A little 9-patch cloth weaving in the works. I wonder if my color choices are a subconscious effort to replace the many flowers lost in the garden. Because we recently had hailstorm #6 -- I took that photo of a mound of hail the morning after. Our tomatoes have regrown their foliage so many times I don't know if they can pull off another resurgence. Cucumber, cilantro and basil plants are 3" stubs again. I've sowed more seeds but won't buy any more plants. It's just a really strange year weather-wise.
On a happier note, the roses are fine. I've been reading and learning about roses and how rose spirit medicine focuses on matters of the heart. Love and joy are her gifts -- feelings that harden, weaken or break the heart are transformed. I don't know that anyone can feel anger or shame or any difficult emotion whilst breathing in the pure spirit of Rosa.
I'm hoping to dry most of this year's Gertrude Jekyl rose harvest for teas and syrups. A very small amount will be used fresh in the tiniest jar I can find to make tincture. By the drop rather than the dropperful fits my intention to experience plants on an energetic level.
Other summer doings around here: Japanese-indigo-dyed wool yarn washed and dried, labeling lovely simple wooden plant stakes -- a gift from Colonial Williamsburg, growing a collection of wild wood bits and pieces mostly from walks, concocting a journal52 page with a quote that made me literally sigh in relief the first time I saw it. Everything changed the day she figured out there was exactly enough time for the important things in her life. --Brian Andreas
Today is a waxing moonday in Sagittarius -- I was moonstruck by last night's gorgeous gibbous moon. And have you noticed how brightly Venus and Jupiter shine in the west as they creep closer and closer together, night after night? They will be their very closest tomorrow evening, June 30 -- apart by only half the diameter of a full moon. If you're near-sighted, it'll look like one really bright star.
It's getting exciting, I tell you.