I don’t know what sparked the flame, or tended the flame that was already there, where, I don’t know. time has passed is what I know and the days are bittercold. I went for a walk down to the thrift store in town called Bibles For Missions. Nice Dutch lay volunteers. Looking for another pair of warm jammies. I bought a pair there last week that are white flannel with a beautiful blue rose pattern. Not usual for me. When I saw them, though, they reminded me of the teaceup and saucer set my mother brought out for special guests when I was very young. A thin fine bone china pattern of delicate blue roses on a white background. When I was good, or good enough for her, she brought it down from high up in the cupboard now and then to let me drink a small bit of milk out of it. I loved the feel of the featherlite china in my small hands.
It is becoming so very cold. I went back to the Mission looking for wooelen scarves, hats, or mitts. No luck there, but I found a knitted wool cardigan of thick luscious wool in shades of earthy brown. Only four dollars! Lord now…I could walk through snowstorms with this on over a long sleeved shirt! Just now I took the girls out back for a romp-a-round. By “the girls” I mean the dogs. Shamelessly I admit they remind me of my girls, the wild pony children I raised. One of the dogs, Nara, is a special needs dog, came with health problems but is big and playful and loyal. The dog I adopted earlier, Willow, is like my youngest girl, moody and demanding but oh so beautiful.
Sitting on the flaking blue painted picnic table I pulled the wool sweater around me and felt only warmth against the bitter wind a-blowin. The dry leaves scatter and betatter about, while a carpet of leaves swirls madly on the surface of the now icy water of the blue pool. The trees of many colours, bright red and gold predominating, sway furiously in a wind that is both east and westerly and beasterly all at once. Still I feel only deep warmth on my body other than my face tilted back to take in the gray sky with dark angry smudges ploughing to the east like theys was gonna overtook somethin.
Everywhere around me there is movement, life, change. The dogs play, the leaves run, the water swirls, the clouds roll. And I sit, firmly seated at the foot of Hestia’s Hearth. How did I get here? And when? I can’t tell you. I just sort of woke up here. It is my desperate wish to remain for time enough to heal from the long nothing stillnessness.