Summer (some are) whispers

January 3, 2013

I am really beginning to think the only way to stay warm and comfortable is to stay in bed all day with a book and a hot mug of tea.  Even then I am not so certain.  Every night this winter, after reading aloud with Morgan and saying good nights, I slip under fathoms of blankets (or something like it) and it is still so cold.  I rub my legs instinctively, trying to create friction, hoping that the warmth will catch on like a fire and spread.  After a while, I get used to chill under my skin and try to believe that the blankets and friction is warm enough.  I know better, though.

I pressed a flower the other day.  It was some sort of winter flower but all of its sisters had died and this one was wilted over, half way bent down, stooping its head down to kiss its grave.  My fingers pinched its little stem and pulled.  It came loosely and freely.  I imagine its roots were already dead.  Bringing it inside, I wondered if it might miss its rightful grave; the one that it would have fallen to if I hadn't picked it.  It struck me too that if I didn't preserve its seeds, this little flowers children would never grow.  I was glad that I was going to press it- it gave me a chance to harvest its seeds.  It has been a few days since this and my eyes are rather tempted to peek in and check how it is going between the pages of my big poetry book.  I think I will let sleeping dogs like and just wait to see it in the spring.  Maybe even the summer.  Or better yet, forget about it entirely until one bright day I want to read some poetry and soft purple petals fall into my lap.


  1. gorgeous. you're words make me want to curl up and clutch a big cup of steaming tea.

    xx acacia

  2. my goodness, Gabby!!! you didn't tell me you have published a secret book! *smile* but seriously, this is novel worthy indeed. your words make the simplest of the simple beautiful pieces of art {and by the way, I feel the exact same when I go to bed at night under my mounds of blankets - so I guess that means we're kindred spirits? :)}

    love ya, you dear sweet girl you!
    xoxo | goose

  3. Oh, I just love how you tell about things! It's just so well done!
    I would probably have said something like "I pressed a flower the other day, it was a winter flower and all the others had already died, but I saved this one in a book, and I really want to check on it but figure it might be better even if I forgot about it till summer!"
    Which isn't nearly Sorta just stating the obvious. You actually think about things; and lucky for us write 'em down and post 'em here. =)


    1. Aw, thank you Jenny! You are just so sweet! In honesty, I never am very philosophical AS (key word there) I do things. Usually, I feel nostalgic and get a little tug in my heart as I do do things like pressing flowers... but I don't have a short essay all written up in my head ;) Later, I'll take out my journal and let myself wonder in the my memories. I think too much, yes, it is only too true.
      Thank you, dear!

  4. Oh, I see what'cha mean; I suppose I think about them later too...they just never make it to my journal! =D
    You are only too welcome.