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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.


Snow Day


"We awoke to snow and instantly I am five"
We awoke to snow and instantly I am five.  Peeking through the blinds, clapping and squealing, shivering in my underwear because I'm too excited to pull on pants.  Bundling up: double cowl, fleece leggings, slouchy green hat, one very wet snowball that finds the center of BC's chest, soaking through.  The pups have never seen snow.  It is a marvel, soft and crunchy all at once, perfect for running tail tucked down, ass on fire, as fast as possible around the trees, up the bank, over the retaining wall, yipping the whole way.
Coffee (creamy).
Eggs (poached).
New sweater, clean leggings.
Speakers turned all the way up.
Candles lighted.
Sage burning sweetly.
Blue lace agate in a pocket (for peace I am told, for inspiration).
Sculpting twigs in sterling, one, two, five, nine, twelve.  Pushing metal, tapping knees, the UPS man laughing at my [perfectly on key] singing through the open windows.  Prehnite, turquoise, lapis, the rain drums along the roofline and my precious snow gives way to puddles, blackened moss and sneaking crows.
Send me your snow friends, mine seems to be melting already and I'm not ready for it to leave.