EMERALD GREEN TIME OF THE YEAR

It is the emerald green time of the year. It is a rainy day after many sunny and warm ones. It is a day I heard my voice first time on a radio interview. It is an evening after a wonderful week filled with so much beauty. This was quite wonderful.

The sound of the rain while walking, the poor Mr Crow. The scent of birch trees. The moment when remembering that this won´t last long. The nights that are so bright. The Moon that is almost full. Sauna and a little bit more painting.

♥

NOVEMBER WINDS

Hello November and the disappearing peeks of sun rays! Hello Monday and grey weather with the warmth of the weekend of jazz concerts still caressing. Hello end of the year with still so many possibilities, chances. 

A calendar for the coming year is published by Frankie Magazine, month of October with my Morning Frost Meadow.

The new issue 56 of Frankie includes The Scribble Club to keep hands busy. Five pretty much grown-up illustrations to colour-in. Strawberry Path next to a wild person's portrait by Irana Douer, happy to be in the same publication with her again.

The cover image of little lullabying cat in the girl's arms is by Anke. Loving it so much. ♥

Some days the little lake behind my windows has forest islands floating across after very blowy nights. The other days they are gone. Today they are gone.

The small online shop is updated with some copies of the Casa di Fiaba book, a few postcard sets and prints.

Sweet melodies of raindrops!


(In the second photo illustration on the left is by Ilana Douer, on the third photo the magazine cover illustration is by Anke Weckmann.)

SUMMER PATHS

Wild strawberries and strawberries from the fields of my parents.

Ferry rides and curvy forest roads. After a summer storm checking if the tall trees survived.

Warm glimmering waters inside those tall trees.

Warm and sweet, pine scents and first blueberries. The scent of lake water. Could stay in the water until evening.

Birch trees. Last night, Patti Smith told in her concert here, a story how birch trees are girls that danced so long that they turned to birch trees. Dancing forests.

Shadows on silver meadows.

Sunset.

Ninety years old sauna. The cosiest one. Watching as shadows grow taller. A few steps behind to pick a few handfuls of strawberries.

Strawberry fields forever.

MOST OF IT IS GREEN AND BLUE

Sometimes it is difficult to believe that all the colors have been painted into this season. All different colors, all together in harmony. All mixed. When the morning rises or the evening sets, a bit lighter, a bit like behind a mist. Or behind a real mist. All the wonderful colors with moving shadows in shapes of clouds or trees or house corners. Or then all the wonderful colors with bright light, almost blind.

Colors, but the tones change all the time.

Slowly digesting the quick season. What a strength there is in blooming from a seed to a plant and fruits or berries.

A hot sunny week has started. Greetings from a shore with a book, from where I just bicycled home after the sun disappeared behind a forest hill. Night sky. Pink, orange, yellow, white and blue to the other side, if you turn your head. And that light blue continues and then again white, yellow, orange and pink before the Earth begins.

Have a calm new week. Good night.

P.s. Thank you ever so much for your orders, once again. Some items are now sold out, but if you would like to have still some of them, please let me know. Sweet all of you with emails, comments and just visiting here. Thank you!

NUMBERS II

Numbers I

The weather was exactly like today 28 years ago, told my mother on the phone.

In the morning I cut pecan nuts very fine, mixed them with soft dates and coconut flakes and pinch of salt. Covered a pan with it. Mixed frozen strawberries, half an avocado and coconut flakes and poured over the nut-crust. A circle of raspberries and a dotted circle of blueberries. To the freezer. Forgotten there.

To town. Today I took the bus. Walked around, had a coffee reading the newspaper. Bought olives and salad. Wished that olive trees grew here.

In the bus, grandmother called. Viiru was sleeping by her side while we talked. Grandfather read newspaper. The bus got packed of home-goers. First time that I took the bus home, the first stop after the first traffic lights by the lake.

Sliced, peeled, cut, chopped, sprouted a salad of cucumber, celery, green lentil sprouts, cantaloup melon, pea sprouts. Roasted seeds, olives. A pie of trumpet chanterelles, onion, bell pepper, tomatoes, soya cream. Bread with olive paste.

Ate well with friends. Not before that I remembered the cake. It was frozen, but good with whipped oat cream. More than half left.

A piece for you with a cup of chamomile tea.