We’ve been enjoying a lovely spate of precipitation here in Silicon Valley, and boy I’m thankful for it. My front and back gardens are full of weeds, and I was hoping not to have to pull them from the hard ground. Rain earlier this week allowed me to get some thinned, and this weekend will provide additional time to cull even more. If I can finish the job by the middle of next week, I’ll consider myself blessed. Temps are due to rise, and the storms we’ve had recently might be our last big ones of the winter.
I never truly appreciated rain until we moved to England, which might sound strange, having grown up in California. When there is no rain, you don’t think much about it; droughts are bad, but expected. Yet where it rains all the time and the landscape is usually green, rain becomes magical. It means no need to water, it means weather, ha ha! It became the barometer of our lives, in that skies held great drama, grey-white clouds obscuring the sun as though another galaxy hung right over our heads.
I did appreciate sunny vistas when we moved back, but quickly I ached for wet days, humidity, and bright green grass. Now the brevity of winter feels unduly wrong, like the cosmos is off kilter. Funny how one’s perceptions alter, sort of like how today I was exceedingly grateful to write 833 words, completing a chapter I started days ago. My present output is comparable to the rain which falls sporadically, but I’ll take every sentence. Like the weather, writing isn’t static, and I’m happy just to complete a scene.
I was thrilled to clear weeds from both sides of our house, let me also say. There’s more to my life than books and sewing, yet those pastimes weren’t a part of my Yorkshire life, which is an intriguing observation. Our existences are enhanced by change, just like my garden requires water. Weeds are culled, allowing other plants to flourish, or just to clear space for the eye to rest, like mixing prints and solids within a quilt, lol.
I’ve been working on placemats for my eldest, who ran out during Miss Em’s baptismal weekend. No prints in this project, but I did mix up the patchwork with little squares. Now my quilt wall is chock full of these southwestern-themed fabrics, which I’ll get around to finishing up in the coming days as the writing continues.
Seasonal weeding is here, then gone. The words and fabrics endure….