Folkloric Tunic  

I said I’d finish it today, & tho I can’t always complete things when I think I can, I took the two hours it needed and sewed up the last seam and stitched the back support into the neckline. I still need to block it so it relaxes a bit, but all in all, this baby is finally done. My second ever sweater just in time for a gorgeous autumn weekend. Yay! 

Super proud of myself. It is lovely tho ever so slightly peculiar. Just like last year’s Cornelia Tuttle Hamilton knit. 

Folkloric Tunic 

…not to be forgotten, Benedicta below


Side Note: The Northern Lights Dance Like No Other

Yep. There is is. The tragedy that is an iPhone capturing the most alluring pink & green lights dancing over head tonight. 

But, they were gorgeous. Better than iPhones.  That’s for sure. And tho at the concert last night I saw some great dancing, the northern lights are far better dancers than any of us could hope to be. 

It’s a Cold Love

Yay! So excited for this tonight. I could pretend they are not my favourite but, they are totally my favourite, ever since I had two wee babies & I escaped home life for an iddy-biddy concert with this cool laser show of green. They were amazing then, when pretty much no one knew who they were, and they are still ridiculous live. 

There are so many songs I am looking forward to hearing, singing along to, jumping along to & dancing to & frankly, I’ll probably cry along to a couple. Good music always makes me cry. Live music impacts harder. I’m not gonna even pretend that I won’t have some mild post-concert depression. I’ve been waiting five plus years to see them again. Three of my kiddos are going. It’s going to be so fun! 

Old Photos

Was looking for a new profile pic for social media (Charlotte has been my profile picture a couple months now) & came across this gem from last winter—it reminds me of where I am headed—back into the black & white world of Winter. 

I have always believed we have to accept what we do & do not have. I’ve been going through a new phase of mid-life body, it is not my favourite. The mid-section jelly rolls are getting quite annoying, & I think for the first time in my life I might actually need to do something active to keep that under control besides control top pantyhose. Lol. 

I’ve never had pretty legs in my opinion. I don’t care for my nose. My lips are not as plump as I would have liked. I’m getting wrinkle in my neck. My neck people! 

But, I have a few features I’m thankful for—my eyes. My dark lashes. My little fingers. I’ve never fought much to have definition in my arms. But ya, mid life is kicking my butt. Everything is aging now. Most especially my eyes. They don’t see like they used to. I hate it. But hey. Glasses have come a ways in style. 

So, seeing this shot of myself, while walking one cold winter day last year, my eyes. Man am I thankful I’ve had these eyes and I hope they last me another forty years should this system go on that long. But boy will I love getting them restored to youth one day. 


Wandering the lake side, noticing all the subtle greens—
How I will miss them come Mid-Winter, them, & the gentle yellow wildflowers

…but for now, the crisp bite to this morning wind, the shocking vermillion bleeding from the leaves, for now, it is terrible & beautiful

…and how there is a roughness to the sky, tree-bark under fingertips, lichen under nails, all this silent churning of the season, to gold

…to aching white & blooms of savage unrestrained, falling will become all the meadows, all the sky, the gazing sun-dogs & whispering north will become the howling, black & thick & heavy 

…and what was summer will so completely fade that it’ll seem a distant dream, & everything will break into particles—breath & life & hope

…summoning softness & summer, so pale, so weak, these fragile little lovelinesses, cascading in these delicate shades of green, fawn & succulent, will be impossible in ways that will be unbearable…

…but it will be beautiful. Mid-Winter will own every blade of grass & sword-upon-the-throat & every echo humbling the trees into barren wind-beaten skeletons

…and what is summer here, but the sweetest sweetest dream, warm & filigreed. 


It’s the dredging song, the one, pulled, plied from the inner calm

The one that has a subtle hymn-like nature, gutted up, the one that tastes

Of soft silence, a hint of sweet hope but that little edge of wonder unknown

The one, that has sunk deep in the belly of the heart, where all the imaginables hang low, in filigrees of soothing light—basking 

I must dredge them up, let them swallow this darkness in thick sips, temperate moans spilling out & eyes

Slowly closing in the after-taste glow of satisfaction

How supple the comfort of horrors, devoured & gone, a warmth on this ever-cold day

The loosed echoes of things past, disappearing off into the murk of time—a wind pulling it all away

I have dredged. With bloodied finger tips, nails broken, pain beyond feeling—until, until

This song came bubbling up, a spring in all this waste—

And I am full. I am calm. I am fine. 

I am fine. 

Indian Summer

Well I’m certain this is some politically incorrect term, but, I have just enough mixed blood I declare it to be allowable. 

Anyways, tho we haven’t had a killing frost, the overnight lows are killing everything off, so I think this far north we’re allowed to call this week, Indian Summer. 

It’s been beyond gorgeous. Perfect heat with a slight crisp to the wind, cool mornings & evenings—truly perfect weather. The leaves are colouring & some falling. I LOVE autumn. I do love all the seasons, but Fall has so much drama to it. The skies are fantastic every day & everything is getting cozy & tucked in for winter. New things are started in a different way from spring’s newness, in this comforting familiar way like old shoes & comfy jeans slipped on. 

Happiness is, a warm Autumn day.