Monday, 22 November 2010

In a letter, I would send the sound and smell of rain on wood.

   Hello to you on a rainy Monday.  Over here this morning, the sky is pulling the wooly greyness of her winter blankets across the sky.  I am told that there is snow on the mountains already, and soon there will be some in town as well.  The small plastic radio babbles on the floor in the corner and our eyes peer at this or that thing in the dimness.  I count the shoddy day light hours, never exacting from them all that I plan to.  But, I am trying to teach myself not even to notice them at all, that supper is not eaten around nightfall, days of painting can curl themselves around lamplight any time, and a working-day tiredness comes only from work and not absence of sunlit hours.
   The clothes horse stands well-dressed and waiting, a lone magpie passes at the window.  Assemblies of folklore books gather on the tabletops, on the floor.  If the rain stops for a moment I will buy us milk for our tea, and the wind can sweep up from the sea and over the rooftops to push me back up the hill as I walk down it towards home.


  1. Big love to this green wooden hut !! Maybe it hides a big and really old etching press :) (I'm fascinated with those things)
    I don't think it will snow already in Belgium, but we too need hot tea with milk, and the cats don't stop sleeping.

  2. Funny to think our Mondays were so very similar Jodie. I had to reach for woollen socks and a cardi normally we are stripping right down to the barest essentials - but I prefer the grey and cold leading up to Christmas as it makes it seem much more seasonal to be wrapping up warmly and switching lamps on during the day at this time of year for me. It's a windy and raining start to Tuesday here ... yipee*!*

    Wonder how many secrets that shed is the keeper of
    ... secret assignations, ciggies smoked on the qt by school kids ... also wondering how many coloured coats it's worn over the years. I think it's calling out to appear in one of your paintings.

    Smiles to you hope you managed to get out for the milk

  3. Hi Barbara,
    I know what you mean about loving big etching presses! The one studio I've been to here in Aberdeen has a press that is about the size of a car (and also a smaller one that has little decorations on the cast iron frame... little girls painted to have blond hair and red rosy cheeks). It's sort of hilarious to use such big presses to print my tiny little copper plates!
    Though, I think the only way that the little hut could seem to hold a big press, is if you were very small.
    Wishing you lots more cups of hot hot tea!

    Hi Annie,

    I'm happy you are getting some Christmassy weather too! I was just thinking the other day about what it would be like to be in Australia at Christmas time, especially if you were used to the North...

    It does have so much character doesn't it? I think they've got it at just the right green right now. Maybe it'll have to get painted in a painting somewhere one of these days... what else is there to do, I'm too big too live there!

    Hope your crows are still giving you some fun!

  4. Sounds like a perfect letter.
    What lovely photos and words of magic! I long for days like these, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and the 9-5.

  5. I have to admit it did take a little while to get used to a summer one. As for the little green hut you could have fun imagining how you would fit out the inside if you were to make it yours*!*

  6. Heisann Jodi!
    You depict life on the Scottish east coast so fabulous ... and the hut is like taking out of a fairytale (do you say so in English?)Copy it in one of your paintings!
    Have a nice Sunday ;:OD)