Spring pulled me out the front door this morning. Before I had eaten my oats or poured clear cool water into seven offering bowls, it pulled on my hooded top and my shoes, and ushered me out the front door. I realized, as I walked towards the glistening sea, that it's been six months since we moved to Portland.
We arrived on Winter Street as autumn was shedding leaves. We had a few weeks of glorious open windows and the sounds of birds and I ventured out quite a lot in the mornings to explore my surroundings. We had moved to the edge of the West End--this extraordinary place, like another realm. Quiet winding streets, Victorian homes with hidden gardens, old benches, wild flowers, fairies, I'm sure.
We arrived on Winter Street as autumn was shedding leaves. We had a few weeks of glorious open windows and the sounds of birds and I ventured out quite a lot in the mornings to explore my surroundings. We had moved to the edge of the West End--this extraordinary place, like another realm. Quiet winding streets, Victorian homes with hidden gardens, old benches, wild flowers, fairies, I'm sure.
