Sometimes I am hollow like an old sea shell with old grit and stale sand inside. I don't know where my words have gone but I am hopeful that, one day they will. Probably in a staggering rush, a flood of words.
Right now, there are mourning doves outside my window feeding at the seeds I have scattered in the four directions. The squirrels have been feasting like little bandits from the feeder and this mild winter has got me in a mood to plant. The snow drops are out already and I wish that it were fall or spring so that there could be planting to do.
In other news, my baby is finish and ready to be shipped to me from England. They asked me for a birth date and I said to give her birthday as February 2 - Imbolc - I have to think of a name for her now. I have a little trunk that I am making into a cradle for her.
Tried making cables today. Didn't work. Hopefully, the knitting circle I petitioned will allow me to come and learn with them.
sr
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