Posts
Don't bother me—I'm busy woolgathering. Wandering the fence line plucking tufts of wool from where the fat sheep rubbed their sides against the wire. You wouldn't believe how much wool I can pick up that way. Silly sheep.
I believe when I've carded and spun what I found today—just in one tour of the fences—I'll have enough yarn for a small sweater. And imagine—all that would have gone to waste if I failed to walk around the land, woolgathering!
If only the metaphorical were as productive as the concrete. Mental woolgathering has given me nothing today, except for an opening paragraph (see above). I sit here and look at the objects in my line of sight, all of which are as familiar to me as everything else in my life.
I didn't have enough sleep last night, but that doesn't fully explain why I feel so rotten, mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually. I could (of course I could) come up with explanations, but I won't do that right now.
I interrupt myself here with a reminder to be alert for the magic in everything. The magic of a good conversation with a good friend. And the magic of two barking dogs yesterday as I walked along Bloor Street West just north of High Park. Hearing the racket I looked across the street and saw two golden retrievers, leashed but barely under the control of a slip of a girl, furiously complaining about four mounted policemen who plodded along on the sidewalk, heading east. The horses, that is, were plodding. As I took in the sight, focusing briefly on the dogs and their handler, the four horses sedately walked up the slope and positioned themselves in a row, horses and riders all gazing southward across High Park as it sloped toward the lake.
Food blog: http://fastandfearlesscooking.blogspot.ca
No comments:
Post a Comment