let's warm the cider

and stir it with a cinnamon stick.

i'll pour two mugs,

one for you, one for me.

and what shall we nibble on while we're sipping?

november unclasps her hair

she stretches and yawns

in the amber dusk

sweet morning

with powdered sugar on her lips

40 years

and still purring...

happy anniversary mr. brattcat

snow lace outside

curtain lace within

hush little world

the sun

is settling down

to sleep

hoping your feast doesn't fall flat

but even if it does,

remember:

a bad feast makes a good story.

happy thanksgiving!

and happy birthday, terry, whose feasts never fall flat.

what for some of us is a storybook setting

for others is simply "home"

you don't need a weatherman

to know which way the fish goes

do pigeons engage in

fowl politics?

and what would you do with these?

for those of you who are wondering...i don't have a clue

and for those who asked if i made my own cranberry sauce

the answer is i used to,

but my daughters prefer the gelatinous stuff in a can.

go figure.

do you make your own

cranberry sauce?

so much to be thankful for

even in november

blues...we're restoring roads and bridges and houses,

but no one has relieved this tree of the blues snagged during tropical storm irene

when i posted an image of one of my knitted orphalines a while back

genie, of paris and beyond, fell in love with it.

"may i have one just like it?" genie asked. "i'll pay a handsome price."

hmmm, i thought, something very beautiful could be done with a handsome price...

"sure thing," i told genie.

so while genie went to paris

i selected the yarn, planned the color scheme, picked up the needles

et voila, with a knit, and a purl, and a click, click, click

this jaunty fellow entered the world...

and is now happily residing with genie in alabama.

genie would welcome naming suggestions.

ellie, the acrobat who lives next door in the purple house,

performed for an audience of neighbors on sunday.

notice the bare feet...the temperature was 40 degrees f.

and it didn't take long for her toes to turn as rosy as her sweater...

but being a professional, she never missed a trick.

while walking down the street today

a trotting piggy passed my way

even in her scuffed shoes and tattered clothes

november is a beauty to behold.

for you, dear leda,

the moon in a basket.

happy birthday,

cherished friend!

have you ever been

inside the u.n.?

(baby brattcat flew home last night and her chair looks so empty at our diningroom table...we miss you baby brattcat!)

the tangled hair of autumn

combed by fingers of light

the common sighs with pleasure

in the early morning light

the snow is almost completely melted and there remains

an autumn blush on the cheek of november

with mounds of snow in the background, a bouquet of the last summer flowers

for all of you who have come to visit during my long absence...thank you!

(welcome new followers indo panama, eli, and choppography)

vet clinic door decor...

do you think the pets notice?

please don't

leaf me this way

obsessed

with

snow

baby brattcat harvesting parsley in a snowstorm

wearing papa brattcat's hat and coat

on sunday morning, this porch shimmered like a jeweled necklace

around the porcelain neck of october

-thank you for the edit, dear malyss-

theme day: fence

traced by early snow

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