Finally up! One or two more to make by the end of month and then it’s back to drawing through the winter… X

Close up of finished bucket of roses..before hanging on wall…

Still making bucket of roses.. These are the last roses waiting to be felted… Listening to Finzi clarinet concerto and transported to being six years old when I knew there was real magic in the world. There is real magic I just have to work harder to see it!

Bucket of roses, St. John’s wood August 2014

Mothers’ Day Flowers 2014 wall hanging

There’s something about the pre felting that makes me wish I could keep it just like that. Like a Victorian painting, dusky with a certain appeal to the romantic soul … Bye bye the soapy water is a coming.

First of the Anemones Back Garden 2014

Meadow Regent’s Park 2014


One of my fave holiday selfies

Absolutely beautiful!

my grandaughter, thought I’d sent this message to her….
(Reblogged from honeykinny)

I have a tape of a Tibetan nun singing a mantra of compassion over and over for an hour, eight words over and over, and every line feels different, feels cared about, and experienced as she is singing. You never once have the sense that she is glancing down at her watch, thinking, “Jesus Christ, it’s only been fifteen minutes.” Forty five minutes later she is still singing each line distinctly, word by word, until the last word is sung.

Mostly things are not that way, that simple and pure, with so much focus given to each syllable of life as life sings itself. But that kind of attention is the prize. To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind, that so frequently has it’s head up its own ass ~ seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one.

Bird by Bird Some Instructions on Writing and Life - Anne Lamott