the mysteries of repose

August has been a busy month. A month of puzzle-piecing bits of time together, trying to get it all done.

My living room is freshly painted, though not yet completely put back together, and the back of the house has a new coat of paint as well.

There’s been jewelry making, getting ready for our show next weekend.

There has been work, and that’s always a good thing.

And there has been writing. Every morning, writing and writing and writing on a story that’s been with me for over a year. I start each day with this story, and it’s become a part of my life. A part of my life that feels real, these people don’t feel like characters, they feel like family. Their story keeps making me cry.

There hasn’t been much repose, but winter is coming, and then there will be nights before the fire.

A is for August, and also accomplishment. A few small ones, at least.

My garden, well, my garden is a mess. That same beautiful mess it becomes every year at this time, the moment when I throw my hands in the air and let it be messy.

Outside my window, the forest of kiss me over the garden gate has an understory of love lies bleeding.

The snails keep whispering.

And that is my fairy tale.



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