There is a certain sensual quality to water. The way it moves, sounds, feels as it caresses the body. It’s rather a consistent player in my writing, I’ve noted.
Escaping to a quiet pool or stream, standing beneath the flow of water.
It becomes a sensual escape.
Likewise, music that evokes the emotions water rouses within us provides an escape from the mundane and a fantasy in its own right.
Bring on the water…and let it sweep you into its wild embrace.
It’s Friday, and a new month begins. Already the temperatures are dropping, leaves are falling, and night comes far too soon. First day of the month and already I am looking forward to Winter Solstice and the promise it brings.
But for tonight, this peaceful night, with the room filled with my eclectic mix of music on Spotify, Remy–my Staffordshire Pitbull–curled up beside me and our sweet old chocolate lab, Meg, sleeping on my foot, it is a good winter night.
There’s a lot of white on her now, but she’s still our baby girl.
I have been pursuing dragons (of my sort) across the pages all day. That is always fun.
Also another reason to get my protagonist to shed his shirt 😉 Water. Dragons. Heroes. Yep, it’s been a good day.
gorgeous photo by Giovanni Allevi… perfectly captures the mood of the sea for the story.
Welcome back December. Please be good to us this year.
Some things here at the old house in on the island don’t change a lot … the live oak trees, the spanish moss, the way the sandy soil of the yard sinks underfoot.
Other things seem to be in perpetual flux. The sounds of traffic on the road a few blocks away. The scents that whisper on the incoming breezes…right now, sweet with jasmine and wisteria…or sometimes earthy and salty with the scent of the marshlands.
The changes I mark most are the ones whose change reminds me that, over the span of time, nothing changes so very much. Constant changes. Like the ocean tides. The great horned owls in the hollow of the live oak…mating, brooding, raising their young…and moving on until next time. The anole coming out with the warmth of spring…big dominant males puffing their throats to warn off the small, slender teenagers with their cocky attitudes, and the coy females who in the end, really make all the decisions.
Frogs and toads are laying their eggs, and soon that too will signal change as they become tadpoles and tadpoles become frogs/toads and the damps areas of my yard come alive with song.
The pear tree has blossomed already. There will be fruit before long. I await the promise of the fig I have so carefully nurtured through all these winters and this spring’s random frosts far too late in the year…. without someone to cover and protect it, there would be no sweet fruit this year. No promise of tiny baby fig trees to grow and continue into the future.
Changes that serve as reminders that it is my privilege and my duty to protect this fragile environment around me. I don’t grow exotic plants. I nurture the ones nature placed here…and the ones generations past left behind. Like the ancient azaleas lining the yard and standing in odd circles about the yard where once… decades ago, they surrounded some long ago tree….now lost to the changes of time and the vagaries of weather. Yet the azaleas remain, reminding us of time past…and changes yet to come.
Immutable change…as constant and unpredictable as my ocean.