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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


The Day Umber Turned 30...


... the morning air smelled faintly of coffee and fresh strawberries.

...there was breakfast in bed (my every-birthday breakfast, which must consist of strawberries dipped in sour cream and dusted with brown sugar. try it. you'll like it.)

... there were tiny packages of seedlings to cradle, heirloom, straight from the farmer's market in all shapes of kale, sugar snaps, brussel sprouts, broccoli, leeks, bunching onions, zucchini, and a handful of herbs - including CURRY - who knew?

... there was a light sweat to be worked up while a mild rain drizzled down.

... and new raised planter boxes springing into life.

... there was ice cream and sorbet (he had the vanilla-penut butter in a cone, i opted for the grapefruit sorbet in a bowl) before lunch, packages wrapped in purple tissue and pink flowers. there was the [inevitable] rush to scrub the mud from fingertips and don gold wrap-tops and vintage furs.

... there was hot sake, broccoli flipped straight off the grill and [almost] into my mouth, a blaze of fire and seared scallops.

... there was a moonlit walk on the docks, under an eerily calm ocean sky.

... and then the glorious private finnish hot tubs, deep and steaming, under the blackened sky and the scent of redwoods, sitting chin-deep listening to the frogs sing.

all in all
my thoughts on turning 30
are quite grand indeed.