Monday, April 14, 2014


Spring has sprung.  We've traded in sweat suits for tank tops and racing the weeds in the garden.  A couple of weeks ago I was heading out to do some chores--but I heard the butterfly garden calling my name.  It was a rare perfect day--warm, but not hot.  Hint of cool in the breeze.  Blue skies.  No mosquitoes.  So the chores will be there later--I grabbed my book and headed for the swing, where I was soon joined by Apache cat.  I read, a little.  Looked around at the plants suddenly emerging from the soil.  Listened to the calls of the hawks declaring territory and the lazy droning of the carpenter bees--one hovered close enough that I could feel the breeze from his wings on my cheek [note:  I did not freak out.  Carpenter bees don't sting]

Somehow even the onions from the store know that it's spring, sprouting on my kitchen counter away from sun or friendly soil.

I had been worried that our strange winter of warm/cold/warm/cold would ruin the azalea bloom--but bloom they did.  Alas--their glory was fleeting, as a heavy rain beat off the blossoms.  But I did get a picture on a foggy morning.
Of course one expects flowers to be beautiful--but how about the unexpected beauty of a perfect cabbage leaf?
That beauty was also short-lived, as they became part of our dinner that evening.
I've also been doing a lot of spinning and knitting.  Although I own  . . . several . . . spinning wheels, I seem to be spending more time with my hand spindles.  There's just something so basic about just twirling it in your fingers.  I'll write more about spinning in a future post, but wanted to show a little eye candy.  Bob had his photo booth out, so I grabbed my latest treasure--an ounce of eri silk.   Yes--there's more than one type of silk.  There's the silk that you normally think of when you think of silk (officially bombyx mori), and there's "wild" or "raw" silk.  But there are others as well, more rare.  This is the natural color--looks like gold wire when spun.
Here's RiverSong, enjoying a little lap time with Bob.
While poor little Noko Marie, feeling neglected, is just going to squeeze  into a box and mail herself somewhere where she's appreciated.

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