The yarn came from Marden’s, two exquisite balls of some well-known brand, the labels discarded.
An icy rain falls outside. I read in The Crystal Cave about the brooch that invariably fastens an Arthurian cloak, and about a harp strung with hairs from a horse’s tail, and rough barley rolls. I want to roll back centuries.
I will return to the white Peace Fleece scarf I am knitting for Paula.
In spare moments I will read Rumi and Mahmoud Darwish.
Outside my window a chickadee visits the coconut half-shell for the seeds it holds.

I will be creating a King Arthur doll. Already I have his sword, called Excalibur in some versions, Caliburn in the Mary Stewart novels that I am rereading. What could be a more perfect time of year to reread these wonderful books! Stewart has Arthur find his sword at the age of thirteen. He is called Emrys and the sword has been hidden on a stone altar behind a pool inside a cave on an island.
An icy rain is falling outside onto a fresh fall of half a foot of snow, shown here piled onto branches of yew.

Here is Pierrot, a character from Italian theater, dressed in white silk with antique beading and laces. Do you detect a hint of a smile? Has he seen Columbine across the room?

Keeping ten irons in the fire, I nurture the fuchsia that bloomed throughout the summer in the boy planter under the pines. Like a cardinal, more stunning against a background of snowy white, the fuchsia is again in bloom.

The amaryllis bulbs are planted in a large pot after their summer outdoors, and show their first green leaf tips.

Several brilliant impatiens plants make a brave effort in the laundry room.

Thinking forward, I take special care of a tiny bag containing 2000 seeds for yellow California Poppies.

Many seed catalogues have already arrived.

This is celebration time.
My old Kodak DC215 Zoom Digital Camera has been sitting on the shelf for months, ever since an updated version of whatever I use to run my computer showed all new Kodak photos as stretched sideways. Other problems had developed. Several plastic doors and covers had fallen off the camera casing. A strong rubber band was needed to hold the battery door closed. I had to use an exacto knife to remove the memory card. Sadly, the old camera seemed to have come to the end of its life. This morning I gave it one more try before discarding it. I reinstalled the CD and took a few shots.
Here is Lady Moss as she appears this morning in a photo taken by the Kodak! Evidently that re-installation of the software did the trick and the poor old camera is still capable of beautiful things!

Being alive, here and now in this moment, we are in Sacred Space. We CREATE here. We use physical and perishable things such as instruments and clay and fabric and words to create spiritual treasure. We Soul-Touch. We take care of Life ~ of our own lives, of other animals, of plants, and our planet. The Planet sails through space and we who live on it, in keeping with its movement, live in a state of flow.
We who teach and parent, let’s look at the gifts and talents of our young people. Living a Sacred Life entails finding ways for young people to support themselves by sharing their developed gifts.

Amadora wishes a Happy Holiday season to Amanda, to Pat, to Om, to all the Eagle people, to all the grandkiddies, to all the beautiful people everywhere.

Yes, I create them; but there is a sense in which the dolls create themselves, and another in which the dolls create me. In this simple form that I call the knee-hugger most of the exchanges seem to take place, and I am needing this dialogue. And where are you, with whom I would speak? In the between-worlds? This evening we wait for snow to fall as Christmas nears. The winter wealth of creative ideas must wait. Another day I will learn Irish crochet or how to bead an infant’s white leather moccasins, but this evening for an hour or two time will stop and I shall bring to life another knee-hugger, who will be wanting to have a talk with me.

Do you remember the shootings at Kent State in 1978? We thought that was behind us. How could something like that have happened again in our America? We are watching UC Davis. We are watching beatings by police here in America.
It is a new day here. We see what is happening. We are no longer sleeping.
And I am rereading Women Who Run with the Wolves.
Winds of change are blowing.

So much was happening while we the elders were not looking. I gather up the broken pieces and try to make sense out of them, looking at everything closely through new reading glasses that will be stored in a bright red case. The lost pair never turned up.
Maine Guide Paul Fournier writes Tales from Misery Ridge.
Post-trauma specialist and Jungian psychoanalyst Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote Women Who Run with the Wolves. I reread, and order her newest book, Untie the Strong Woman.
Dr. Jeffrey Sachs speaks to the Commonwealth Club. I order his book The Price of Civilization.
Eduardo Fernandez plays classical guitar. Simone Dinnerstein plays #13 of the Goldberg Variations as an encore.
I knit a heathered pale blue scarf of Rowan yarn in the Drooping Elm Leaf pattern, and cut a gold dupioni silk skirt crosswise, since dupioni gathers best when cut crosswise.
I wear braided leather bracelets.
A red-bellied woodpecker visits our yard.
The Autumn season tumbles along head over heels.