Days decreasing, nights increasing.

November is leaving with gale and gust. A southwest wind blowing the 30th night out and the first day of December in. November, your days have been full of weather. A friend said to me last week, "it doesn't matter what way you face or stand, the rain will find its way into you!" It was coming from all directions.

November is also the month I opened my small online shop a year ago. Since then, unexpected travels for my prints. The little squirrel above flew to Australia, to a Chestnut Farm (I never new there was such a thing!) to sweeten the dreams of a 4 year old daughter. "St. Kevin and The Blackbird" to Canada, a present for a husband who is a fan of the poet Seamus Heaney. And a daughter in Norway who thought "Knitting and Tea" reminded her of her mother - a tea-loving knitter. (Thank you all for your support!)

Where will they go to next year? Like the November winds, blowing where they will.

Weaving among gold

Golden Mornings. Golden evenings. But each one arriving and departing with a hint of chill mist and dew. "Ginny-joes" (otherwise known as dandelion clocks) floating everywhere, alighting anywhere (in my hair, on the leaves, before flying away again). Warm colours beginning to tint the leaves, sighing a more rustle-y whisper when the wind blows through. September. With your pools of gold.

Coffee with a friend at favourite cafe, among trees, where they have piles of woollen blankets to keep you warm.

Julember, Augtober (July acting like September, August being like October).

The darkest nights produce the brightest stars. There is an area in South-western Ireland with skies so dark it has been designated a Dark-Sky Reserve. With the Atlantic Ocean on one side and miles away from any nearby towns on the other, there is very little light pollution. I think it would be wonderful to look up there on a clear night.

The moon on my painting table. I got to touch it (while peeling off masking fluid) ;)

A summer of cloudscapes, leaf rustling breezes and showers. July like September and August like October. A reminder that I live on an island in the north Atlantic Ocean.

Swimming in Sicilly

Lemons, the juiciest olives and tomatoes, almond-flavoured-everything, basil-scented-everywhere.

 So many blues.

 The sky the bluest of all.

Just-one-more-swim days.

A lacemaker and a florist

Yesterday the sun and the breeze whispered light and shade through the brand new leaves. Today is cloudy and grey but the trees are still trying out their new leaves, still whispering and sighing. Gentle rustlings of early Summer. I hope the sun comes back tomorrow to join in again, for a day to be spent drawing in town.

Above: a lacemaker who is also a florist. Doesn't that sound like a fairytale job description?! :)

Green rustlings to your weekend :)

The tent of thought where I shelter

Do your thoughts shelter you or make you almost homeless from yourself?
May your thoughts (and mine) be kind and sheltering. May they be gentle like candlelight rather than harsh like neon light.

"I place on the altar of the morning:

The quiet loyalty of breath,

The tent of thought where I shelter,

And all beauty drawn to the eye"

lines taken from

A Morning Offering by John O'Donohue.

There is great drying out

This weather this week. Mornings of blue skies and sunshine and early walks, hanging clothes out to dry - fresh breezes no rain. Evening walks also with the lengthening days, busy birds, robins hopping a bit closer each day, bringing the washing in, carrying scents of sun and wind.

Top photo: Lace made by hand by Belle Fleur de Lis 
So delicate and beautiful, many many stitches like lots of little brush strokes. Thank you L!

Rain, Snow and Daffodils

   

March days have arrived with a little bit of capriciousness. With rain and snow flurries and cloud and wind and sun. And more wind. Chancing on little moments of warmth in those patches of sun. More and more yellow being painted into each day. Twice I was unable to resist bunches of sunshine (otherwise known as daffodils) from the local grocery shop for only a few euro. Little surprises of dabs of paint (crocuses and snowdrops and blossom) under trees and on trees. And best of all, birdsong concerts accompanying each evening now.

Hearts. And cups.

There is a day in the middle of February that is set aside for hearts. Though, if we choose, every day can be a day for hearts. Little hearts, big hearts. An elderly man who I often pass on my walk (we only ever nod and smile at each other as we meet), stopped me this morning, laughing how we always pass each other at some point on the walk. He told me I always had a smile for him (I didn't know that!) and it made him happy. Him telling me that cheered my day. He told me his name so that the next time we pass each other on our walks we would know each other.

For Valentine's Day, my A4 print, "We're Always Connected by Underground Wires," available in my small on-line shop.

And, speaking of connections, I had a lovely cup-of-tea-interview with A Butterfly in my hair blog. This is how many cups of tea I drank while being interviewed! It is nice to be connected with so many tea drinkers :)

PS. Did you know St. Valentine is buried in Dublin?

Take a seat

Take a seat. Or pull up a chair.
Just show up. Every morning. Or every evening. Or in the afternoon.
Do you have a chair to sit? To be. A seat for a few moments of meditation, a few minutes of reflection. Or reverie. A seat to watch the sunrise or sunset.

February has blown in with the North wind. I heard a weather forecaster describe the north wind as a "clean" wind. Clean and fresh and cold she has ushered February in.

Early Birds and Night Owls

 Early birds

Night owls


Are you an early bird or a night owl?
Me? I am trying to be an early bird these days;)

For the early birds, some early blooming flowers (the purple-pink Morning Glory) and the chirps of robin, wren and blackbird - usually the first to sing. Also a cup of morning tea to revive and why not some candlelight for the quiet time.

For the night owls, some flowers that begin to bloom in the evening (Four o'clocks, Evening Primrose and Moon Flower), the presence of candlelight. Hot chocolate with marshmallow helps too.

Nollaig Shona. Happy Christmas.

White winter berries, red berries, holly, scents of pine, rustling sounds, and Christmas roses (the white flower, I never knew there was such a thing!), cosy cups of warm and sweet, in-between last-minute things, ribbons, envelopes, twinkling lights brightening up the darkest nights. Wishing all these and warm winter wishes to all who have visited here in the past year. Thank you. See you soon.
❤️
And ♥️'s to those who might be lonely, alone or cold at this time of year.


A merry Christmas gift-away: if you would like a chance to win my print "We're Always Connected By Underground Wires",  A butterfly in my hair blog is spreading some Christmas joy along with some other beautiful handmade gifts by some talented and lovely ladies. Good luck!

Near and Far

Thinking of someone faraway? A friend on the other side of the world? A loved one ten thousand or just 10 kilometres away? My illustration, "We're Always Connected By Underground Wires" now available as an A4 print in my little on-line shop.  

Early evening very near - sunset at 4.07pm. Summer and sunlight a faraway memory, the closeness now of a candle and some twinkly lights.

Addressing envelopes with faraway addresses, a moment of nearness.

Octobering

October is leaving with a smile (sun shining) and a hug (warm breezes). So mild the window is open. No need to have the radio on with sounds coming through the window from outside; wind rattling leaves, a neighbour over the wall raking his garden. They are in tune with my paintbrush rattling in a jar of water.

Happy last day of October - thank you for your colours and fruits and berries and your leaves that accompanied me everywhere - swirling down into my hair, crunching underfoot, sticking to tyres, whooshing in the door.

PS. Above: a painting that hopefully soon will be available as a print.
PPS. More Octobering 

Three islands and Summery Autumn

These September days holding onto Summer's warmth a bit. In the daytime anyway. Sunny walks and outdoor cups of tea, decorated with many colours now; dots of orange and red berries,  yellow leaf speckles underfoot, trees brushed with rust and gold. In the evening though, Autumn is at the door, the light retiring sooner and chill, smoky scents in the air.

Above: 
Three islands. One with an ancient ring fort edging a 100 metre high cliff, the one in the middle with the smallest population, and the smallest one with a lighthouse and a dolphin visitor. Boats instead of buses - stay on til the last stop!

September. Meán Fómhair. Septiembre. Syyskuu. Septiyembre.

I never knew there was a hidden army of knitters and knit-lovers all around the world. I am not very good at knitting but with my brush and paints I can "knit" without following a pattern! I got many enquiries about this painting which was a gift for and inspired by a lovely Norwegian knitter. So I painted another one. Hopefully it will be for sale, as a print, soon in a little on-line shop, which I am building piece by piece - like the knitters who build stitch by stitch.

Getting late earlier.

These days the evenings are getting late earlier. The light and the warmth becoming more precious. Breakfasts sitting outside becoming fewer - the dew and the shadows resting longer and reaching further.

Quieter evenings too. Birds saying goodnight and going to sleep in the darker trees earlier (maybe I should do the same). At least two layers of long sleeves for walks now. Imperceptibly, yellow and brown hints appearing on trees. Inaudibly too, but then a breeze and they are more rustle-y than a week ago.

Above: a lighthouse, a dolphin, and a landscape like a green patchwork blanket. Painting Aran Islands in June on an August afternoon in Dublin.

Stitch by stitch

Every evening she rolled up her sleeves and, stitch by stitch, sewed a cloth of moonlight.

Hide and Seek

   

Summer has been playing hide and seek with June for the past few days - until this afternoon. Then the white-grey clouds floated away to let the blue skies appear. Bare arms came out of hiding in cardigan sleeves. Me out in the sunshine, hiding from my painting desk.

The weatherman on the radio says today could be the hottest day of the year so far at 26 degrees celsius. A lady from the painting class I teach promised me last Thursday that a heatwave was on the way. Maybe bare feet will come out of hiding in shoes.

above: a little painting for a little one.

The South Wind blows

   

Listening to violin music on a radio programme broadcast from the edge of Europe from the most westerly tip of the Dingle peninsula. Sounds from one place to another. Funny how sounds can travel so far. And what stories they tell. And feelings and atmospheres they create

Here is some music (for ears that are far away and near), for a tranquil and balmy weekend.

Above: a boy making his own music despite (or maybe because of) the ever-changing waves. 

"I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship" ~ Louisa May Alcott, Little Women.