“They are a rare foray into past love affairs; unforgettable moments of the days of this life.”
The memories of clothing past. The vintage and the ancient calling to you from the very top of your home. Whispering their stories , enticing you up. I can think of several hidden in the nooks and crannies that have not seen the light of days, …
“They are a rare foray into past love affairs; unforgettable moments of the days of this life.”
The memories of clothing past. The vintage and the ancient calling to you from the very top of your home. Whispering their stories , enticing you up. I can think of several hidden in the nooks and crannies that have not seen the light of days, counted in years. Can we call them elders of the closet ? Could you please knit me an entire story from your attic?
Wabi Sabi, now there is a word I could put to good use, though I know I will purposely say Wasabi.
I often wondered what type of trees you have in France. I have my favorites for many reasons, some for their bark or unusual sculpted branches. But the Birch tree excels above all others, its bark and autumnal rainbows of warm spectral colors. Even past their own long lifetimes, many still hold vigil in the forest. And now act as trail cairns . While I do love learning new words;
“through bracken turned to polished, copper lace…”
Truthfully , I am glad the English language does not have a word that could be used instead of the descriptive beauty of your quote. And this one too,
“…stop a while and listen to late evening light tinted by apricot, humming in the silvery bark.” In the wintered mountains, we call it Alpenglow, ‘fire light’, just before or after the sun sinks behind the snow covered mountains. Casting gorgeous threads of light through the forest or lighting up an entire mountainside. In shades of your apricot or like the beautiful name given to your daughter, a deep apricot Rose.
Please ma’am, knit me a pair and maybe a nose warmer too? Mouse booties might cut down on that tapping noise, just a thought. Now I’m going to picture little mice wearing winter wardrobes like little short haired dogs escorted by their humans on a cold winter day. I admit to sewing a certain dog custom booties for winter travel , but that is the extent of my animal wardrobe creations. Yes, a cycle of breaths and a call for an encore at day’s end , but as you know by know, I would shout , Encore! at the end of winter.
“The orange crushed velvet catsuit ? 🫣🐈
(I most definitely do not have anything like that in the old closet )
Dear Lor, I don't like to admit this, even to myself unless in a whisper, I am a terrible hoarder! Every item in my attic has a story woven into its fabric. Souvenirs of a life lived and past, a memoir of a family embroidered in often threadbare stitches. Not only could we call them the elders of the attic, in some cases they are the ancestors of many even older attics. Yes, this is how bad I am but 🤫
This hill I call my own, despite it having none and many other owners - can anyone ever really own land for surely we are simply guardians - is blessed with many wooded paths. Trees here tend to find their home, the gnarly and ancient sweet chestnut, oak, and walnut on the south facing slopes, beech on the north. Silver birch seem less fussy, they stand in all their shimmering myriad colours wherever the land will accept them, like you, they enchant me and never more so than in winter when bracken, withered into its coppery winter forms sets light to their silver grey trunks. Alpenglow you say it is called where you are? A description, not only delighting the senses but fitting entirely!
As suspected my tiny friend has invited her family, they have invited theirs also, I am now pondering the possibility of knitting machine, though such a fine thread necessary for tiny mouse shoes would undoubtedly be a costly affair, perhaps a woollen carpet might be a simpler solution to scampering feet? I am giving the ever increasing number of mouse feet much thought... to be continued!
Oh my oh my, the orange velvet catsuit - my most impulsive and outrageous buy ever, worn only the once by me but borrowed by countless envious friends over forty years - could probably tell more stories than every other item hanging beside it!
Love floating back to you on a lenticular cloud photo and fizzy update! ☁️xx
“They are a rare foray into past love affairs; unforgettable moments of the days of this life.”
The memories of clothing past. The vintage and the ancient calling to you from the very top of your home. Whispering their stories , enticing you up. I can think of several hidden in the nooks and crannies that have not seen the light of days, counted in years. Can we call them elders of the closet ? Could you please knit me an entire story from your attic?
Wabi Sabi, now there is a word I could put to good use, though I know I will purposely say Wasabi.
I often wondered what type of trees you have in France. I have my favorites for many reasons, some for their bark or unusual sculpted branches. But the Birch tree excels above all others, its bark and autumnal rainbows of warm spectral colors. Even past their own long lifetimes, many still hold vigil in the forest. And now act as trail cairns . While I do love learning new words;
“through bracken turned to polished, copper lace…”
Truthfully , I am glad the English language does not have a word that could be used instead of the descriptive beauty of your quote. And this one too,
“…stop a while and listen to late evening light tinted by apricot, humming in the silvery bark.” In the wintered mountains, we call it Alpenglow, ‘fire light’, just before or after the sun sinks behind the snow covered mountains. Casting gorgeous threads of light through the forest or lighting up an entire mountainside. In shades of your apricot or like the beautiful name given to your daughter, a deep apricot Rose.
Please ma’am, knit me a pair and maybe a nose warmer too? Mouse booties might cut down on that tapping noise, just a thought. Now I’m going to picture little mice wearing winter wardrobes like little short haired dogs escorted by their humans on a cold winter day. I admit to sewing a certain dog custom booties for winter travel , but that is the extent of my animal wardrobe creations. Yes, a cycle of breaths and a call for an encore at day’s end , but as you know by know, I would shout , Encore! at the end of winter.
“The orange crushed velvet catsuit ? 🫣🐈
(I most definitely do not have anything like that in the old closet )
Love to you, delivered in
“snow drop hope”
Dear Lor, I don't like to admit this, even to myself unless in a whisper, I am a terrible hoarder! Every item in my attic has a story woven into its fabric. Souvenirs of a life lived and past, a memoir of a family embroidered in often threadbare stitches. Not only could we call them the elders of the attic, in some cases they are the ancestors of many even older attics. Yes, this is how bad I am but 🤫
This hill I call my own, despite it having none and many other owners - can anyone ever really own land for surely we are simply guardians - is blessed with many wooded paths. Trees here tend to find their home, the gnarly and ancient sweet chestnut, oak, and walnut on the south facing slopes, beech on the north. Silver birch seem less fussy, they stand in all their shimmering myriad colours wherever the land will accept them, like you, they enchant me and never more so than in winter when bracken, withered into its coppery winter forms sets light to their silver grey trunks. Alpenglow you say it is called where you are? A description, not only delighting the senses but fitting entirely!
As suspected my tiny friend has invited her family, they have invited theirs also, I am now pondering the possibility of knitting machine, though such a fine thread necessary for tiny mouse shoes would undoubtedly be a costly affair, perhaps a woollen carpet might be a simpler solution to scampering feet? I am giving the ever increasing number of mouse feet much thought... to be continued!
Oh my oh my, the orange velvet catsuit - my most impulsive and outrageous buy ever, worn only the once by me but borrowed by countless envious friends over forty years - could probably tell more stories than every other item hanging beside it!
Love floating back to you on a lenticular cloud photo and fizzy update! ☁️xx