In the studio and in the garden...
All sorts of this and that's happening.
Painting on the easel, ready for the next one.
Looking for a home, time for dreaming up another.
Tea and a/c wind and music and paint.
Mister glossy eyes, looking at all that goes on out in the intense heat of these days.
We were graced with what we see as a little miracle here on our plot of earth.
To be a part of a happening so grand has encompassed our days.
But not just any babies.
Born in the trees.
Guess what kind of babies?
Crusty closed eyes start to open.
Crying for mama as soon as the sun starts to go down and early evening enters.
But having to accept that nature and mama know best.
Babies crying, oh it gets me!
At first there were two.
But one must have learned to fly a bit, as he went to a bigger tree with mama.
I could still see him though.
Leaving this little guy sitting in the tree above Baby's grave for a few days.
Oh sweet fuzzy baby.
Braving the horrible sun.
Waiting for mama to bring dinner.
Waiting to learn how to fly.
Getting a bit stronger every day.
Until one day his eyes were wide circles and it was time to fly away late at night.
Hopping really, from branch to branch, landing on the ground, hopping again.
All the while mama below, sitting in the tree across the garden.
As she hopped from tree limb to tree limb, in that place where extra amounts of gophers live.
Yes yes, gobble away dear mama.
All you can.
Isn't she a beauty?
And then, one morning, they moved across the way to a bigger and mightier tree.
And every night I hear them still.
Our beautiful baby owls who I will never forget.
What a gift, to have babies born in your yard.
We watch out the window, while I play with clay.
Building bodies and sewing frocks.
Firing littles, and painting away.
I am ever so pleased to play a game called Halloween night.
Where little trick or treaters turn up.
What nice costumes you have, I say.
Don't they seemed terribly amused with my frolic?
Matty punches the door.
Just open it you twit, I hear him mumble.
Trick or Treat!
I tell ya my friends, they are the quality control team of all things clay.
Is that appalling?
How are they doing?
How can one get anything done with beautiful furs beckoning, calling that cuddle times last all day?
I give in...
But then I get back to the studio.
Where all manner of goodies are happening.
I am enjoying getting this time with the piece below while it is looking for a home.
We have tea and music every day, and it begs me to keep it on the easel.
So I oblige.
I want to be in that loveliest day for all times.
I love sheep.
But I do sneak away for endless hugs.
How can you say no to a tail like that?
It's not possible.
That's a tail of love I tell ya.
Imagine having a tail like that?
He brings me his brush everyday, begging to be brushed.
No shame at all.
He gives me one side, then puts a paw up so I can do his under side, then the same again with the other side.
Who taught him I do not know?
He would like to be brushed all day long.
As though a person has nothing to do.
Ah, to be a dog.
Beloved by his mother.
Allowed in the fluffy bed.
No care in the world.
That's life, ain't it?
Dog days of summer, indeed, and still.