Calling on the community....
Into the Woods, 17: The Wisdom of Mountains

The passage of time

Tilly 2009

Above, Tilly in our back courtyard, autumn 2009...when she still had her unfortunate penchant for munching on the flowers at the base of The Lady of Bumblehill, our statue by Wendy Froud.

Tilly 2013

Tilly and the Lady, summer 2013. Both have settled into Bumblehill nicely in the intervening years.

The Lady of Bumblehill

"I confess I do not believe in time," wrote Vladimir Nabokov. "I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness -- in a landscape selected at random -- is when I stand among rare butterflies and their food plants. This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone. A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern -- to the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal.”

Below, the courtyard when we first moved in -- after we'd pulled down a moldy old shed, covered in black tar paper, that took up most of its space.

Patio, 2008

And next, the same view as it looks today, table spread for lunch with a William Morris cloth.

Patio

“Every instant of our lives," said André Gide, "is essentially irreplaceable: you must know this in order to concentrate on life.”

Early summer bloom

Every moment. Oh yes, and especially these...

Lunch on the patio, 2013

...the quiet, simple, forgettable moments of salad and sunshine and convivial conversation...of foxgloves blooming and pansies unmolested, and a lazy black dog on the garden path.

“Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious,” writes the food critic Ruth Reichl.

"Flowers are too," murmurs Tilly, falling fast asleep, tasting violets in her dreams.

Tilly sacked out, 2013

Comments

Time can give people and place such a beautiful patina

Love that statue:)

You have made a beautiful space which honours all its best elements from when you arrived :).

My Body As Clock

Every tick of me has a meaning,
memory, moment of movement,
a piece of my own space-time.

Even you, a man of mathematics,
who knew the crevices
and chasms of this body,
did not know how to calculate
the time I have had in the world.

Only I know it all, every second.
The grace of life is how much time
passes unremarked, unremembered,
except in dreams.

Always in dreams.

©2013 JAne Yolen all rights reserved

Oh that first picture of Tilly slays me! I've been watching her grow up since you got her, but I'd forgotten what a dear puppy she was.

Beautiful post, thought-provoking quotes on this summer morning. Lovely to see you and your family embedded in your dreamlike homespace, all part of the fairy tale. You so rarely post pictures of yourself here and perhaps that's what makes it seem so especially lovely when you do. So many blogs, by blogging's nature, are "me-me-me," but never this one, always far ranging and inclusive.

Best wishes to you and yours today and thank you for this brief glimpse of Bumblehill Life.

"Every tick of me has meaning" ....

How true, and how especially true for those of us who are not young, whose bodies are containers crammed full of memory and history. And the unknowable calculation of just how long we still have here to keep filling, filling, filling ourselves with life.

Thank you, Cynthia. And Alexa, Philip, and Stewart too.

:) Thank you, Terri.

And to Jane, the poem is beautiful and true especially for those who dream.

A happy weep for joy seeing you three in your little paradise on earth dear ones.

Oh, yes!

Was writing in my morning pages about this. How everything from now on has a glimmer
to it. Last this and last that, as we know not 'the time we have in the world'...'except in
dream. Always in dreams." Two dear friends who died years ago in recent dreams, as if
to give a new light on who they were and how much they mean to me, still. It is in the
new light I see them, the glimmer.

About Tilly, I still remember when she was a puppy; how she entered Myth and Moor, bringing her
own sweet spirit of joy and fun. She has no idea how much she is admired all over the world. Our Tilly.

I remember that too! What a little sweetheart she is. I can't imagine Terri & Howard without her now. Or Myth & Moor.

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