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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.


Wake-up Call, er, Scurry.


The great white hunter has struck again.
The mirror in the bath still thick with fog and damp towels hung to dry.  Bare feet on carpet with nothing else but a birthday suit.  And company, oh the company, trotting in proud as punch, followed by the second and third manner of beasts (eager to participate in the excitement), with a squealing, wriggling, slightly damaged gopher.  

And I'm here to say:
Stark Naked + Gopher Running through the Bedroom - One Husband = A stream of language that would make your grandma blush.
I'm a proud kitty mamma, but next time, Sing-sing, make sure he's dead, ok?