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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.





THAT was a good one.  It didn't even make it into the bucket.

berry bowl

Snapped this photo and then proceeded to eat all the berries you can see here.  ALL of them.  Every last one.  Not kidding in the least.  And then struck back out to refill the cache.

I'm a berry-picking whore.  

There.  I said it.  I'll sacrifice my skin and clean clothes for the promise of those sweet sweet nubbly pearls of goodness that melt so merrily on my tongue.  For the promise of berries swirled in yogurt or plopped onto ice cream or baked in a cobbler or tossed by the handfuls down the gullet... I'm a weak woman.  When others (a.k.a. BC) have long since given up and surrendered to the lull of stretching out on the river banks I keep on picking and plucking... one for the bucket, two for me.  I'm sure if you were to view a cross-section of my stomach right now, it would stained the most luscious shade of purple - absolutely worthy of being named the Pantone color of Summer 2010.

What is it about summer that is worth the sacrifice for you?
Is it the threat of sunburn to hike one more hour?  The peril of a pedicure chipped and worn from dipping toes in the ocean?  The danger of never returning to the inside world or the hazard of running willy nilly all the way down to Costa Rica to live in sarongs and straw hats till your dying breath?

What IS your favorite thing about these golden dog days?