Giving in

It's autumn. I have finally given in and accepted the obvious. Autumn has been poking me from all corners for a little while now, but I resisted and turned a blind eye. And stubbornly blocked out all unwanted information, starting with shop windows and ending with other blogs.
Or at least I thought I was doing that, because it crept up on me, insidiously working its way in unseen crevices and slowly wrapping itself around me like ivy around a house.
I've been invaded and am now conquered, looking forward to a new slavery, excited at the thought of crisp, sunny days, hearty food and pub fires, the spicy smell of wood smoke lingering in the air, the cosines of wool and leather...anticipating all that like you do with a kiss, guessing it like you feel the nearness of a hug...

1930s repro jumper from miss-jennifers-vintage-emporium on Ebay, many thanks!;
modern skirt by Great Plains;
50'/60's military port map, it belonged to my late father-in-law;
brown suede shoes from a vintage fair, I have retrieved these beauties after leaving them behind at another fair, longer than a year ago!

Dog of my heart

Yesterday after work I quickly changed into walking-the-dog-in-my-heart-clothes and rushed on top of the hill 'cause the sun was up and shining.


Daffodils are all in bloom now, and I found those little violets which I am loving so, and some wild roots that I used to dig up and eat as a child in the early springs back home, the whiteness of their pulp glaring back at me from a memory that smells of earth and joy.



There were cows, horses and sheep in the field sunning themselves, and rabbits were playing love games, the whites of their tails flickering like tiny flags across the field, only to completely dissolve the very next moment in the brown-green of soil and grass.


I ran around and sniffed the wind in four corners, listened to the mud of the neighboring farm happily fermenting in the sun, and watched the big grin of the village gaping under the sky.


I looked through my late father-in- law's binoculars at a lime willow tree, as lime as only a spring willow tree can be.
And I looked at the binoculars and caressed their rough leather case and thought of my father-in-law's life and wished him near, as I've been missing him, we all have.


But mostly I stuck to the warm stone wall of the church and sucked up the sun like a greedy lizard, letting the dog-of-my-heart give crazy rounds to the fallen tombs.

Things are looking up.