The dreaming in February begins.
January was spent recuperating from December.
Snuggling by the fire, cleaning up holiday mess and painting every single day.
Sometimes, very often, into the wee hours of the night.
The sunshine came out for a few days, and garden tending commenced.
But February 14th is the date by when all roses are pruned in my gardens.
(Which I quite enjoy doing)
And so, the dreaming of roses finds its way in.
A reminder, made possible by the paper art of dried flowers, that roses in the garden really do exist.
That baskets of blossoms to fill your heart and soul will come again.
And so, on cloudy dappled light days -
The dreaming is vast and the paintbrush is rose petal happy.
With signs of fresh leaf nodules, which begin to line rose canes, only tantalizing a gardener's heart even further.
The mixing of colors in front of the fire at midnight does my heart so good.
I look at my dried roses, asking them for tips and tricks in the painting of them.
Alas, they pride themselves on such mysteries.
And so, all I can do is stare, trying to make mental pictures of exactly what petals are wont to do.
Folding and curving around in spirals.
The fur boys hang out right by my side.
Dreaming I'm sure, too.
We spend glorious days redoing vegetable beds.
Taking out giant roots of thorny trees.
Sunshine on shoulders.
Matty deeply napping whilst Teddy runs fast as lightning, jumping over boulders in circles, with a commendable joy that bursts forth.
January goes, and February enters.
Or rather, we enter into it.
I love Februaries.
One never knows if the sun will shine, or if there will be a random snow storm.
It is like love.
Up and down with its mood, but beckoning us in.
Cupid ready to strike.
Reminding you that the soil will be warm again soon.
That you should enjoy your good book by the fire and crochet your heart out.
Do all the wonderful winter things, before the busyness of spring and summer are upon us.
February reminds us to stay in the moment...
Because often, dreaming and hoping is even more wonderful than the real thing.
How I love to hope and dream.
To fantasize about bees and butterflies and drooping poppies.
Oh, I love a dream, the passion it stirs up in the soul.
What a gift.
To dream and hope and imagine.
I could scream from the delight of it all.
I wake up in the morning thinking of all the wonderful things I would like to do.
Even listening to mystery shows whilst cleaning the kitchen brings me great joy.
I think about the lemon treats I will make, and my big hot mug of tea as I paint flowers, whilst I wait for flowers.
I was a bit quiet in January, but only because I was catching up on life.
It's when you start doing things that you gain so much clarity and feel so free.
You just have to get up and begin.
Sometimes it can be overwhelming to determine exactly what one wants to do.
Especially when one has so many projects to do.
Boring ones and exciting ones alike.
So, I often say, I am going to go clean my kitchen to begin, or tidy up one part of the garden.
I put on some music and clarity finds me.
I work out what projects to tackle and in what order.
But the best thing of all for me, is painting flowers.
I listen to classical music, mystery tales, dogs snoring...
And I dream.
With that, February means back to work.
Back to art and gardening and filling lovely orders and visiting you here.
I've decided that coming here is like my letter to you.
An old-fashioned letter in the modern age.
You'll have to imagine the linen paper and quill ink penmanship.
See you soon!
Love,
Vanessa