I think I am suffering withdrawals from not going to Parachute this year..for the last three years we have as a family trekked up Island to Hamilton to attend Parachute Music Festival.
It fills me up until at least July when I need a wee top up.
This year with Gary's Chemo schedule it doesn't fit. It has sun, music, worship, freedom, food tents and books mmmmm
Gary's hair is leaving his head today right on schedule..he has a lovely shaped head. We are heading up the valley tomorrow to the crib for some reading and sun hopefully..there hasn't been too much this summer..
I gardened today for the first time in a week and planted Astelias and hydrangeas..white and pink lace caps.
It is Arihanas birthday and she looks like a birthday girl all sparkly and happy..My mums birthday too and we went for lunch at Rhubarb.
The new chickens are starting to settle in and the old ones are not picking on them as much..time to clip their wings and give them a bit of freedom.I realize this sounds contradictory but as soon as I let them out of their cage they fly into my vege garden for a snack, a small clip will sort the flying out and teach them to forage by foot.
We were in Christchurch early this week for a check up with The surgeon and all is looking good..as expected so we will keep this healing train right on track.
Christchurch is still very rubbly and fenced off..it is areal juggle heading into town..lanes are closed, traffic diverted..shops all suffering.it was very quiet apart from a Bicycle band which was playing ooompapa music, brass instruments and drums.
There were penny farthings as well...They would play a song bike along and then play another tune,,it was very entertaining..
I have been thinking about my stone for today and as I havnt written for a week it is a series of images that stand out, not moments of stillness and acute observation but things strung together like beads or sheep on hill.
The in their red and indigo coats with polished brass tubas
A tuft of Gary's hair between my fingers
the small shiny black speck that scurried on my dogs coat
a Leonard Cohen poem
ART JOURNALLING WORKSHOP
6 years ago