Tim harvested the hops yesterday. He puts on his ipod and listens to music, pulling the vines gently down and plucking each pine-sweet hop one by one. It's been raining buckets and in between times we've managed to go to the woods by the river and run on the trails there. The water is flooded and the color of caramel, and the lowest branches of the trees are submerged in it. An occasional duck floats by looking like it's having a grand time, and I like to look for wasp's nests, now empty and unfurling.
altered books in the studio
We're expecting a hurricane this sunday, and as long as nothing crazy happens, I'm rather looking forward to it. I love nothing better than a really good rainstorm. It lets me feel free by limiting my choices. I can't walk the dog, run errands, or return the library books in a torrential downpour. It is intimate ~ we are all cozied up warm and dry inside the house, and the garden is getting watered to boot. Perhaps the electricity will go out and we'll have to light candles and eat all the ice cream in the freezer.
a new studio corner,
pastel drawing by chris witkowski
I was able to get outside tonight and watch the sunset, something I've been trying to remember to do. In the mornings I've been waking up earlier and spending a quiet hour in the brilliance of the back garden, with the umbrella raised and the cat on my knee.