Friday, February 17, 2017

Fly Free with the Stars Little Shining One

The day is warm and bright. It's only February but feels like April today. The trees are filled with Robin song. There are four in the garden now, swift, full of energy and zest for life, darting from tree to tree, chasing one another beginning the Spring dance. I stand at the sink washing up the breakfast cups and plates and glance out of the window. High up in next doors pear tree sits a little red breasted soul serenading me with morning beauty.
After finishing the washing up, I wander into the garden hoping for a glimpse of my special Robin friend, but sadly my little tame Robin Goodfellow has disappeared... It's been almost a month now since I last saw him and now fear that the winter queen may have fallen in love with him and her icicle hands have gently stolen him away. Did she release him to fly up into the silver light of the January sun. Did she whisper to him to fly higher and higher, up to where the rainbows are born, so that when the red of dawn rises and golden sun sets, my red breasted feathered friend will shine his light   forever, for all to see.
Although my heart hurts that I may not see my little friend again, I am also filled with a deep joy at having been so blessed to have shared so many days with him  and to have earned his trust and friendship. I have shed tears for him before. I buried him, or one that I thought was him. A tiny feathered body laid down to rest in a grave filled with primrose petals last Spring. I remember sitting sadly on the wood stump later that afternoon, only to look up and see my friend gazing down at me from a branch. What's wrong, his intelligent bead like eyes questioned, here I am... 
They had looked so much alike, I kept a feather. Now I will wear it. A feather from a brother or sister, in a silver locket beside a picture of my sweet friend. 
Of course I'm secretly hoping that he may have taken wing to find new territory, or paired up already with a mate? But as I mentioned before Christmas, sadly he was losing feathers around his head and neck which probably made him vulnerable to the cold? Only time will tell... 
And so the garden life goes on, filled with chatter of a new season, but it feels lonely without my friend to greet me each day and follow me around for snippets of cheese and mealworms. I miss the way he would sometimes try to stop me leaving the garden, by sitting on the gate while I opened it on my way to the post office, as if to say... hey, feed me first before you go. :-) 
                                          Robin Goodfellow when I first met him September 2014
That first week when he disappeared, was it really just my imagination that the birds were singing more loudly as I walked from tree to tree looking for a sign of him. It felt as if they knew and were somehow telling me? The blackbird whom my Robin was often seen with, was perching near to another much younger looking Robin, with looks so similar to a young Robin Goodfellow. Could it be a son that his ebony friend is now keeping a fatherly eye on? I like to think so. 
And do you know, within a few days this new young robin had already come up to me and taken food from my hand. Now surely that must mean he has watched his father do it? 

The clouds have almost all blown away now and the sky is a clear forgetmenot blue. 

I will leave you with a small film clip which was the day before Christmas eve 2016.  A magical moment, when he let me stroke him. I believe it was my Christmas present? :-) 

'Fly free with the stars little shining one'

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Hello February

Here we are with the first month of 2017 gone by in the blink of Jack frosts icy lashes.
Two new works that reflect my hibernation mode this January.
Ideas that began before Christmas, a continued theme from the 'natures treasures' smaller gold pieces that I did. These were put aside while the busy Christmas period was in full swing.
                                                                 'Fox Chestnut'
I've taken January to gather my thoughts, plan, reflect and enjoy slow time, as well as do my tax return. The sleepy bear in me has now woken up. Outside there are signs that Spring is on her way and in the garden the snowdrops are out to greet Imbolc.
My new holly mug is still in use though, I was pleased to get this one half price in the sale at the end of December. 
I didn't make any new years resolutions,  instead prefer to make lists of little things to do.  Here is a glimpse of some of the things that are on this years...

  • Paint the wardrobe
  • Plant the yew tree that I have growing in a pot. 
  • Buy a large easel
  • Pick up more litter
  • Upcycle some clothes? (sewing is not a strong point)
  • Put some wallpaper on a wall
  • Visit more art exhibitions
  • Go for more long walks
  • Go on more adventures
  • Find an old pine table for the dining room
  • Embroider something? 
  • Do a lino cut (haven't done one for many years)
  • Organise photos
  • Create new website
  • Plant asparagus
  • Sort out all possessions using Marie Kondo method ( link to the book I read in the side bar)
  • Spend less time on social media.
  • Blog more

What about you? Are you a list maker or resolution kind of person?

This image below, Aurora Hare was a small painting I did over the Christmas period. I've made some cards available in the shop using the image, along with the winter fox picture that was on the last post
Happy February! 
May the ground be covered in snowdrops and sky with flurries of snowflakes. Well, just a few. 
I will leave you with a poem that I wrote during hibernation in January. I'm no poet, but do like to 
have a play with words sometimes and felt brave enough to share. 

Star song

Lay your head down
On a pillow of flowers
Or a cold stone 
A heart beat rises up from core, through rock
Through mineral, animal and vegetable
Pushing up from tiny cracks, to rise up to the light. 
It sings.
Can you hear? Do you feel?
Something Ancient. A pulse. 
Your Mother. Your Father. 
A song rising up through stem of grass and root
The notes are made of leaves and bones and old stars
Its chorus a symphony heard in the bark of fox and the bleat of a lamb.
And it's words are the dreams of the raindrops that fall 
There is no ending
Passing the stardust back and forth forever.
To dance on the wind and swirl in the wild salty seas.
Castor and Pollux make up your laughter 
Orion sparkles in your tears. 

Karen Davis 2017

(Apologies for the tiny font on this post, but Blogger is up to tricks)