Wednesday, October 18, 2017

The day I finally met the witch who lives in my woods

I went on a hunt for sightings and discoveries right in the heart of my woods this afternoon.  The mellow light of October was streaming down through tired canopies and lower branches where, leaves swirling down from higher up get caught, and form their very own canopies.

Birds were nowhere to be seen, and I’m conjecturing that racoons and squirrels, too, have already packed away their summer things in cute little flowery luggage, and travelled far.  Until the new spring returns to the land. 

Upon arriving to that part of the woods where a clearing opens up and light fully illuminates the grounds, I found the most strangest of things… 

A chair!  
Weather-battered and old and pink, 
and just lovely to me....

...and right by it... oh, I found the strangest of all things... a freshly cut hydrangea bloom and a cup of coffee.  Still hot.  Steam was coming up from it in little swirls that went up and up, and up until it formed a mini cloud almost above my head.  Then, puff!  The cloud instantly condensed against the chilly air.  

Oh, I felt terrible for having disturbed what was about to be a wonderful time for someone, just right here.  Imagine, being immersed in nature with a cup of coffee; feeling the ground underneath your feet as you focus on being present and enjoy your environment and the scenery… I couldn't imagine interrupting such lovely thoughts! 

But then, that’s when I heard it… a rustle among the leaves, a soft fluttering or crackling sounds…  leaves rustled in the breeze and, down the edge of the woods towards the gardens, that’s where I found her…

A woman all dressed in black sitting on a stump. Her eyes closed. Her mind far far away... so it seemed.  Who was she?  I had to wonder.  The witch who lives in my woods, perhaps?  She seemed to be channeling some higher Spirit in nature or something like that.  But then, something startled her… she stood up, and proceeded to survey the area around her, as if looking for something... or someone? 

Oh dear me, was I in trouble?  I figured that maybe she instinctively knew someone was spying on her?  I know I do that all the time.  But what was I to do now?  I hold my breath in as best I could, and tried to become very small... a teeny tiny of a thing part of the woods of sorts.  Just to escape from her.  

The woods looked so lovely at that time of the day.  Each moment opened up a new door, a new poem, it bestowed new graces, new dreams to dreams and hold onto, new songs to be sung with the heart of the soul.  It is no wonder the witch didn’t seem to be disturbed by my presence at all.  

She didn’t look being frightened by anything either.  In fact, she was getting ready for a foot bath bliss time!  Yes yes… a foot bath from heel to toes in her one of a kind deluxe foot spa!  A birdbath of all things!!  That is, a birdbath bursting with rotten leaves and debris and soil and yikes!!  Now, don’t ask me why would anyone do something like that.  All I can say is, “a witch is a witch".  And, "who can understand a witch!” 

But let's not be too harsh on her, shall we… maybe she was just taking a little detox clay foot bath her own way?  They are one of the most effective and beneficial detoxification methods ever, you know.  I once read that doing clay foot baths can draw a lot of toxicity directly out of the body.  Although, I wouldn’t think using a birdbath for that matter… at least, order some high-quality clay!  Like bentonite. OK. ;)

I’m just glad I’d finally got to meet this witch who lives in my woods… even if it is just when I’m leaving.  Perhaps, she would move with me to the house in the roses and make for herself a little house among the petals, so that I can see her wandering around from time to time?  Or would you think she’d much rather prefer living on this picturesque area, filled with magic and history?  A land where, long ago, lived a group of people who were forced out of their land forever.  I’m referring to the Cherokee Native American tribe.  They were forced out and many perished on the infamous "Trail of Tears" on their trek to Oklahoma.  

We happened to live just a few feet down the road where the trail of tears begins…  This town is home to the Cherokees.  So much history contained here, so much enchantment and mystery grounded on this land.  Just only yesterday on my way home from Walmart, I happened to see a man walking down the road, a direct descendant of those Cherokees, and I could not but wondered how many of them are still here, how many more buried here, how many of them lived right here, in these very same woods skirting our little white cottage? 

If I’d be that witch who lives in my woods I would not want to move to the city any more than the Cherokee people wanted out of their own land.  So, I suppose she stays here… or at least, part of her forever will.  And that, I know.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Returning to the little white cottage

The little white cottage looked phantasmagoric, and wonderfully magical under the dark veil of shadows, the night we got back home two days ago, last Thursday. 

Coming up that dark hill, there she was!  What peaceful, wonderful feelings the sight of this little white cottage of us it was!  And how it brought to my tired eyes and soul feelings of wellness, and belonging, and security and the marvelous peacefulness I was so craving.  Is this home?  Is this still our home?  Can I call it that?  My dear little white cottage and magical place to be!  I'm already missing you!  I will never have anything like you ever again, and how I will miss you!  Your darkness.  Your peacefulness.  Your charm and magic.  Your woods.  Your cats.  Your roses in December.

The Fisherman has already started his new job, but have travelled south with me to our little white cottage to help me pack things up and get the last things ready.  Soon, we’ll be signing up papers to finalize the sale of our little white cottage, but in the meantime, I’ll remain in this sort of a limbo-estate where I am here, but not here, and I am there, but still not there kind of a thing.  Not a home here not a home there.  It is an uncertain time indeed when you don’t know where you belong.  

In between packing and boxing things up, I’m also creating and coming up with new inventions in my mind as far as decorating goes.  I know exactly how I want to style our house in the roses, and while I get rid of many of the things I’m not taking with me and give others away, I am rethinking and redoing things up.  Like with these set of large pictures here.

When we lived at the house in the roses these two ladies embellished our master room for years.  I loved them, but my taste and decorating style have changed a lot since then.  I had never used them here in our little white cottage and I know I won't use them there either. So on talking to our neighbor Don Manuel yesterday, I offered him the 'ladies'.  Both of them!  You go ol’ dear friend! Haha...

Don Manuel, however, took with him a lot of the other stuff I had in the garage that he found more to his liking and decided to have his wife Graciela come by at a later time to see if she wanted the pictures.  She never did come by, so this morning I decided to be creative and try something different with the pictures before I gave them away...  

And I like how they turned out!  Sorry Graciela!

I simply glued and painted the piece that had broken off the corner of one of the frames, and replaced the ladies with something more to my liking and style these days.  I could have used fabric for this project, and maybe I will at a later time, but for now I used what I had on hand.  I simply wrapped some leftover adhesive drawer paper to the backing of the frames and now I have some beautiful large abstract painting in my favorite black and white, ready to hang with all the hardware pre-attached! 

I did something similar with my Mona Lisa poster a few weeks ago.  She was a simple, old poster I found at a thrift store.  I loved her since the minute I discovered her, but not exactly the poster frame she came with. 

A few days later I returned to the thrift store on a specific hunt for a proper frame.  I was extra lucky to find an extra cheap, extra-large painting with a beautiful frame.  I didn’t really cared for the painting that came with it, but love, love the extra pretty, extra-large frame.    

I removed and threw away the old poster frame that came with the Mona Lisa poster, and then bought and cut to size an inexpensive Walmart heavy duty mat art board in black.  I didn’t want to use a regular photo mat for my Mona Lisa, because I wanted the poster to blend to the background so as to give the impression of continuity and the idea of a larger painting.  The mat art board was perfect for this project. I just taped the poster to it.

The large gold frame, perfection!   
Can't wait to put her somewhere in our old new home!

I am confident I will bring our house in the roses to a glorious ‘after’, and can hardly wait to start decorating it and working on all the things I want to do there.  It’s been quite the week last week when I entered that house and saw the disaster the renters have there.  And how can I say “THANK YOU” enough or proper enough to all of you, my dear readers and bloggy friends who have taken time of your precious time to come here and show your love and support to me through your words and comments and emails!  I am in awe and in debt to you.  You would never know how much you have helped me and guided me and supported me through these past few days.  I truly appreciate you so much!  You’re my angels and the friends who truly understand the real me.  Bless you all!

Thank you and much love to you all! 

Monday, October 9, 2017

The house in the roses: 

Amazing blue and orange sunsets have been seeing us to sleep each night lately, and the biggest, clear skies have welcomed us home with opened arms.  If I stand in any of the open fields round here and look ahead toward the horizon, I can see that our earth is not flat, but rather it is convex everywhere…  I love driving on these completely clear plateaus with no obstacles between me and the horizon and consider the perfect roundness of our world.  These country roads of the NW tend to do that and always bring in me that sensation.  The openness of miles and miles of yellow fields, and the fact that we don’t have the abundance of trees we have in the south obstructing our vision on the ground, give us a clear view all-around for miles and miles of our wonderfully made round world. 

I should be joyful and eager to start this new life ahead of us, but it is a stressful time and on many a day I cannot feel or see the goodness that is in me anymore.  As if my soul is being shadowed by an edgy film… tense, and having or showing a harsh or unkind quality.  And I don’t like those feelings.  They are not me.  And they are.  And I don’t care anymore if I don’t feel sympathetic toward these people who while we were away from our dear house in the roses, had rented it and destroyed it. 

The garden is gone.  The house is a disaster.  It must be painted in its totality, soiled carpets need be removed, scratched and water damaged hardwood floors refinished and all the stainless-steel appliances replaced—abused and badly scratched as they have left them.  I’m not nice.  I don’t want to be nice.  I want to ask these people to get out and pay for all the damage they have done.  But I can’t.  We hadn’t even asked them for a deposit to start with.  We have learned our lesson.  Neither I want to know or think about the $12,000 the painting companies are asking us to have the job done.  And this is not counting the floorings or the new appliances.  At this point, I haven’t found a painter that would agree to my budget yet, and must probably I will have to do it all myself.   I am stressed, disappointed and disheartened, and I must return to the South on Thursday and deal with the move and the added stress related to the sale of our little white cottage.    

The day after tomorrow is my birthday.  I wish upon a star on dreams untold, and I wish that upon our definite return to the house in the roses all those dreams will be fulfilled.  I need to stumble upon my old, peaceful self again, embrace a life of solitude and prayer and relearn how to fly high, in hope and faith and abundant gratitude.  I feel ugly inside, and I must embark myself in a quest for the beauty of the spirit, for I have left all these graces somewhere along the road of temporality, and need them back in my life. 


Monday, October 2, 2017

In the autumnal garden

The garden has been slowly losing its freshness day by day, and here and there some ashen leaves would come swirling down from time to time… then more.  And more…  

 ...over there a yellowish-orange leaf.  Toasted leaves.  Reddish-brown leaves.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four leaves.  A dance in mid-air.  Maples, sycamores, yellow-poplars, Sweetgums.  Leaves that resemble some sorts of magical, sad faces that have already seen too much of the seasons...

It is definitely autumn, or the beginning of autumn around here. 

One would expect to find a sad garden in the fall.  And in a way, you would.  Every little petal, every leaf in the Crepe Myrtles, every spreading lobe and long, seductively spiked trusses of the Butterfly bushes... all are dying away.  The garden is quietly laying down its life as magically as it came to be, when it blossomed.   With it, too, fades away the spirit of the woman who lives in this garden. 

I can feel it's longings; how it breathes its last breath.  I see it weeping as it offers a final farewell to all it loves here.  To the garden, and its surroundings.  Quietly accepting this 'parting', in a most desperate way at the same time.  

It is hard to say goodbye to the wild things of Nature.  To your magical little world.  To those roses you planted one day, hoping to see them bloom on another.  Hard to say goodbye to your sacred space, to the woods under the fairy-tale light of the end of day.  To the cardinals serenading your early mornings, and the flirting games of hummingbirds across your windows, while having breakfast by the big, square table by the man you love. 

  And how can this old soul part away from all those things, 
and still forget them? 

I stand, shadowless, like silence, listening to the autumnal voices of my garden.  I hear it weeping, just like my soul is weeping.  And as I collect all of my belongings—dear little garden things, angels and fairies and trellises, my eyes are also searching the brown heart of the woods across the garden.  Searching among the bramble that forms the underground, and the perennial rootstock that throws up new shoots in the spring.  Remembering.  Drinking all in with the eyes of the soul, as to never forget.  

And how can I look for the slender privet shrubs that populate my woods, and not think of their  lovely May flowers?  The white blossoms just about covering every shrub, and the nice sweet smell. A scent that smells just like a spring day… and that’s about all I can say to describe the lovely scent of the privet flower.  Yes, I am taking all of this with me, and perhaps part of my spirit will always remain here?

A lot of interesting little things has been happening around here these past days, but I can only talk about it when I'm far away... when I’m finally tucked away in my garden in the roses.  But that, too, that’s another story of its own, and it must be told when my feet finally get grounded in rose soil, and the sun of another season shrouds my spirit with peace and contentment again.

We’ve been saying goodbye to a lot of good people as well.  Many, many lovely friends we have made here, and learn to love.  Going out with them to brunches, and dinners and farewell parties and prayers and good wishes.  My little heart feels sad, and happy and uncertain.  It wavers at times, and it is filled with bittersweet songs all the time.

I am almost done packing.  All is left now is part of the kitchen, and then some more.  Boxes have been storage in the garage, and I have continued giving away a lot of my treasures, gifting away everything my heart tells me to… to my kids who live here in the South, to friends, neighbors, taking things to donation centers and such.  In return, I’ve bought a couple of new outfits suitable for those chilly days of the autumns of the north, and if I find a pair of boots I like, I will get them too, to replace those few ones I'd given away.

The October wind is bringing inside the little white cottage the scent of the dying garden, the cooler evenings fanning in the ashes of what’s about to perish.  I’m done here.  What I love, is always near at hand, always in earth, and air.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

For sale

The “for sale” sign was finally put up last evening. 

People passing by were already slowing down and looking down… down the hill, at our little white cottage, and maybe, too, considering the possibility of finally being able to go behind the little white cottage and take a look at the garden?  Yes, that very same garden that since the very first day it was planted had been beckoning every passersby and neighbor to come beyond the fence, and look around.  This is their chance.  Finally.   I’m just hoping that people would ask for permission first before daring to go around and take a look.  I’d must definitely won't like seeing strangers walking around, or looking through the windows…  

I have been told I am to leave behind all my lovely chandeliers and the extra-long, extra pretty window panels for the next owners to enjoy, and I don’t understand how does that works, because I feel, and totally believe with all my heart, that those objects are to be treated as a woman’s personal little treasures… I mean, like a favorite parasol, or a pearl hair pin, or a beloved wide skirt with its panniers, or wide hoops, and petticoats.  Wouldn’t you agree? 

The two, oversized wall art, one in the living room and one in the kitchen area are to stay too, but those are stuck to the wall, so I can understand that.  In any case, I must take a big breath, close my eyes to these things, and hope the house sales for what we’re asking.

Early this morning, I went up the hill and took lots of pictures of our little white cottage with the ‘for sale’ sign up on the front yard… 

It was sad, and exciting, and it was almost a farewell ceremony of sorts between two souls, where one would stand in front of the other and hug, and kiss and say goodbye, until we meet again.

Who would live here and care for the garden, I wonder.  And who would sit on the front porch and watch the fireflies on a summer’s night and talk to the moon?  Would she be able to meet the witch who lives in my woods and see the white rabbit who wears a waistcoat?  “Oh, my furry whiskers, I'm late I'm late I'm late”.

You see, maybe she won’t see any of this, or none of it?  Because, really, to be able to enjoy all those things one must have a special heart and eyes that see.  For those who don't believe in magic will never find it.

You know what it’s been said: “We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.” Unfortunately, not everybody does… but you do! I know you all do!  Otherwise you wouldn’t be here visiting this blog! ;)

Carry the magic with you my friend! And don't let anything dull your sparkle!  

I’ll continue keeping you posted on our journey!  

Thank you for being here with me!


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