mumma yaga

 Jan. 26 [I preface this with a brief back-story, for new and returning readers. I had a strong reaction to my second vaccine, in June, 2021, which I believe contributed to the back pain and nerve pain I have suffered since then. When Omicron happened and then booster shots were being recommended, I had to weigh the risk of reaction, which would affect only me, and K, who would have to look after me, against the protection a booster would give my family and my community.] Today the sun is shining. I have received my booster shot. I was a long time deciding what to do about a third vaccine, but my FEAR, and vacillating, stumbling, wavering, dubiety were a big cloud around me. (thesaurus spelunking) I booked an appointment anyway, about ten days ago. And gradually the cloud of uncertainty dissipated and the fear which was so present dwindled to nothing, as I realized that it was "do it, or not do it". An interesting progression of mind-set it was, some of that "cognitive d

 Jan 23 One of the dogs, trying to nap in the sun. I had not seen Rain except for quick porch visits, because it has been quite cold - I hadn't seen baby at all - since the beginning of Omicron. When was that? Before New Year's, at least. They came and visited today, at last. The house is big, and so drafty, that there is plenty of fresh air and space. I haven't seen anyone else either, except the chimney sweeps, who came on Friday. It is bad news, it turns out, to see a spark fly from the chimney into the night air. Mother and baby need time out, to be together and there be no dishes to do or laundry to sort. And gramma wants to see baby and mamma. These days are so precious - I haven't even heard him laugh. He didn't much like the look of me - smiled happily from across the room, but if I came too close, no, not ready for that. I can wait, but to see him and let him get to know me; I want that to start now.  I am often saying of folk impatient for covid rules to e

 Jan. 14 The sun is going behind the ridge. That clear sky is signaling a cold spell but the weather channel suggests snow again by Monday. I have "got ahold of myself", and scrabbled back to a place of (relative) confidence and optimism. It is ever a relief to return to a state of "not-depressed". I have spent time in and out of depression, and even if I now know that I can find my way back to solid ground from the dark swamp, it is still a frightening and disheartening place in which to find myself. However, I rallied. An attempt to have a shower became a rescue of freezing pipes - the bath water wasn't running. So I turned on the heaters in the peripheral rooms, ran both the cold and hot taps in all the sinks, and finally, left the sink running hot in the affected bathroom, and the bath taps open. At twenty minutes the hot water started responding in the bath; twenty minutes later the cold came. While I waited I washed my hair and then coloured it purple (lik

 Jan. 9 The raven flew across the meadow going east, overtaking me as I walked east, myself, towards the house. I laughed when I could suddenly see that I was flying, I was the raven flying, though I never left my own body, I was still the one walking.  I saw the long chain of life going down the deep deep well of time to the one-celled mud dwellers who first came to life under our sun. When the raven flies, we fly. We are of the sun, we are born of this planet - its life, its consciousness, its expression of being.  So what does it mean that we are destroying our planet's ability to keep us alive? We are not destroying its life, we have seen that life has always found a way past meteor strikes, ice ages, volcanoes. But humanity? We are definitely destroying the planet's ability to keep humans alive.  "In the year 7510 If God's a coming, He oughta make it by then Maybe He'll look around Himself and say Guess it's time for the judgment day In the year 8510 God i

 Jan. 5 There are animals that live near us but many of them we almost never see, only their tracks.  These are deer prints, in the meadow and crossing the stream.  This is a deer's track, where he or she slipped on the ice or snow. One doesn't think of wild creatures slipping or falling!  This creature jumped into or out of the tree, and I followed its tracks... ...over to the stream, ...and down the stream bed: there were two sets of prints here, coming and going. Here he "marked" the trail on both sides of his path, where the stream went between two trees. His (or her) footprints look very human. That suggests a raccoon (or a very small humanoid who lives in a tree!) This is the print of a small hunter, fox or bobcat, I think. He crossed the meadow below the copse of hawthorns.     Finding a path around the hawthorns and brambles. These are Blackie's paw prints - they are bigger than the palm of my hand.     Blackie, come to meet me. The fallen tree in the west

  Jan. 1, 2022 an artist once told K about the colours one can see - the painter's colours, group of seven purples and oranges - not just the greens and blues that are more blatant. thank you, to that artist. you have taught us see more colour, even in grey january. the old barn and the black raspberry cane. hayscented fern now hay-coloured, and silver birch: A very small cave by the stream: fungi: and lichen and moss the beech and the grapes silver birch, and grapes: Jan. 2 it snowed. a way through the brambles. Mumma Yaga