Wednesday, November 30, 2011

November 30, 2011


The nippy breezes of end of November have blown away the remainder of the golden leaves, but the ornamental pear is still wearing crimsoned tones—exquisite garments of silent kings and watchers of the garden. I am standing in the core of time; dancing amidst seasons and hoping that autumn will linger yet a little longer…

I’m craving the vivid colors of summer; the happy yellows of sunshiny days. So I have added some touches of yellow to the bedroom’s white palette.

…and I was remembering that a summer or two ago I had a pink cake with pink frosting on my table… the thought of it has stirred in me the desire to bake—bake in the colors of summer pastels, although I know I really should be thinking of autumn and winter and pumpkin pies and breads and Christmas pecan pies, but cakes in pastels; like cotton candy pinks and baby blues and the soft purples of fluffy tulle tutus are on my mind…

I don’t want to conform the joy of baking to seasons or traditions?—like baking the usual apple pie in the summer and the pecan or chocolate-peppermint pie for Christmas. I want to bake capriciously to my heart’s content. Thus, I really don’t mind a pretty cake with cascades of yummy pink frosting on my Christmas table…

I’m thinking about our trip to Florida a few weeks ago; a special trip that I should add to my chest of most treasured memories, as we traveled with our daughter and her family to introduce little Averi to the rest of the gang… and spent precious time with mom and dad, and dear Lissette by the ocean and the rhythmic soothing sound of waves gently crashing against the shoreline—cherished precious moments that I wish I could gather with my hands; like jewels, and keep in some sorts of magical chest where they’d be kept safe for evermore.

The days are visibly shorter around here now. By the time I get home from work it is already dark and murky mornings are taking longer to awaken from their early winter slumber… I love this time of year and almost walk around the house in a silent reverie; thinking about life, thinking about how fortunate I am to be just where I am and be who I am… I move in some sorts of magical lethargy, turning a soothing light here, lighting some candles there, illuminating some shadowy corner of the house with dim lights of wee lamps. I like these early morning hours and the quietness that accompany them… they call for the strong Cuban coffee in my tiny yellow Cuban ceramic cups, and they call for some fluffy comfy pjs and reflective time in the settee out looking the sleepy garden.

Life may not be perfect, but it is good. And I’m going down memory lane this morning with my collection of photographs… long after the flowers of spring and summer are gone, this garden is still blooming with treasured memories collected in snaps. I delight in going through them during the winter months when the weather keeps me inside and I get impatient for the garden… a sweep of sweet Williams, roses, foxgloves, lupines and delphiniums marks memorable hours of passed delights as well as those to come.

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