tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78879310006954971362024-03-12T21:15:26.490-07:00rhayne-a map of my planetJaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.comBlogger240125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-29353090941547214422017-04-16T08:39:00.000-07:002017-04-16T11:41:52.647-07:00Longings <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I miss my quiet, simple life. I miss the slow, gentle beginnings of sunrise seeping through my windows... tea and a book. Meditation. Walks through my favourite trees, watching the seasons amicably trade places... slowly as not to disrespect the one who's departing. I missed fall completely. My favourite time.. can never get it back. Of all the times for me to disconnect from myself, I feel heartbroken that I didn't notice.<br />
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The more I am out in the world, the more I want to draw back within myself... it's getting louder out there. It all feels so mindless. Careless. I don't want to have to measure up. I don't want to have to be careful to not show my weaknesses, because the world will devour me whole. I'm tired of explaining myself to others who don't understand the way I move through this life.<br />
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I'm growing weary of the struggle. Is this all in my head? I get to choose, right?Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-9959426659822135312016-09-23T08:53:00.001-07:002016-09-23T08:54:35.191-07:00Between You and I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't want to say anything cliché. Not that those words would lose their meaning or be any less genuine if I said them. Not that I don't feel deeply in my heart that I wish better things for you. But my heart pumps with feelings, not words. And each time it contracts, it sends out a little wave of love for you.<br />
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For M... and for D... two beautiful souls... I'm thinking of you.<br />
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xx<br />
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<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-67278060084504206402016-09-18T01:02:00.001-07:002016-09-18T08:18:44.567-07:00An Island of Mystic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Finally.... some rain. Fall is definitely on its way, and my spirit feels light and euphoric. </div>
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Although summer feels like a test of endurance, I did create some pretty amazing memories this time around. And I thought I should honour that with a post of my camping trip to Hornby Island this past August. My friend and I grabbed a tent and a cooler, and very little else, and took the two ferry journey to this magical place. </div>
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Hornby is a small island just off the coast of Vancouver Island, and it's where the hippies and creative souls reside. There is a charming little 'downtown' in the centre of the island... a hub where you can find a little organic cafe, a pottery shop, a natural clothing store and a place to satisfy your cravings, whether it be coffee or ice cream. But what I love most about Hornby is how you feel as though you've left everything behind... all that troubles the world... and arrived on an entirely new planet. It feels like such a safe place. It's where I would want to be if the rest of the planet goes down for the count. Many people here live off the grid, and they take care of each other. And they won't truly respect you until you've spent at least one winter here. </div>
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I used to go camping with my family a lot when I was a child. All summer, every summer. And it struck me, as we set up our tent and respectfully observed our neighbours, how when you are camping, it's as though time has stopped. People live simply. They connect with one another around camp fires, and sleep in basic structures, and the kids play on their bikes... no screens or phones in sight. What a rare thing...To feel as though you haven't aged and that nothing has changed since you were a little kid racing around the potholed lanes on your own bike. It was as though I was being teased with these little moments of unexpected nostalgia.</div>
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My favourite part of our trip happened our first night. There was a meteor shower that night, and we headed to the beach just after sundown to watch the falling stars in the absence of any artificial light. I remember my first sight... it wasn't quite dark yet, and the bay was filled with drifting sailboats, and each one had a tiny light shining on the top of its mast, glowing like sea-bound stars. On the beach, between the driftwood structures, was the warm luminescence of campfire. And children were throwing these colourful little globes into the air that would shoot straight up, then fall back down again, changing colour, radiating red, blue and green light. I hardly needed the meteors... there was starlight everywhere I looked. </div>
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Now that I've been back to Hornby, I feel the itch to explore other islands nearby. I think my friend feels the same, so island hopping we will go. Next summer.</div>
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Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-29849064860398868232016-08-07T16:28:00.000-07:002016-08-07T16:33:42.935-07:00Coping Mechanisms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Summer has never been an easy time for me. It feels like the extrovert of the seasons... everything is brighter, bolder, hotter, louder. I've been trying for years to find my peace with it. I keep the blinds closed all morning until the sun tightropes across the rooftop and finds the other side. I chronically seek out the shade. I will hide indoors for hours until the party calms down.</div>
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The persisting sun seems to want constant attention... always in my eyes, always touching my skin with her hot hands, washing out the colour of my surroundings so she can stand out first and foremost. Despite my absolute love for rain (I found a name for this beautiful affliction....I am a pluviophile), I'm sure that if it rained every single day, I might actually miss the sun.... maybe. </div>
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But I have indeed begun to make peace. The sun has a softer side to her personality. Like any complicated being, she is not static. While she likes to play hard most of the day, when she first wakes up and as she grows weary near dusk, I find the parts of her that are easier to get along with. </div>
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It's the soft light I seek. In the early morning calm and the fleeting glow of day falling quietly into night. I can even find it mid-day if I know where to look... filtered, shaded, dappled... light that hums to a gentler drum. </div>
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It always comes down to quality over quantity. And until summer gives way to fall, I will find the good in all things as best I can. But when that first leaf falls... I will be throwing the party.</div>
Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-14320373371185615532016-07-25T16:34:00.000-07:002016-07-25T16:34:03.386-07:00Worn and Weathered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'd like to think it was owned by just one child... who loved the stuffing right out of the seat cushion. One pair of hands that hung on to the handle bars so tight that the contoured finger grips were diminished right down to bare metal.<br />
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How many miles has it clocked? How many revolutions of the pedal? How many trips around the world? Or... the neighbourhood. It was one child's whole world.<br />
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Did it have streamers? A polished silver bell? That soft blue metal frame... I hope it was always that colour.. just maybe not as bruised with rust as it is now. So many war wounds... too many playground battles... a hundred secret stories.<br />
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It's a velveteen rabbit, of sorts. Abandoned by the roadside... left for dead. But it fell into the right hands... the hands of a girl with child's poems in her pockets. Its fate, undetermined. But, I think it has a few more road trips ahead... it just might have to take the slow lane.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-22081132634939388052016-05-21T14:59:00.001-07:002016-05-21T14:59:46.456-07:00Open and Present<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The seasons are changing... time for some upkeep.<br />
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Is it just me, or are you noticing that spring seems to be getting shorter every year? I've been longing for a rainy day since March. The trees are thirsty already. Something just isn't right.<br />
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I spotted this little snail shell on the forest floor a few days ago and I wondered where the snail went? Do they vacate their spiral homesteads when they've outgrown them? When they want a change? When they crave a new, bolder colour perhaps? This one is a little faded.. but I like it. Soft colours work for me.... worn and well loved things work for me.<br />
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I could relate to the missing snail. The walls are starting to close in on me, and while I'm not looking to relocate any time soon, I wish to be in the world more. As an observer, and nothing more. I can imagine long hours spent on a bench in the harbour on a warm afternoon, watching the float planes soar in and out, the tourists walking along the path, the crows tagging along behind those who have a snack in hand, the sailboats drifting out to open sea looking for adventure...<br />
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So much can happen in a single moment. To be present for it, is what I yearn for. It's all there really is. And it's a calming space to be, where all is well, and all my mind needs to fill itself with is the beauty of the now.<br />
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My new meditation practice must be having an influence.<br />
Love and peace to you all.<br />
<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-75735880460865885502016-01-20T23:45:00.001-08:002016-01-20T23:45:18.659-08:00Slumber<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There was a low mist quietly hovering around the base of these trees, softly nudging up against their knotted ankles like a shy puppy. I didn't catch it. My brother did, but he was kind enough to stop the car and wait for me to capture its fleeting presence.<br />
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My mind is here and there, and some-otherwhere. I'm trying to get somewhere fast.... but the road feels wrong. And corner after winding corner, I don't see where it leads. I don't see where anything leads these days. Am I coming? Am I going? Am I making circles? Or am I within that centre point of the circle where nothing moves? Yes. That is where I am. The world is turning, forever churning... and all I can do is watch it orbit around me.<br />
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Perhaps that is the best place to be. For now. For a long while to come. I will sleep like the trees.<br />
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<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-16160460663857180482016-01-03T17:05:00.004-08:002016-01-03T22:45:56.740-08:00Coming Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #666666;">It's cold in here. Must turn up the heat and put the kettle on... and where are my slippers?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666;">This is the aftermath of my little niece's play in the snow. Cute little shark mittens. Sharks with horns. What you can't see are the little white shark teeth just under the surface of the snow. A metaphor for my current life... there is the beginning of an undercurrent... and it has a bite...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666;">It's been 2 years since I was here last. (what??) I didn't think I would ever return... I felt as though I had run out of words, run out of ideas, run out of steam. I'm not even sure if I have found my words yet, but I intuitively knew better than to delete this space, in case a day came when I needed to have a retreat like this again. And here I find myself. This time, the return is more personal. As I learn to navigate through one of the most difficult times of my life, I am searching for ways to stay connected to the beauty around me... to gently remind myself that there is always a bit of light, even when I can't see past my outstretched hands... </span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666;">Self care is my sole focus this year. I will put things here when I feel inspired to add to this quiet little corner of the interverse... For me, and perhaps for you, if you are still out there. (Are you still there? I can hear a canyon-like echo in the room. ) ...Maybe often, maybe not. No self-imposed rules, no obligations, no deadlines. Only when I feel compelled, inspired, or in need of an escape from reality. But then again, the pictures I take and the words I put down here are just as real as anything else, aren't they?</span>Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-41202742210228516412014-01-20T00:46:00.000-08:002014-01-20T00:51:36.429-08:00Time Management<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The months roll out, from one to the next as though they are on a conveyor belt that never stops churning, relentless. And yet with that persistent steady beat, why does the passing of time seem to change pace from minute to minute, month to month, year to year?<br />
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Why does a summer last an eternity when we are young, but fly by past the speed of sunlight now? I realise that when we are little, one season can be a big slice within the greater whole of our lifetime so far, making it feel virtually endless. And the longer we live, the smaller that slice becomes respectively, until it is little more than a sliver. It's all relative, I suppose.<br />
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But it is astounding how much it seems to fluctuate, even as the gears in the clock click and turn with such sustained precision. How odd that I can wake up on a beautiful Sunday morning, believing that the day is stretched out before me like a magic carpet, the hours long and abundant... and then so suddenly I find myself in the dark of night wondering how it was that the day just slipped right through my fingers. Just like sand through the hourglass.<br />
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Why does it feel as though Christmas happened ages ago, yet I still have little white lights around my window frame? Couldn't have been <i>that </i>long ago.<br />
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Why can't the ticking of my brain fall in sync with the ticking of the clock? What a trickster, that Father Time. I'm tired of being teased.<br />
<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-7525861700008121422013-12-29T18:52:00.001-08:002013-12-30T10:36:30.024-08:00On Ravens and Snowflakes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A fresh snowfall has the same effect on my creative psyche as a clean crisp sheet of paper. Who knew white could be so inspiring? Or black? Let me explain...<br />
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The world around me is green, here on the coast. But I journeyed into the mountains for Christmas, along with 40 or so of my nearest and dearest next of kin. We gather every three years at an old ski lodge, and while it was crazy and chaotic, there was such intense love and a wonderful sense of belonging.<br />
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We slept on bunk beds, shared in the making and devouring of incredible food, wandered snowshoe trails while flakes the size of ping pong balls fell upon our tongues. We laughed till we cried while giving and receiving (and oftentimes stealing) in a secret santa gift exchange. We read stories to the little ones and joked around the campfire with the bigger ones. We hugged. And then hugged some more. We built snowmen, snow forts and luge tracks while throwing snowballs. We made the best of the white stuff.<br />
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My dad and I took a long walk to take pictures of the snow. I hung my heart on a delicate branch while he captured the bigger landscapes. And this is where it began... my return to the creative inspiration that has been eluding me for months...despite recently buying myself my dream camera for my 40th birthday. Despite having the free time to take pictures. I lost my mojo somewhere along the way.<br />
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When we returned from the mountains, I was reading a novel that told the story of a little girl and the drawing she made of a raven. I don't know if it was my love for ravens, or the thought of being able to draw one, but within a day I had a new sketchbook in one hand and a drawing pencil in the other. All of my immediate family members are artists...I know that somewhere hidden deep inside my DNA is the ability to draw. I've just never stuck with it long enough to see what I am capable of. I'm willing to give it another try. My dad offered me some wonderful advice. He said, "draw anything and everything...and don't show anyone your sketches." This allows me the freedom to make all kinds of mistakes without the fear of judgement. But even so, I was not prepared for how intimidated I would be by the blank page. I don't remember feeling this way as a child? Nevertheless, there is a raven in my mind's eye that hasn't landed on the paper yet. Among a thousand other things I wish to draw.<br />
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I haven't the slightest idea where this is going to take me. Maybe it is just a passing whim. I don't know. I really don't care. For the present moment, the desire to make lines and shapes is very alluring. I find myself pouring over illustrations and watercolours on pinterest. I watched a woman create a thing of beauty in a cafe today as she made someone a latte. Art is everywhere. I am finding inspiration EVERYWHERE. I just need the patience now to let myself learn a new medium, while picking up my camera every now and then to nourish the other art form I have come to love so much.<br />
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I hope to see you here a lot more often this coming year. :)<br />
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<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-20653790263732373702013-10-07T00:40:00.000-07:002013-10-07T00:42:32.889-07:00Flights of Fancy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If I could start over... be born again and become anything... actually, if I could choose my talent, and grow up all over again, I would wish to be a children's book illustrator. I come from a family of artists so I know it's in my genes, somewhere. Somewhere very lost.<br />
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I imagine myself hidden away under some magnificent tree, drawing pictures of magical things that don't really exist. I would create worlds that would appear so much more beautiful than the mundane everyday that my eyes have grown too accustomed to. They would still look like places we have here in the real world, but they would be better somehow... places I would wish I could enter into and never come back.<br />
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I wander the children's section of book stores just so that I can see the world with a more sublime twist as I imagine myself in the places that someone else has conjured up. It astounds me how creative people can be.<br />
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It is a little bit of escapism I seek. A way to buffer reality. Luckily, sometimes I can find things inside my camera that give me that little hit of awe. A little taste of wonderment. Maybe I can't draw very well, but I can see. I just never know what that lovely click of my shutter has waiting for my eyes to gaze upon. Cameras are magical objects capable of discovering other magical objects. They make instant illustrations... which is a good thing for my impatient nature.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-57920752247665228342013-09-28T17:52:00.000-07:002013-09-28T17:53:58.613-07:00Still Within, Looking Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello. I'm still here. Somewhere.<br />
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An early fall storm has set in, so I am nestled within a blanket, within the warm cosy walls of my home, watching from the inside out. I'm in a cocoon within a cocoon. I believe that is why I love storms so much. They evoke a desire to feel safe and warm and dry. Perhaps I seek the illusion of safety a little too much. Maybe I don't explore enough of the world around me, or take enough risks. Will I regret this one day when I am old and wrinkly, wrapped in a blanket out of necessity rather than comfort?<br />
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I've always been a little bit afraid. My earliest memories seem to orbit around the same themes... the world was just too big. There were too many people, there was too much noise, too many demands and too many frightening scenarios that kept toying with my imagination, even my dreams.<br />
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Nothing really horrible happened. I think I was just born this way. And maybe that is ok. Surely, we are not all destined to do great things. Maybe my destiny is tucked within the quieter nooks and crannies of this fast-paced, ever-spinning, rapidly changing world. I still believe there is an important place for me within the chaos. I don't need a large space. Small and intimate would do just beautifully.<br />
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Have I written about this before? Many times, I think. Writing about it seems to help me find acceptance in the things about myself that I feel are out of the norm. Once my thoughts morph into words, everything seems to feel more solid somehow.<br />
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Time for a cup of tea and a little storm watching. The world and all its chaos can keep up its antics... outside my window.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-22572577872393835402013-08-24T20:53:00.002-07:002013-08-24T20:55:03.278-07:00I'm doing some canning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Summer, I am ready to bottle you up and preserve you for a long dark winter day when I crave the warmth of the sun. But that's not likely. I crave raindrops more than sun rays. However, it's never a bad idea to be prepared.<br />
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All things leave a mark on us... even seasons. Particularly seasons. The things we fall hopelessly nostalgic over... the sweet fragrance of a strawberry patch, our grandmother's lilac tree, the first quiet snowfall of the year... so many of them are seasonal. And we are full of whimsy and longing when one season starts to fade and another peeks around the corner with promises of familiar creature comforts.<br />
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At least, I am. Full of longing. Especially at the end of summer. I'm a girl who needs to be watered on a regular basis. And this year it has been way too dry, and I am feeling a little too parched.<br />
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The summers of my past have left an imprint on my soul that brings about a mild anxiety that I can't shake. I think I have conditioned myself to feel anxious in the warmer months, which leaves me longing for fall way too early. I shouldn't wish my life away.<br />
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I do recognize and appreciate the good things that summer brings. A friend of mine just took me through her expansive organic garden and filled my arms with pea pods, fresh basil and ripe delicious tomatoes. I have spent long glorious hours wandering beaches and wild spaces with the sun on my shoulders and sand between my toes. I've eaten more peaches this year than I can count. And strawberries, and raspberries and watermelon.. I could eat watermelon for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I've picnicked with friends, went away on a little<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;"> <a href="http://rhaynephotography.com/blog/?p=508" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">road trip</span></a></span> and I've stolen entire afternoons to read great novels. I have so much freedom in the summer. That is truly wonderful.<br />
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But I am still ready to throw in the beach towel and do a rain dance. A few drops fell today. That is encouraging.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-49350129590262624762013-08-03T19:28:00.001-07:002013-08-03T19:52:41.478-07:00Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I get these dreams sometimes. The same thing happens every time. I am forced to move out of the place I am living, into an unfamiliar one that is usually not a very nice place. And in my dream, I am always trying to talk myself into liking this new change, even though my surroundings are dreadful. And every time, I wake up with the most tremendous sense of relief that it was just a dream, I could almost kiss the walls.<br />
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To say that I am a homebody would be a vast understatement. I spent most of my years growing up in a place where I never felt I belonged. When I finally let go of that place (never looked back, really) and moved to the island, I finally found my place. And I vowed to myself, never to leave.<br />
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Well. I spent the last week or so in the complicated world of real estate. I discovered a perfect little house. Off the island. And all week, despite the fact that that house was calling my name for a number of reasons, I was ignoring the distress calls inside my heart. I have let that little house go as well. I just can't bear the thought of leaving.<br />
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A few weeks ago, I was in Tofino. My favourite place on this lovely little planet we call home. When I'm not there, I long to be there. And each time I walk the beaches, little stories unfold before me. Sometimes mysterious ones...<br />
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For instance... who planted this tree on the beach? And why? Was it alive when it was planted? It is supported by a tall piece of driftwood, and it has definitely seen better days, but in the fog it looked spectacular and truly mysterious.<br />
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And this car. How did it get here? The tires are still inflated, so my guess is that it might have travelled all the way from Japan and has washed in with the tides. We are starting to see a lot of debris from the tsunami on our beaches, so that would be the most reasonable explanation, right? But maybe it has a different story? I'll never know.<br />
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And this was just pure whimsy. It's not everyday you see a pole weaved from head to toe in coloured bits of fabric. It was like a maypole of sorts. Beautiful and mysterious. I envision a great celebration. Or perhaps an offering to the sea gods...<br />
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Or sea fairies?<br />
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All I know is that the sea and its creatures were offering up a lot of love this day. How lucky they are to be able to make their homes right on the beach. These tiny sand huts were popping up all over the beach... no bigger than a thimble. Adorable.<br />
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And this house? This one would be mine, tucked snuggly amongst the trees on its very own island at high tide. What a lovely place to dream away the summers, and to watch the storms in the winters. And if you think it might be lonely, there are two other houses hidden on this tiny island.<br />
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The future is never certain, but my heart is telling me to stay. And just as though I have awakened from yet another dream, my relief is abundant enough that I could kiss the sand.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-13774178985702994792013-05-23T00:41:00.001-07:002013-05-23T00:43:55.487-07:00Snoozing on the Chives<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I thought I couldn't love bumblebees any more than I already do, until they decided to move in next door and make bumblebee babies! I have a hive of new neighbours living right outside my bedroom window. They made their new digs out of an abandoned robin's nest that has been lying vacant within the twisty vines of a clematis. The once hollow shell has been filled with feathers and other little bits and bobs and now resembles a miniature beaver dam... it's quite a sturdy little dwelling. I am fascinated with it all, as well as a little protective. I only wish it was made of glass so I could see what is happening under the surface.<br />
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A bumblebee nest is quite different from a honeybee hive. Although it does produce a little bit of honey, it is significantly smaller and quieter, and these sweet docile creatures have no interest in doing any harm, unless their nest is threatened. Even then, I doubt they would ever turn aggressive. All buzz and no bite. They are ideal neighbours. And so cute!<br />
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The little one in this photo is not from the nest outside. He was resting on a chive blossom in my mother's garden yesterday. I think this little introvert was trying to escape the mayhem in the flowering plant right next to him... it was completely spilling over with bees. <br />
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I captured a few snaps this weekend between spring showers. Two baby bunnies have moved into the garden, much to my mom's frustration, mowing down everything they can wrap their little teeth around. So adorable, but destructive... and lightning fast! Faster than the capabilities of my shutter button. So instead, I held the stillness, and a little bit of heart, inside my lens for you. May you find this little spot of peace just when you need it, just when the busybee inside of you needs a brief respite.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-79364377713348293362013-05-05T19:23:00.000-07:002013-05-05T19:33:28.839-07:00Whale Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I went to the beach late this afternoon, seeking a little quiet after a whirlwind week. As I often do, I took pictures of stones...silent beings they are... the best sort of companions when you are craving silence. I was thinking to myself, there is a finite number of stones on this planet. What would the final tally be if we had a way to count them? Do we have a word for a number that immense?<br />
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I went to the far stretches of the beach, and perched upon a high cluster of rocks so I could look down and feel somewhat surrounded by the water. Amongst the steady drone of boats passing by and the rhythmical lapping of the little waves upon the shore, I heard something else. I heard the distinctive song of a blow hole in the distance.... a whale breathing..... A few minutes later, I heard it again, and then again... so I searched all that rolling water until I finally saw her. Three times I saw the smooth dark shadow of her back come just slightly above the surface, and then slowly slip back under as she made her way along the horizon line.<br />
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Those slow deep breaths. It was almost as though her heart was in synch with the heavy ocean swells that enveloped and supported her. What a gift, and a gentle reminder to take time to slow down and breathe when the world begins to spin a little quicker than normal. Inhale... Exhale... Repeat.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-31153131961853988792013-05-01T00:59:00.001-07:002013-05-01T01:08:00.842-07:00The Language of Colour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was sort of sticking out of the ground at a weird angle, this crooked old tap. It was in a neglected part of a large garden. And that colour took hold of my attention far more than any surrounding flora or fauna. How odd that a chunk of metal could have that kind of power... nature almost always gets my heart above all other things.<br />
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I saw a picture of an artist's studio, whose walls were this shade of blue. Actually, the walls and ceiling were mostly glass... but between the small panes and on the back wall, this colour illuminated the whole room with whimsy and playfulness. How it must stir and delight an artist's imagination, to be surrounded on all sides by such a delicious hue.<br />
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I want to take a bite out of that blue. Lick it like a frozen popsicle. Swim in it.<br />
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If only I lived in a space that could support this kind of brilliance without it being overwhelming. I did paint this weekend. And there's no question this little tap played a roll in inspiring me to choose some new wall colours. I am now fully enveloped in the soft breath of powder blue and the slightest suggestion of muted green that shifts with the evolving light of day. The walls really do seem like they are breathing. So very gentle and soothing. These subtle tones speak a language my soul understands and responds to in the quietest of ways. No doubt, colour has a deep effect on our psyches.<br />
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My indoor spaces have come to life, glowing from the inside out, synching beautifully with the emergence of spring. Everything feels fresh and new again.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-65206527501117216882013-04-21T09:32:00.001-07:002013-04-21T09:40:41.861-07:00Taro Takes a Nibble<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
At first, Taro had no interest in helping me select a winner of the draw. I picked him up and put him close to the area where the names had been scattered, and he gave me a quick thump and turned his tail to me. But the pretty colours must have caught his eye, because he was back shortly after.<br />
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And he didn't hesitate to make a selection. He took a nibble, then grabbed the paper and hopped off with it. But he did pose for a moment so I could get an official shot. I then stole the paper away and replaced it with a piece of apple. He was happy and I was happy.<br />
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Actually, it's quite funny. As I type this, he is ripping around the room like a baby goat. He gets these little bursts of energy and he twists and flies across the room, almost as though he has no control of his body for brief flashes of time. It comforts me to see this, because he is almost 12 years old (quite geriatric for a bunny) and doesn't run around as much as he used to. He must sense this happy post in the making.<br />
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Congratulations, Elizabeth! I will have a little bit of Kinfolk loveliness in the mail shortly for you. I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to everyone who took part in my little draw. Taro and I wish you a very happy spring!Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-6501225795418647212013-04-10T11:02:00.000-07:002013-04-10T11:09:30.212-07:00Spring Giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Speaking of sending a little paper love....<br />
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I've become a little bit of a <a href="http://www.kinfolkmag.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">Kinfolk</span></a> addict. I wish I had known about this gorgeous magazine in its very beginnings, but lucky for me, they have only published seven volumes so far. Some I have, and some continue to elude me (volumes 1, 2 and 4, wherever can I find you? You seem to be out of print and in high demand!).<br />
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Anyway, I have an extra volume 7 that I would love to send to someone's mailbox. It is brimming with spring inspiration... ice cream, to be more precise... sea-salted lemon ice cream, and cones overflowing with floral loveliness. Oh, there is so much beauty to devour in this issue. I'm completely smitten.<br />
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Because I am sharing in a little spring-time celebration, I thought that my little easter bunny, <a href="http://www.rhayne73.blogspot.ca/2012/01/my-little-taro-beans.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;">Taro</span></a>, could be included in the fun. Leave me a comment containing your favourite thing spring, by April 20th, and I will put your name in a draw. I will put each name on a pretty piece of paper and scatter them for Taro to find. If you've ever had a bunny, you know they <i>love </i>to chew things. The first paper to woo his taste buds will be the winner. I will share a photo of the nibbled up proof once he has made his selection.<br />
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Good luck and happy Spring!Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-87629595616830882562013-04-07T17:15:00.002-07:002013-04-07T17:18:38.594-07:00Letterbox Love xo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I didn't just want a photo of this lovely letterbox, all crooked and covered with lichen... what I really wanted to do was pry its rusty post out of the ground, take it home and replant it so I could open it daily and find sweet little surprises inside.<br />
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I imagine one day I would unhinge the creaky door and find fresh baked cookies from my neighbour. Or perhaps a feather and a smooth round stone from a fellow beach wanderer. Another day, I might find a jar of honeycomb from the beekeeper down the lane.<br />
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And best of all, I would open my little letterbox to find thoughtful little notes and hand written letters from my friends all over the globe. Oh, that would make my heart twirl.<br />
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There's nothing quite like a hand written letter, is there?<br />
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Would anyone like to be pen~friends? I may not have <i>this </i>box, but I do have a mailbox that is somewhat allergic to bills and craves the taste of pretty coloured envelopes and things.<br />
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Let me know... It would bring me such happiness to send you a little paper love.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-21496526499531051192013-04-01T23:19:00.000-07:002013-04-02T00:53:02.495-07:00Move over, Winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was one of those sublime long weekends that has taken me just beyond the realm of ordinary. I'm having a hard time resurfacing and accepting the reality of tomorrow.<br />
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It's not as though anything spectacular happened. It's just that as the sun finally made herself presentable, I felt the shift of seasons and found myself steeped in light and all things beautiful...<br />
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I saw sun sparkle and heavy fog over the ocean at the same time. Such an intensely dramatic juxtaposition. I was about to be devoured whole by that swift cloud of sea smoke, but then it collided with the sun and dissolved on impact.<br />
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Did you know that some dogs still wag their tails even when they are swimming? I was sitting upon a high rocky point, when a black lab on the beach below caught my eye. He was forever leaping into the water after his beloved stick, over and over again. And that tail never stopped moving... even in deep water! Why have I never noticed this before?<br />
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My dear friend invited me for breakfast. She created an exquisite piece of art on my plate... little crepe-like cups filled with berries, dusted with powered sugar, and adorned with tiny purple pansies. My heart broke a little when I had to disturb such beauty with a jagged metal fork.<br />
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The air was sucked clean out of my lungs when I set sight on the most incredible magnolia tree this afternoon. It was blooming in its most absolute prime. Not a speck of decay or wither. I think magnolias only look like this for a single day, and while I'm hopelessly charmed by flowers that have passed their prime, this tree had me completely under its spell.<br />
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I must remind myself that just because the weekend is over, that doesn't mean the beauty ends. It has no timeline or expiration date. It is a constant. And always available to the open hearted.<br />
<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-46383523080140427042013-03-28T00:22:00.000-07:002013-04-01T23:29:53.063-07:00Beach Houses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Remember making forts when you were young?<br />
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On rainy days, every pillow and blanket that could be found in the house was utilized... especially the giant couch pillows. They made great walls. And even more fun than building them, was trying to climb inside them without creating an implosion. The most extreme care was taken not to disturb those fragile pillow walls, but, like a sandcastle destined for high tide, usually disaster struck at some point. All the more reason to build another, more solidly constructed one.<br />
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These driftwood forts seem to pop up overnight on my favourite beaches. I hardly ever see the same one twice, and when I find a new one, I can't help but want to climb inside, or at the very least, peek inside the windows. I think these are big-kid-constructed forts. Adults build them to try and reclaim their inner Tom Sawyer. Some of them are so incredibly elaborate. So creative. So deliciously playful. They make great shelters on windy days. They make great secret hideaways for romantics.<br />
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But as fast as they go up, they mysteriously disappear. Do some people find the same joy in destroying them as others do when they build them? Is it like squashing the sandcastle before the ocean claims it? And why do I never see a fort in the making (or destroying) in progress? Maybe the crows are building them in the middle of the night?<br />
<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-54998642455556449842013-03-11T20:20:00.000-07:002013-03-12T12:08:00.169-07:00Let Me Be a Castaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I wanted to ask... can I borrow your boat? Can I row out a little ways, just so I can see the view of the shoreline from out there? So I can release myself from the certainty of solid ground underfoot?<br />
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There are adventures to be had in little boats such as these. My inner pirate is swooning.<br />
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My brother once took the roll of captain and invited me on a watery magic carpet ride. It was dark. Just a sliver of milky moonlight led the path out of the safety and security of Secret Cove into deep open waters. The rough choppy waves seemed to take teasing delight in tossing our little boat to and fro... just past my comfort level. But my captain was steadfast.<br />
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He didn't tell me why we were headed into the black abyss. Perhaps I was a little too trusting. But I know my brother, and I am well aware that he is a magnet for all things adventurous.<br />
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He cut the small motor. And I felt small in all that expansive quiet. Vulnerable. But anticipatory. What wizardry was he going to pull out of his sleeve this night? He asked me then to put my hand in the water. And swish it around a little.<br />
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Well... a whole new world of spectacular opened up to me in that moment. The water began to glow. A brilliant green sparkle exploded in all directions. Fireflies of the sea were dancing in my retinas, burning a memory into my heart that still enchants me to this day when I reminisce.<br />
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Growing up in the dry, semi-desert interior, I was new to the marine world. I hadn't lived next to the ocean yet and I didn't know about bioluminescence. And for years after that experience, I still didn't know if it was a chemical reaction occurring in the water, or if it was a living entity. I almost didn't want to know... in the same way you don't want to know a magician's tricks. I loved the mystery.<br />
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I've been lucky enough to see this phenomena twice in my life... once from the surface, and once during a night dive which almost took my breath away in its dizzying magnificence.<br />
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Looking at these shore-bound boats, I can't help but dream of future adventures. I don't need to sail around the world to find awe and wonder. I prefer small expeditions. They can be just as unforgettable.<br />
<br />Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-59789587604602844602013-03-09T19:23:00.000-08:002013-03-09T19:29:15.508-08:00The Sweet Allure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There is a tangled weave of buds growing from my veins.</div>
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Momentary bursts of euphoria invade my consciousness,<br />
fragmented and soft like a morning dream.</div>
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I'm longing for something, even if I'm not clear what that is just yet.</div>
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All I know for sure is that my craving for beauty is tangible. </div>
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I want to touch it</div>
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breathe it</div>
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live within it</div>
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It must be spring.</div>
Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7887931000695497136.post-39242417058498746582012-12-10T23:35:00.002-08:002012-12-10T23:35:37.533-08:00Where Stars are Born<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My living space is aglow with little white fairie lights. They hang from my window, tipped with little glass stars at the ends that catch my eye when they twirl and bounce the light. Would it really be so bad if I kept them up most... no, all of the year? Not all of them.. just a little string of white lights? They make me happy. They release a warm inviting light into the room that has the same effect on me that a good paint colour does.<br />
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Hmmm. But I guess they wouldn't be as special at Christmas, if I had them up all year.<br />
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I am in full nesting mode. It's as though all of my senses want to be coaxed and nurtured... whether it be the spiced gingerbread fog wafting from the oven, the soft fuzz of my new slippers under my toes, the hypnotic rhythm of the raindrops tapping at my windowpanes, or a cup of creamy nut oolong warming my hands and cheeks.... all of these simple pleasures entice me to stay in, to slow way down and to be exceptionally mindful. And most grateful.<br />
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I just want to be home. In my nest. Until the flowers come out.Jaimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04803308252202460126noreply@blogger.com13