And this is what you can tell them over Valentine’s dinner đ
Opening her eyes again, and seeing her husband’s face across the table, she leaned forward to give it a pat on the cheek, and sat down to supper, declaring it to be the best face in the world.
Melt butter in a large saucepan over low heat. And the onion and cook till soft but not brown, then add the potato, parsnip, and vegetable stock/broth. Bring to the boil and then add the beetroot, cooking for a further 15 minutes. Don’t overcook, as the beetroot will go from a lovely deep pink to a red color. When the vegetables are tender, remove from heat and puree with a stick blender (or blender) until the soup is smooth, but with a few lumps. Stir in the cream, sour cream, and horseradish mix and season with salt and black pepper. Exquisite!
*Recipe adapted from Delicious Soups by Belinda Williams
To open a book is to step into another world. We book lovers know that! Oh, but what if there was a way to make that journey more real, more immersive? To engage all your senses, making it almost possible to believe you’re really with Anne Shirley that first night at Green Gables? Or really on a dark London street watching Sherlock Holmes solve a crime?
I have a secret–it’s called Ambience Videos or ASMR, which stands for autonomous sensory meridian response, and is described as a feeling of well-being combined with a tingling sensation in the scalp and down the back of the neck. The appropriate reaction to a good book! *happy little sigh.*
What if there was a way to make that journey into a book even more real?
I’ve selected Ambience Videos to immerse you into 12 Classic novels. Simply tap below links to play on your laptop or cast to your TV to create the perfect mood for each book and delight your eyes and ears. Next, brew a cup of tea or coffee to delight your taste and smell (which drink or cup would suit each book?). Finally, get a cozy blanket and get ready to step into your book in a whole new way! OR simply use as a peaceful background during your morning quiet time or as you go about your day.
*Note – some videos include soothing music, while others have relaxing sounds such as rain, a crackling fireplace, or murmured voices. I included two videos for each novel, so choose the one that inspires you. Adjust the volume to add to your reading experience, not distract from it.
1. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen – Who’s coming to visit? Could it be Bingley and Darcy? And what secrets are Bennet sisters Lizzie and Jane sharing as they get ready for the day?
Bennet Family Lounge (Pride and Prejudice) by Overarch
Sunny Morning Bedroom (18th Century Georgian/Colonial) by Ambience of Yesteryear
2. The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien – Will you stay at Bilbo’s cozy hobbit hole, or venture into the Shire?
Hobbit Study Session by ASMR Weekly
6 Hours The Shire ASMR by ASMR
3. Middlemarch by George Elliot – Does Casaubon’s library inspire you, or does the dreariness of pouring over manuscripts alongside Dorothea make you long for a visit to her sister’s country estate?
Relaxing Library – Relaxing Rain, Thunder and Crackling Fireplace by Cozy Moments
English Estate Morning Tea by Scenic Inspirations
4. The CompleteFather Brown Mysteries by G.K. Chesterton – What mysteries will you solve alongside this eccentric sleuth as he pokes around his quaint English village (occasionally stopping for tea), or hops aboard a train in search of clues?
Edwardian Parlour with Tea & Fireplace by Ambience of Yesteryear
1940s Train Journey by Overarch
5. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery – Can you hear Anne (with an ‘e’) poor herself a cup of tea in her peaceful bedroom at Green Gables? She will need it, in preparation for her upcoming exam at Queen’s!
3D ASMR Anne of green gables| Anne’s Bedroom by ASMR Movely
3D ASMR Anne of Green Gables | Queen’s Entrance Exam by ASMR Movely
6. Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – Would you prefer sipping tea in 221B Baker Street, or joining Sherlock on the streets of London as he masterfully works to solve the latest crime?
Ambience/ASMR: Sherlock Holmes Parlor, 221B Baker Street by Ambience of Yesteryear
Victorian London Thunderstorm by Autumn Cozy
7. The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper – The peace of the wilderness is calling your name–or perhaps you fancy a venture into the Colonial town?
Smoky Mountains Morning by Travel Ambience
Colonial New York City Federal Hall by P&E Soundscapes
8. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens – Begin reading with a trip to the English wetlands, where Pip spent his youth, then move on to the bustling streets of London.
English Wetlands by Ambience World
19th Century London by Overarch
9.Little Women by Louisa May Alcott – Rain lashes down outside the March home, but inside, Jo is busy scribbling away on her latest novel.
Thunderstorm in the Lake District by Outdoor Therapy
Thunderstorm and Rain by Dreamy Sound
10. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte – Jane doesn’t know what to expect as the carriage takes her through the night to Thornfield Hall, but it’s not long before she enjoys conversations with Mr. Rochester in his study.
Riding a Carriage by TERAVIBE
Rain and Thunderstorm Sounds by Guild of Ambience
11. The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy – Would you prefer strolling the winding lanes of Casterbridge or sitting beside the fire, listening in as Michael Henchard tells his life’s tale?
Cozy Country Village by Dragonfly Mage
19th Century Cottage by Ambience of Yesteryear
12. White Fang by Jack London – Whether journeying through the wilderness with the dogsled team, or finding solace at Weeton Scott’s cabin, it’s sure to be an adventure!
Wolf Forest by Michael Ghelfi
Cozy Cabin Porch Ambience by The Alley of Ambience
*BONUS! Which book could be read using this 1930s library ambience? It’s one of my favorites.
Avonlea x
Find me on . . .
Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh
Happy Little Sigh
Finding beauty in the everyday â¤
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Indignant is the word to describe how I felt back in 2005 upon hearing that another version of Jane’s Austen’s beloved novel, Pride and Prejudice, was to be released in the cinema, this time starring English actress Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet. The very existence of this new intruder version felt like an insult to those who had played in the 1995 BBC adaptation of the book. Like utter disloyalty to Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth, who, in my mind, actually were Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Why make another when perfection had already been reached?
But of course when the time came for the film to appear in our one local cinema in Inverness, Scotland, where we were living at the time, I went along to see it. And slowly, as I sat with my sweet popcorn and mini tub of ice cream, I felt my arched brow of skepticism slowly fade into a soft smile. For even with the simplified script, the overacting, and that awful brown dress Kiera Knightly dons for the majority of the film, it cannot be denied that with all the talented cinematography that captures the breathtaking Darbyshire scenery and the gorgeous film score by Dario Marianelli, the film is a veritable feast for the eyes and ears. And I decided that perhaps seeing what other artists had to offer was, after all, a good thing.Â
I like to put it on in the background sometimes, if I’m, say, folding laundry or working on my scrapbook. But Keira Knightley will never, ever be Elizabeth Bennet, just as the 2005 version will never be to me the haven of coziness, inspiration, and nostalgia that the 1995 version is.Â
And so it will be with this newest adaptation of the novel Anne of Green Gables by Canadian Author Lucy Maude Montgomery, which will air in February 2016. This version was created by Breakthrough Entertainment , and stars young actress Ella Ballentine as the red-headed orphan Anne Shirley, and Martin Sheen as Matthew Cuthbert, the Bachelor who, along with his spinster sister Marilla, ends up adopting the feisty, talented, kindhearted Anne.
Canada’s CBC-TV also has plans to run a series, simply titled “Anne,” which is set to air in 2017, and which CBC says will follow Montgomery’s story line, but will also “chart new territory.” Writer Moira Walley-Beckett say she had adapted Anne’s story and that Anne’s issues are really contemporary ones like feminism, prejudice, and bullying. Â
I will watch both versions. And if the trailer for the made-for-TV film is any indication, that adaptation will be charming and entertaining, if nothing else.
But I’m a little concerned that the series will modernize Anne too much, throw Anne’s catch phrases about in a way that becomes obnoxious, make the story into something Montgomery never intended it to be.
 So yes, I’ll watch them, but at the possible risk of having to go back on my word, I’m quite sure that these will not be the versions I go back to–again, and again, and again. Because Megan Follows who starred as Anne in the Sullivan Entertainment   version simply is Anne Shirley, just as Colleen Dewhurst is Marilla, and Jonathan Crombie is Gilbert Blythe.
I was practically introduced to Anne’s world from birth when my mother named me Avonlea, and it was to Sullivan’s 1985 version that I was first introduced. It was these actors whose faces I had in mind as I read the books, these faces I felt uplifted and encouraged by on those days when I, too, felt “in the depths of despair,” or had “a Jonah Day,” or could say of God’s working in my life, “He knew.” They are as much like friends to me as any fictional characters could ever be.
Another chance to view what is probably my favourite story on earth? Yes, please. Perhaps Breakthrough will even go on to make other Anne films based on Montgomery’s books,and stay a little closer to the stories than Sullivan did with their second Anne film. But just as I’m quite sure that a rose called a thistle or a skunk cabbage wouldn’t smell the same, an Anne by any other name could just never be as sweet.Â
of moving continents, moving cities, moving lives.Â
When I never knew from one month to the next
where I might be,Â
what British or European city I’d have the pleasure of exploring,Â
just me and my camera and my thoughts.Â
Here in America, everything feels so far away,Â
but of course life happens all the same.Â
And when you have three little menÂ
all around you like a daisy chain,Â
(sometimes like a fence),Â
you have to move a lot more slowly
than you’d sometimes like.Â
And so the blip, and nothing’s the same and everything is at once,Â
and it all might mean a long trip to Scotland later this year,Â
but that is all later and not now.Â
And I can see just one corner of one piece of the puzzle of my life,
and seeing pieces can get me excited,Â
full of dreams,
make me fear that when it’s all together, it might not look the way I’d hoped. Â
Waiting is like that–hope, and fear, and anger, and sometimes peace.Â
Or the way I am today, realizing there’s a hand working those puzzle pieces,Â
setting them in place.Â
A hand, and I know it’s not mine.Â
And it can take my breath away,
seeing life return to the earth in the form of tender green,Â
acknowledging that my own life is not in my hands
(and thank goodness),Â
but that LOVE Himself knows all the days, all the plans, all the tomorrows of my life.
And that He not only knows them, but He’s planned them long in advance. Â
With one hand behind me, and one hand before, He guides me, keeps me,Â
though I cannot feel it,Â
and I do not see.Â
Some words stick with you,Â
drift in and out of your mind and heart,Â
and these I learned at our first church in Scotland,Â
surrounded by those dear ones who would become lifelong friends.Â
I remember the piano, the frayed red hymn books, the voices raised in unison
In heavenly love abiding, no change my heart shall fear.
And safe in such confiding, for nothing changes here.
The storm may roar without me, my heart may low be laid,
But God is round about me, and can I be dismayed?
Wherever He may guide me, no want shall turn me back. My Shepherd is beside me, and nothing can I lack. His wisdom ever waking, His sight is never dim. He knows the way Heâs taking, and I will walk with Him
Green pastures are before me, which yet I have not seen. Bright skies will soon be over me, where darkest clouds have been. My hope I cannot measure, my path to life is free. My Savior has my treasure, and He will walk with me.
– Anna L. Waring
Though sameness,
or blips of both the smallest and most painful types,
so often leave me paralyzed,Â
from weariness or fear,
at times I rememberÂ
to embrace the stillness,
and in the sound of the wind in the trees out my door,Â
or in the stirring notes of my favourite song,
I am turned to Him who thinks of me more times than I can count,
who never makes even one mistake,Â
who knows all the good plans He has for me,
who holds all my moments,Â
all my days.Â
And I am left to meditate,Â
worship,Â
awe.Â
At all He’s doing,Â
all He’s done,Â
and in the fact that He’s not finished with me,Â
not just just yet.Â
Which piece of music or spot in nature stirs your heart,Â
is able to draw you away from the happenings (or non-happenings) in your life,Â
and helps you to meditate, wonder, and awe?
Miserere Mei Deus – Psalm 51 – by Italian composer Gregorio Allegri in the 17th century for use in the Sistine Chapel.
I know their fantasies. Whispered in the semi-dark of their living rooms, or over coffee on our girlsâ night out, theyâve confided in me what they really want. And Iâm not shocked. Not one little bit. After all, itâs what I want too.
A hotel room.
A cup of tea.
And a book.
No one else. Nothing else. For one entire day.
And that is the true, wild fantasy of mothers everywhere.
Not only strange, unusual mothers, but average mothers, like you or me.
A mother who endures drafty showers because someone has burst in to ask her to tie on their ninja mask. A mother who rarely sleeps through till morning, and must nightly peal herself from bed and lurch through the house to lift and calm a teething baby. A mother who must clean a food-encrusted high chair three times every day.
And that is to say nothing of the raisins that get squashed on the bottoms of her slippers, the puddles of water and crumbs that appear as if my magic on her kitchen worktops, the mountains of laundry that move in cycles around her house, and all the toys that she must daily return to their homes on the shelf. The little fingernails she must cut, the beds she must make, the toilets she must scrub. The meals she must prepare, the dishes she must wash, the floors she must sweep.
This, all this, a mother must do. And how she longs to do it well! With joy, and patience, and grace, so that her children and husband and any guests who enter may be strengthened and comforted by their time there, in this motherâs home.
And yet motherhood is not a part-time job. Itâs not even a full-time or a live-in one. There are no vacation or holiday packages. No weekends or nights off. And so itâs not hard to see why a motherâa mother like you or meâcould get a little tired. Find herself longing for escape. A time of refreshment. A break.
Like hiding in the closet, maybe, with a bar of chocolate. A trip to the grocery store all by herself! Or that hotel, maybe? A trip, a real trip away? How about England? A country estate? Yes? Then come with me!
A virtual trip to England . . .
to the quiet and the green . . .
Hear the bird song. Smell the lavender. Let the grass tickle your feet.
Stop at the tent for tea and scones. It’s all here for you, so enjoy!
There’s a concert, too. Did I mention?
Right here in the gardens, underneath the sky.
David Crowder Band. Ever heard of them? Listen, will you? to what they have to say . . .
How He Loves
He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions Eclipsed by glory and I realize just how beautiful You are And how great Your affections are for me
And oh, how He loves us,
how He loves us all
And we are His portion and He is our prize Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes If His grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking
And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss And my heart turns violently inside of my chest I don’t have time to maintain these regrets When I think about the way
Oh, how He loves us,
how He loves us all
 Singer: David Crowder Band
Songwriters: John Mark Mc Millan
Hope you were refreshed by your visit. Come back any time.
For more than sunshine. More than chocolate. More than a new outfit, or a girl’s night out. His love is what strengthens. Renews.
Bask here for a while in the immensity of it.
For you will never find the depths of Jesus’ love.
Dark mornings don’t call good mothers from bed. Don’t call good daddies, either. Not like beds, which call real loud. Hold us in their warmth and stillness, blankets wrapped around like strong arms that could shield us from every last thing we dread about the day. Entice us with our dream adventures, numb our bodies like a drug.
Yeah, it’s hard to leave that on late winter mornings, hard to meet cold floors with warm balls of feet, trade stillness for the swirl of to-do’s and the demands of little voices that never stop the long day.
And it’s easy to want to stop it coming, stop the start of another day. And too often this winter I’ve done that. I’ve listened to that call, counting times I’d been up in the night to comfort little cries, let myself stay a little longer, yanked the covers another inch higher, told myself that for today, whispered prayers, half-mixed with dreams and plans, would be enough. Enough to go on. To give me perspective. To put my thoughts just where they ought to be.
But creaking crib and cracking door always break the silence, and it all ends.
And so I start the day running, running late before I’ve hit the floor. Little things to be done–today like everyday–and so it should be no surprise, and yet I find myself overwhelmed, feeling fragile, incapable, and just a little bit insane. And then it’s not just my feet running, not just my hands trying to get it all done. My mind’s running, too, over what I’ve done wrong to make things turn out this way, and what I must be missing to leave our life feeling so fractured, so unharmonious, so flat.
Grey skies and that blue snow, these thin walls and the bitter cold, they hem us in like prison on those days. It’s a prison, and I’m running so fast, feeling so stressed that I miss three dozen precious little moments of my little men’s lives. Can’t see the beauty all woven through my day. Can’t see those sparkles of light, though I know my little men see and feel all the greyness of my frustrated tears.
And on those days even the words won’t come, though I sit down to write. Words, which have always been with me, forming patterns, rolling round my mouth as I make sense of world. Because on those days there is no sense, and so the words, they just don’t come.
It’s a hard thing, too, in the evenings, dragging myself away from the dreams of Pinterest, the drama of television, the softness of the couch. It’s a hard thing when the wee ones are down and my tea’s not cold, and I can put two sane thoughts together without any little voice to interrupt. It’s hard to leave that stillness, brush my teeth, climb into bed. But it’s worth it. Worth the rest. Worth the energy I’ll have next morning to be the first one up, with time to find some stillness there in the almost light of a new day.
His compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness.
~ Lamentations 3:22-23
Because though I’ve heard it, I still need it. I need it every day. Need to hear the voice of Him that made me, hear just whose I am, and what I am, and why. I need truth. Love. Strength. Light.
And so early to bed (and then to rise) is a worthy goal. Because good mothers need rest. Good daddies need it, too. And more than that we need to pause a minute (or a few), and reach out to take the hand of the One who walks right with us (though we sometimes forget it) through every hour of our day.
“I like breakfast-time better than any other moment in the day,” said Mr. Irwine. “No dust has settled on one’s mind then, and it presents a clear mirror to the rays of things.”
We arrived late morning, just in time to see the tail end of the die-hard Black Friday shoppers toss another piece of plastic in their over-laden carts before struggling to maneuver them to the check-out.
I couldnât help but wonder,
did they even like that stuff?
Did they need it?
Or had they been tricked?
But I was there, too, of course.
I was there, or I wouldnât have seen it.
I was there, and armed with the page from the paper that showed the great deal on the bathroom set I was after. Bathrobe hook, hand towel loop, toilet paper holder, plus a few more.
And wasnât I excited to keep the hand towel off the floor, where the children always leave it, and keep the toilet paper roll out of the toilet (or so I hoped).
But of course those items were just one of many on the long, long mental list of things Iâd like for the house.
And of course once weâd stopped at the mall to let the children burn off some energy at the play area, and I took a stroll past H&M, I began think about my other list. The list of things Iâd like for my wardrobe.
Itâs intoxicating, you know, the mall is.
Every sense assaulted from every side.
Starbucks coffee, cinnamon rolls, perfume drifting from the department stores. The feel of silk, and faux fur, and leather. Nat King Cole crooning, and the Salvation Army bell jingling. The displays of clothes and furniture all looking so perfect, so much better than anything we have at home.
Couldnât a person just get lost in it?
Caught up in the frenzy of buying
and trying
to fill the hole inside.
And while I went home looking forward to the giving
of the few gifts I picked up,
I also went home aching,
asking,
feeling anything but PEACE.
Because I know, though I never quite believe it,
that I am blessed beyond measure,
and that the more I have, the more I will want.
And though I tell it to my children,
what Christmas is all about,
and though weâre finding more ways of giving,
more ways of loving this year,
I find itâs still easy
to miss the point.
To miss the heart.
To miss PEACE.
I love the Christmas season.
Love it more each year.
Love the baking,
and the making
of sugar cookies,
paper snowflakes,
a wreath for the door.
Love candles glowing bright,
and singing Silent Night.
Love spotting a red cardinal
perched on a branch of lacy snow.
Or holly berries, and their leaves of thorns.
But what I needed on that day,
and what I need on this,
and what I desperately want my children to see,
is that the point of Christmas,
the heart of it all,
is found in His heart.
In the heart of Jesus,
and His love for us.
In His love we can let go of all the trappings,
all our unwritten lists,
all that haunts us in the wee hours of the night,
and we can simply rest.
Cling to Him, and be at peace.
âFor He Himself is our peace.â
~Ephesians 2:14
As you light your second Advent candle this Sunday, remember the PEACE we have through Jesus. Hear Him whisper, âDonât be afraid. Donât be afraid.â
Avonlea xo
Happy Little Sigh
Finding beauty in the everyday â¤
⤠Get a literary inspired read for Heart & Home PLUS a Period Drama in your inbox every Friday by signing up here â¤
Find Happy Little Sigh on Facebook & Instagram@avonleaqkrueger See you there?
âThe Holly and the Ivy,â Kingâs College Choir, Cambridge University, England
A bitter wind that those bare, black trees just canât hold back.
My hands are raw like a nurseâs, from all that hot scrubbing.
Because though itâs Thanksgiving week here in America, Â
for me it will be another seven days of much the same,
if I want to look at it that way.
Â
Loading and unloading
dishwashers,
washing machines,
wee ones in and out of beds.
Washing and scrubbing
walls,
floors,
toilets,
faces,
feet.
Itâs sacred ground, you know, my home.
Sacred, with Jesus here.
Beside me as I labor, as I stoop.
Just as He did, right before He died.
Servant-like, He washed all the black off His disciplesâ feet, just like Heâd wash their hearts.
Just like He washed mine.
And so itâs sacred work, too, that I do.
Washing little hands, little feet.
Not easy. Not easy not to pipe up about whatâs fair, and whoâs pulling their share of it, and what I need to be happy.
No, the workâs not easy, and it goes on and on.
But whatâs easy, really easy, is to go looking for something to give a bit more meaning to it all
when the sacred is disguised as tedium.
I know itâs not there, yet how often I go looking
for something to fill that deep, deep hole.
And yet I know, when it comes down to it, where to be filled.
Filled up and overflowing.
Where I can find the strength to serve and keep on serving.
And I canât afford not to take the time each day to be filled up,
filled up and floating on all that love, all that grace.
Heâs here. Beside me.
But I need to turn and look Him in the eye.
And as I scrub, I need to look them in the eyeâmy little souls.
They wonât sleep under this roof forever.
And while Iâm kneeling, sometimes Iâve got to remember to keep them there, pull them to my lap.
Lean with our elbows on the windowsill to see whatâs what.
With our eyes, trace the shape of those big, black trees,
the colours in the sky,
catch some geese in flight,
work together on our smile lines.
Acknowledge the sacred.
Because itâs right here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Â
Â
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She rises up as morning breaks She moves among these rooms alone Before we wake And her heart is so full; it overflows She waters us with love and the children grow
~ Andrew Peterson, “Planting Trees”
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“It was November–the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.”
~ L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables   Â
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⤠For literary inspiration for your home & a PERIOD DRAMA in your inbox EVERY Friday sign up here! â¤
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Avonlea x
Happy Little Sigh
Finding beauty in the everyday â¤
Join me on Facebook/MeWe/Instagram @HappyLittleSigh
A Dozen Cosies to Warm Your Heart & Your Hands and  Bless Your Week . . .
Spread a blanket and have a picnic lunch inside. Or a candlelit picnic at night when the children are abed?
Buy a bouquet of fresh flowers and divide them up in jars around your house. Don’t forget your bathroom and your bedside table. And don’t forget to give them a smell. Â
Rake some leaves and jump in the pile. Go in and warm your hands and your soul with some tea.
4. Bake something with cinnamon. Apple pie?
5. Go for a walk and pray until your nose and cheeks are red. Then go in and warm up with some tea.
6. Watch Anne of Green Gables and laugh and sigh when Anne is âin the depths of despair.â
The chill of autumn always felt colder to my soul than to my bones.
But it wasnât just the cold. It was the light.
At the first leaf I saw wave goodbye to summer, I felt an ache inside. A nauseated, physical ache that felt like a broken heart.
For I knew the darkness was coming. Those days when the sun wouldnât shine, and the night would come sooner, and the bitter cold would bite.
Those unnatural months of rising in the dark, when the earth seems to say âKeep sleeping,â but the world is waiting for you to be somewhere by eight.
Ever since my teenage years, it was those days that most rumpled the pages of my Bible. Sent me searching for the face of real Light. Reminded me of the worldâs empty promisesâfor in the end, no matter what we do, death will come. It will come to us all.
But I turned to my Bible. I knew its secret.
That Christianâs arenât buried, they are planted, to one day spring forth with new life. Â
Like bulbs. Like the red and white tulip bulbs I planted on Saturday.
In-between the hours of autumn rain there was a window. An hour or two of blue sky and warmth. And so I hunted out my gardening gloves and spent half an hour chatting with the earthworms. Digging holes and tucking those glossy white bulbs into the earth. Imagining the colour they will one day bring.
And I donât feel it as much this year.
The shadows, they donât seem as dark.
Even though itâs getting on nowânearly November.
But there are days left ahead. Days of colour. Days of mild coolness and sun.
And Iâm taking pictures.
Recording blessings.
Eating donuts and apple cider every chance I get.
And when I feel that little ache, that unsettled ripple in my soul that says, âYouâre missing something. Youâre not getting it quite right,â then I know. I know I have to rumple some pages again. I have to stop and listen to the voice that whispers through the trees, and through the breeze, and through the harvest, âListen. Listen. I am the Light!â
~~~
Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.
~ James 1:17
~~~
Autumn Ambience to enjoy with your morning cup of tea…
happy little sigh 