Because no matter how hard I try, I'm really not good at social media, hence the mini-posts. I do enjoy Pinterest because, hey, pretty pictures. If you're looking for the blog, you can find that here.
Oh, Christmas, dear Christmas, a time to believe,
When kindness and grace, like snowflakes, conceive,
A sonnet to sing of this magical sight,
Short and sweet, as love fills the starry night.
Through frost-laden air, love's warmth does arise,
A twinkle in eyes, a sparkle that flies,
The laughter of children, innocent and free,
Heralds the wonder this season will be.
Thanksgiving does not end simply because its passing is marked by a single date on the calendar. Its essence lingers, when embraced, well into the Christmas season, shaping the atmosphere and celebrations of the upcoming holidays.
We've picked out our tree, have planned some of the delicious treats that will fill the kitchen with tantalizing aromas (some new, some old favorites), and are awaiting a new Christmas cottage puzzle. Each memory is precious in its simplicity and not a single moment passes without giving overwhelming thanks that such things we so often take for granted are possible.
Whether it be decorating a Christmas tree, indulging in delicious treats, or solving a puzzle, these simple yet cherished activities remind us to appreciate the little things in life, for those little things often become the most important memories that we carry with us always.
And really, really important . . . Don't forget all the wonderful books you can give as Christmas gifts!
The stillness of smoky summer days is conducive to writing, allowing me to focus without any interruptions. Of course, such days come with a cost.
Our valley is surrounded by wildfires at the moment, which means smoke from all directions. The air is heavy with the smell of burning wood, like several out-of-control campfires. The smoke is a reminder of how quickly and drastically nature can change, and how delicate our existence is in this wild landscape.
Several scenes in my work-in-progress (a Crooked Creek installment) feature the characters' facing off against the elements. Whether it be rain, cold, or the unexpected surprises of nature, even fictional friends are at nature's mercy. They're calling me back to their world in 1868, and I'm eager to return. David Tolk's beautiful piano music has kept me company for my last two writing sessions, and now the soft melodies of Stuart Jones's Celtic Piano album are playing in the background.
Take me where others have not tread,
walls, hills, and trails unknown.
Take me where the light burns bright,
sun, stars, and moon aglow.
Take me where the heart most longs,
home and hearth and blooms enfold.
—MK McClintock
