Friday, February 19, 2010


This afternoon beautiful rain-laden clouds started gathering above the mountains where I live.  We are to have rain first, then snow.  By dusk the clouds had closed ranks and the sky was a solid tapestry of various beautiful grays.  Accompanied by the music of a cold wind from the north singing in the tall pines, I put out food for all the various wildings I feed and made sure the bedding in the feral cats' houses was clean and dry. 

Now, after feeding those of us who live inside, I listen to the north wind serenade me with its chilly voice while sitting beside a warming fire of oak and pine.  Drinking a cup of hot chocolate topped by an indecent amount of whipped cream, I listen more intently; underneath the music of the wind, I can hear the murmuring of the creek.  It hasn't (oddly) frozen solid yet, but its voice is the slow, muted speech of one nearly asleep. Cats, dogs and husband are asleep.  Wind, creek, and fire song weave together to form a deep peace that wraps around me like a thick, soft blanket.

And, ahhh, here comes the rain...


  1. I may have asked before but do you know the books by Gene Stratton Porter about California in the twenties? HER FATHER'S DAUGHTER gives a wonderful picture of what it must have been like.

  2. What a beautiful harmony of soft greys and pale blue.
    Very inspiring.

  3. Thank you, Helene, and thank you for visiting my blog. I went over to yours; you have beautiful paintings and photographs!


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