The days are noticeably lengthening, the air is light and warm and there is the soft  scent of new mown grass on the air.  Blossoms adorn the edges of branches that have been bare for too long – yellow flowers bob up and down the grassy hillock where Siddy runs on his daily walk.  He sniffs them warily, licks one bright head ‘hello’ and moves on.  The daffodil blooms on.  I skirt the still muddy areas of the park.  Ground laid bare by days of rain and frosts and ice and happy dogs turning it all to sludge.  Gone is the heavy padded jacket, the woolly hat, the scarf wrapped about three times for maximum warmth, the array of colourful Mimi mittens that have adorned my hands on our morning walks.  Gone the thick boots made for water protection, slip proof [mostly] and warmth.

I walk lightly – hatless, scarfless, gloveless.  Siddy looks up at me and smiles and we walk on both of us enjoying the warm still air, the golden light, the scents of spring.

Spring enters into my work room too.  My rediscovered love of working with beads evident everywhere.  Light catchers sparkle en masse in front of the window.   This is a wee peek at ‘The Purple Bohemian’ a new one destined for my shop, it’s really pretty!

Beads scattered over the work table catch and reflect sparkles of sun light.

I play with the idea of beaded bracelets – trying things out, working out how to arrange sizes, shapes and colours pleasingly; how to start and how best to finish things off.  I don’t know why I’m doing this.  Perhaps this first touch of spring makes me want to have some pretty beads to wear.

I’ve read a few books this winter.  Not many, I don’t read as much as I used to – I don’t know why.  Again, for unknown reasons, I steered clear of philosophical or spiritual content and read only what I had been given.

I read a surprising amount of first novels

‘Wise Men’ by Stuart Nadler, his first novel.  The story kept me interested and I appreciated the writer’s ability to have his protagonist have an incidental real life while keeping us enthralled with the mysterious pull of times past.

‘Station Eleven’ by Emily St. John Mandel.  The Georgia Flu has wiped out 99% of the population and in this horribly realistic view of life twenty years after the event the author invites us to consider the place of fame, of theatre, of relationships, that reach through time and events and touch and sustain our lives.

‘The Miniaturist’ by Jessie Burton.  A first novel.  I struggled with this book – I kept reading a little more every night and in the end read it to finish it.  It is an odd tale, atmospheric yet cold.   Maybe not such a good thing in a novel.  Did you read it and feel differently?

‘The Paris Architect’ by Charles Balfoure.  Another first novel.  I generally don’t like reading about war and man’s inhumanity to man, but this novel grabbed my interest.  I loved how the story revealed the architect’s evolution from cool disdain  to caring about the fate of others and how in times of desperation, we find those we need to find.

‘Bits of a Boyhood’ by Bruce Goodman.  An on-line book found here   Written with integrity and honesty and not a little humour Bruce reveals what it was like growing up in New Zealand in the 1950’s.  I laughed and sometimes cried my way through this first part of Bruce’s autobiography.  I’m waiting for the next installment!

A man of fine education and not a little talent, Bruce blogs at Weave A Web if you want to read one of his [mostly] bizarre or odd little stories every day.

Finally – Siddy waiting for his fans.  

Thanks for coming by today, I love that you did.