we woke up disoriented today
summer in april 
the heat dry, penetrating
burning everything
delicate garden flowers torched

it's not that i don't like colour
but at home neutral against white
cools me down, leaves space to breathe 

hope it's fresher where you are!

>  detail of old linen cushion i embroidered many years ago
>  sake jug (used mostly as a vase for the flowers a. picks me)
>  a trivet i made with wooden beads and leather (like here + here)

> flensted mobile in a's room
> a feather from a's collection on the (scratched) stone floor



a while ago
i saw this flower project on the net
so we spent the afternoon picking wild + cultivated flowers 
from our garden, then the street

but like me she was drawn to the dry grasses
my reluctant model
with a chocolate mouth
and a toothless gap (already!)

i want to remember her
kicking off her wellies and lying back on the bench
by the defunct railway line
her eyes scanning the vast blue 
and her surprise that there wasn't a single cloud in the sky



like every year 
our wisteria is the last one to bloom on the block
one flower, here and there a promise of leaves 
it's taking its time to bed in

+ the rain is done, it seems
first day in short sleeves
and a drink with friends in the garden,
old men gather to chat at the crossroads
the long summer, it's almost here



still my lilies
but my sister has gone back home, i keep
bright memories of mornings in the kitchen, laughter and complicity



this book
my tripod
a tiny harmonica

she was 'practising' all weekend .     .        .



/  an improvised lunch :

>  250g small brown lentils, 1 onion + 2 garlic cloves - chopped, 150ml olive oil, sea salt
>  boil in plenty of water until tender, remove from heat +  add some finely chopped fresh mint, ground black pepper + small, crumbled  chunks of feta cheese, then dress with a little more oil.
> serve with bread + black olives.

//  having admired la casita's teapot, i 'virtually' stumbled on this one
    now added to my cast iron dreams :)

/// my sister is visiting
     and she brought me a hug of arum lilies.

and it's almost the weekend .   .    .    


breakfast on a mat of sunlight
in favourite pawson bowl + cup


missing papa 
this is an older 'work'
that's him on the left, a. on the right
he's coming back tonight.



i'm grateful
for every weed, pebble, stick or snail
that she lovingly brings me, every kiss + hug
as i'm already glimpsing the bored, moody teenager
in that 5-year-old lounging on the sofa  .   .   .

i wish you a great weekend!



your herbs
are drying behind me
as i write .   .     .

some of them may take a while 
but please send me your addresses :)



it's so mild 
+  the herb garden is thriving
parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, mint, lavender, oregano, bay leaf + soon the basil

if anyone would like some, please drop me a line
i'd be happy to dry a bunch for you - no pesticides :)


please forgive me for not visiting or commenting often
still numb as our world crumbles 
as if we've walked through an invisible veil 
to a new place the contours of which are still unknown.
but i need to believe that sooner or later we'll draw up a map
and find a way out.