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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.



Pile it on.
Good God of 85 Degree Temps.
And welcome.

How was your weekend?  I managed to flash my thighs in the sunshine whilst day drinking and veggie planting... oh the holy trifecta of Summer living.  When you hold such a watery heart and a coastal soul, it's easy to forget how utterly delicious this weather can be.  On today's menu?  Lilac plucking and toe painting.  After the work day of course.  Or maybe smack in the middle.  It's a physical hardship for me to stay inside.  I know, I know, this LIFE!  Whee!
I've been thinking much lately on trying to pull all of my body, all of my mind into the physical place I stand on the earth.  Blame it on a wanderer's spirit, a gypsy heritage or past lives, but I find myself all too often residing in one place while my heart wanders the hillsides of another.  I thirst for salt air, for snow caps, for warm oak leaves, for hawk cries, for sisters who laugh, for lonely roads, and for languid meals.  It's something like wanderlust, but deeper, a searching for the fertile soil of roots that run deep, and slivers of earth that cradle my form.  Days like this make it easy to dig fully into the place I stand, so I take them, gulp them down greedily, and fill myself up with their contentment.  I walk barefoot and run my hands along the trees.  On others my feet twitch and I crave the sight of every new thing, the experience of every fresh locale, but deeper still I crave the foundation of home.
As ever, I am a dichotomy.
But I wouldn't trade it for the world.
* * *
The wind whistles too sweetly through this old house, and I need to check in on the cucumbers.  Or something like that.
Here's me, wishing you lollypops and unicorns!
~ U ~