minutes of this time thing. This wiry, brittle, sluggish, caramel of . . .
Clarissa Pinkola Estes posted a letter for her many fans last week. Her book Women who run with the wolves took 20 years and 42 rejection letters to find publication and become one of my all time inspirational books. In the letter she said.... "Stories are medicine. Medicine for the world. Heavy medicine carried . . .
A quiet moment of contemplation from one of my friends. When life is a bit hectic, remember to stop and smell the mint....says she.......More contemplative rabbits here . . .
Sometimes they sit staring into space or take small naps in mid-nibble. As the sun goes down one cuddles up to a rock, settles down and I am left wondering who will survive the stoats and the foxes tonight? I know now from my lens that rabbits have completely individual faces. Some are braver than others and they seem to . . .
On days like this I open the curtains slowly so as not to startle the neighbours. Sure enough, when I do, there are five rabbits frolicking in the early morning frost just a few steps away. A good start to Christmas morning, when I often remember the giddy excitement of my childhood. Today the magic is in this moment, in the simple . . .