Winter Stroll at the Conservatory

"I look upon the pleasure which we take in a garden as one

of the most innocent delights in human life. . . . It is naturally apt

to fill the mind with calmness and tranquility."

JOSEPH ADDISON, from The Spectator, 1712

I peer out my study window and look at my snow-covered garden and, though it looks pretty with all the snow, everything lays buried, dormant. Which is why it's such a treat when it's cold and frosty outdoors to have a place nearby where a person can slip inside to enjoy a few of those garden delights that fill our minds with calmness and tranquility.

 

The Muttart Conservatory always has its Christmas display up in time for our wedding anniversary. In fact, it was at the Conservatory twenty-six years ago where, nestled amongst the pink poinsettias, we had our wedding photos taken. Which is why it ever holds a special place in our hearts. Last week, we spent a delightful afternoon ambling through the four pyramid pavilions: Tropical, Arid, Temperate, and Feature Season. I like walking through the Feature pavilion at the end of our stroll, so our minds are filled with season's delights and our cozy memories as we head back out into a cold, grey day.

Here are a few photos from our visit contrasting the floral displays with quotes of the season's winter mood. Hope you enjoy!

"It is afternoon, which in winter is evening."

RICHARD JEFFERIES

'Haunts of the Lapwing', 1883

"The year begins to close when there is neither

twelve hours of daylight nor a perceptible nightfall,

just December afternoons."

RONALD BLYTHE

'Failing Light' from Out of the Valley:

Another Year at Wormingford, 2000

"In the west the winter sky is streaked with cirrus clouds that

look as if they have been combed across the heavens by a giant hand.

A weak sun filters through as it sinks towards the horizon,

a cold cerulean blue fading to cream white as it nears the earth.

. . . a deep chill settles in the air."

JANET WILLONER

from Winter Anthology, 2016

"So quiet and subtle is the beauty of December that escapes the

notice of many people their whole lives through. Colour gives

way to form: every branch distinct, in a delicate tracery against

the sky. New vistas, obscured all Summer by leafage, now open up."

FLORA THOMPSON

"It is just as good to come in (from outside). You stamp to shake the

snow from your boots. The flakes of snow on your coat melt instantly.

Your glasses steam up. You close the door and thank God you

remembered to put the hall light on a timer."

NIGEL SLATER

from The Christmas Chronicles

"It was a day when frost and sunshine combined

went to one's head like iced champagne."

from The Irish R.M., 1928

"Anne came dancing home in the purple

winter twilight across the snowy places."

L.M. MONTGOMERY

Anne of Green Gables

"He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer

will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter. . .

In winter the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the

moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear

a look of a more exalted simplicity."

JOHN BURROUGHS

❦

Thanks for stopping by.

Hope you are enjoying a beautiful day,

Brenda

Photo credits:

Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

15 Reasons Why I Love L.M. Montgomery (Part 5/5)

"When dreariness and fear threaten to overwhelm

me I shall remember this letter and say to myself,

'Take heart my child. As long as you can bring a little

delight or comfort into the lives of others life is worth living.' "

The Selected Journals of Lucy Maud Montgomery,

Volume V, Sept 24, 1938

Tomorrow—November 30th—marks Lucy Maud Montgomery's 150th birthday. Today's post wraps up the series I've been writing in celebration of this amazing woman and what her life and work have meant to me over the years. I thought about closing with a list of 150 reasons why I appreciate this author. But that felt rather daunting, both for me to write it and for you to read it, so here is a tithe's worth of that longer list. Hope you enjoy.

15 Reasons Why I Love and Appreciate Lucy Maud Montgomery

1. I was nine years old, in Grade Four, when I first 'met' Anne spelled with an 'E'. After lunch, our teacher would settle the class down by reading a chapter or two to us. I was enchanted and could hardly wait to hear more the next day. Little did I realize that having been introduced to Anne of Green Gables in elementary school, this chapter book would one day lead me to a lifetime admiration of the story's author.

2. Having been born and raised in Canada myself, I loved that Anne and her creator were also Canadian - from Prince Edward Island, on the other side of the country. It made me proud.

3. I fell in love with Anne's phrase 'kindred spirits' and secretly searched for my own bosom buddy. Anne discovered, as did I, "Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world." Yes, it is! And I have met many of them right here in blogland. And I did eventually find a dear bosom buddy or two, too.

4. Lucy Maud gave me heroines in my girlhood who were so real and alive to me. From Anne Shirley and Diana Barry to Emily of New Moon, I learned about friendship and getting along with people, dealing with life's disappointments, and taking joy in the little things in my small world.

5. First, it was the storybook heroines who captured my imagination. Later, it was Lucy Maud herself who became my inspiration and mentor from afar as I began making my way in life, trying to figure out how I could live a beautiful life, and live it well.

6. I loved discovering that Lucy Maud and I shared interests in things domestic, gardens, kitty cats, beauty in nature, and books.

7. I think it was Lucy Maud who 'gave' me permission to allow myself to take real enjoyment in the beauty of the world around me, and that it was okay to have pretty items which brought joyful pleasure to my life. It wasn't being frivolous.

8. I appreciated learning that Lucy Maud enjoyed both solitude and the society of others. I think that's when I recognized that I, too, enjoyed spending time in my own company as well as taking pleasure in those companionable times with family and friends. I needed both to flourish.

9. Her novels, poetry, autobiography (The Alpine Path, The Story of My Career), and published journals drew me into her world—a world she described in fiction and nonfiction. Even giving me a glimpse of my grandmother's era, who was born in the mid-1890s on the Canadian Prairies. 

10. Lucy Maud gave me a glimpse into a writer’s life - her struggles as well as her joys and triumphs. This ignited something within me that hitherto had lain dormant. I began to dream about writing just like LMM. She would become my literary hero.

11. I took a more active interest in poetry after reading a book of her published poems and even attempted writing a few from time to time. I enjoyed the experience. Still do.

12. Because of Lucy Maud, I began what would become a life-long joy in journaling. Learning to express myself in my journals was great practice for when I'd start writing to an audience of more than one, like here on my blog. I'm about to start Journal #193. Old volumes are stuffed in boxes stacked in the closet. I have revisited some journals - I use them as reference material for memoir writing.

13. I'm grateful for the many marvelous quotes we have that are attributed to Lucy Maud. She gave me words and lines to which I could pin my own thoughts and desires, including the familiar, hopeful words, "Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it." Written directly into my notebooks for future reference, I cannot recall how often her wisdom buoyed, comforted, and gave me courage.

14. Lucy Maud's descriptions both in her novels and journals let me feel the thrill of her delight in the world's beauty around her. Who hasn't loved Anne describing, via the author's pen, her joy in the apple blossoms in spring, the full moon in a winter sky, or the softness of a kitty purring on a lap. I started to pay attention to my world, to notice the details, and then describe them in the Lucy Maud style.

15. Through her writing, Lucy Maud showed her readers how she felt about her own life. She shared her joys and her many sorrows. I believe her candidness gave me the courage to explore with honesty my own fears and ups and downs.

Of all the wonderful quotes from which I could choose to wrap this series, here is one that is starred in my old copy of Anne of the Island: "There is so much in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and the heart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves—so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so much everywhere in which to delight, and for which to be thankful."

I lift my glass of bubbly to Lucy Maud Montgomery. An extraordinary woman - an author of whom we can be proud. I am glad for the delightful stories she wrote that so many of us still enjoy. I'm filled with gratitude for her mentorship from a bookshelf, and I'm so, so thankful for her life well lived. She was a lovely role model, and I am forever indebted to her. Happy 150th birthday to one of my favourite people.

❦

Next week we'll be well into December with Christmas full steam ahead.

(As I write, the sun glimmers off snowy rooftops set against pale blue skies.)

Until then, I wish you beauty and grace.

Brenda

Lucy Maud Inspired My Letter Writing Life (Part 4/5)

L.M. Montgomery and Our Mutual Love of Beauty (Part 3/5)

Friday Four, Including L.M. Montgomery's Inspiration to Journal (Part 2/5)

Friday Five, Including Celebrating L.M. Montgomery's 150th Birthday (Part 1/5)

Photo credits:

(Top) Image by Slava_web-designer from Pixabay

My December schedule:

I post on Fridays

Lucy Maud Inspired My Letter Writing Life (Part 4/5)

"... nothing gives me such a sense of life still being worth while as to receive a letter from one of the 'kindred spirits' of the leisurely old days. For a moment or two I find myself back there in the unhurried years and emerge from my brief communion with the past refreshed as if I had drunk a rejuvenating draught from some magic spring."

L.M. MONTGOMERY, Letter to G.B. MacMillan, August 26, 1924

For me, there is nothing like sitting down to write a letter the old-fashioned way—with pen and pretty stationery, envelopes and postage stamps. I admit to a decline in this pursuit over the years. Partly because it's so easy to stay in touch with family and friends via email, text messages, and social media. Sad to say, as a result, my penmanship has taken a gradual decline into chicken scratch hieroglyphics. Probably because now my keyboarding muscles are more dominant than my pen holding muscles. I do practice my handwriting once in while - concentrating on forming the cursive lettering as if I were back in Grade 3 or 4. To keep my hand in, as it were. Not to mention, to make it easier for my friends to read a letter from me without too much squinting and head scratching.  

As a child I watched my mom write letters and mail greeting cards for every occasion to family and friends as the chief way of keeping in touch. I recall when my little Grade 4 friend, Heidi Trussell, moved away with her family, we promised to write each other. I was tickled with the idea of writing to her, like a pen pal. Strangely enough, even though I started my letter, it never got sent off. Perhaps I never learned her new address, so it was a lost dream. I probably wrote, "Dear Heidi, How are you? I am fine. Do you like your new school? I miss you." So original. 

In my youth one of my favourite places to visit, next to the book section of a department store, was the greeting card outlets, like Hallmark. So many choices to feast one's eyes on. Finding the right message to convey what I wanted to say was a delightful but excruciating search sometimes - it had to be just so. And my heart always knew when it was 'perfect' - yes, that's the one. I wanted messages to convey encouragement or inspiration or to make someone laugh, depending on the situation. I never felt confident enough to express my feelings in my own words. I relied on the words of others. Still, it filled a need of staying in touch with people I cared about. And I'd get that thrill of the heart when I'd hear from a friend saying my note was just what she needed at the time. When I went away to college I wrote copious letters home always waiting for return mail. How horrid the semester when there was a nationwide postal strike. And no mail for weeks! I'd still go to the post office sometimes, hoping against hope there'd be a letter miraculously appearing from home, and being devastated when there wasn't anything. I became aware then how much letter writing meant to families in those days. No Internet, no text messaging, no Zoom. Phone calls were far too costly to make regularly. Pen and paper were our lifeline.

As I reflect on how Lucy Maud Montgomery has influenced my life, she certainly inspired my letter writing habits. Delighted was I to find two volumes at the library years ago of her published letters (links below). Such a delight to catch glimpses of her wide range of interests, "from domestic concerns, her cats and gardening, to her professional literary career as best-selling author". I loved her way of describing the world around her, how she set out her thoughts for someone else to read. They were entertaining as well as newsy and informative. From her examples, I imagined how I could become more creative and more interesting in my own letters. I began to step out and use my own words. It took great effort and mulling to express my thoughts in ways that made sense and were as beautifully composed as Lucy Maud's or what I read on those pretty greeting cards. I have always secretly hoped I sent off missives that were newsy, encouraging as well as entertaining, but only recipients of those long ago letters could confirm whether I was successful or not. 😉

As I mentioned, I found two collections with some of Ms. Montgomery's letters, one with her Scottish literary friend, George Boyd MacMillan. And one with Ephraim Weber, who was a young writer living in Alberta, Canada. I enjoyed reading both and still find excerpts from them copied into my old commonplace books.

My Dear Mr. M:

Letters to G.B. MacMillan from L.M. Montgomery

edited by Francis W.P. Bolger and Elizabeth R. Epperly

The Green Gables Letters:

From L.M. Montgomery to Ephraim Weber 1905-1909

edited by Wilfrid Eggleston

In the early days of lockdown and isolation during the Covid-19 pandemic, one of my creative pursuits was to pick up my pen, dust off my dormant love of writing old-fashioned notes, and send them off the snail-mail way. I stocked up on boxes of artsy blank greeting cards (thanks to Amazon's delivery service). Along with my handwritten notes, I'd tuck in small surprises: sachets of tea, quotes, stickers, blank postcards, anything fun that snugged inside a card-size envelope. The real thrill for me was imagining a friend's face when she discovered real mail waiting for her in the mailbox. Hopefully those notes created a bond of heart connection between sender and recipient during that tumultuous time in our history. What was it that John Donne once said: More than kisses, letters mingle souls. For thus, friends absent speak. We needed a little mingling of the souls when, for many of us, our physical bodies could not gather together in the usual way.

Now, with the holidays around the corner, comes the time of year when I still love shopping for and sending out beautiful Christmas cards with handwritten notes tucked inside to family and friends. (With a postal strike in our country as this post goes up, who knows if that will be possible this year - hopefully they'll settle things soon.) 

Next week will be the last in my series about Lucy Maud Montgomery and her influence in my life. Which wraps up my month long celebration of one of my favourite author's 150th anniversary of her birth—November 30, 1874. I hope to see you then. And, if you missed the previous posts, mind the links below.

❦

Wishing you a beautiful weekend,

(it's snowing here 😊)

Brenda

L.M. Montgomery and Our Mutual Love of Beauty (Part 3)

Friday Four, Including L.M. Montgomery's Inspiration to Journal (Part 2)

Friday Five, Including Celebrating L.M. Montgomery's 150th Birthday (Part 1)

Photo credits:

(Top) Image by Pezibear from Pixabay

Book Covers from Amazon

My blogging schedule:

I post on Fridays

L.M. Montgomery and Our Mutual Love of Beauty (Part 3/5)

"Don't you just love poetry that gives you a 

crinkly feeling up and down your back?" 

L.M. MONTGOMERY, Anne of Green Gables 

I cannot say when I first became aware of beauty in the world around me. Perhaps it was when I was a little girl bending down in my grandma's garden to smell her pretty flowers. And being especially taken with the clove-scented blossoms—they might have been carnations or pinks (dianthus). I was in heaven when I sniffed their scent. There was also something unforgettable about those yellow and orange California poppies growing in her lawn, so bold and breezy showing up anywhere they pleased.

 

As a child enthralled with reading, I loved the 1950s beautifully illustrated Egermeier's Bible Story Book with its well-thumbed pages eventually read to shreds. Adoring the lithograph picture of Mary and Joseph with the Babe in swaddling clothes lying in a manger—it created such a safe and cozy feeling for me. I was especially aware of the beauty I saw at Christmastime. How often I felt that crinkly feeling up and down my back when I caught sight of the season's first snowfall, or when I sat quiet as a mouse on the couch breathing in the wonder of the coloured lights on the tree. Or to feel the wonderment at the Christmas cards, hanging from a string above me, some alive with midnight blue skies studded with stars and pinpricks of light streaming through tiny earthen windows. Oh holy night, indeed.

As a girl, I mainly read books for the stories, for the adventures. I wasn't so keen on the descriptions of sunsets or landscapes or pretty vistas. I just wanted to know what happened next without all that 'fluffy' stuff. But I gradually came to appreciate those descriptive, imaginative scenes. Scenes where autumn branches sat in a vase on a table and firelight made shadows dance on a wall. And the heroine would sigh and feel better for this bit of beauty. Those scenes, dripping from the pages, soaked into my own soul and made me feel better.

Then there came the season of life when I read anything I could find of Lucy Maud Montgomery's works. First it was her novels, such as the Anne or Emily stories, and The Blue Castle. I gobbled up her poetry, published letters, and published journals. And, as an aspiring writer, I noted her descriptive narration, vivid imagery, and keen eye for detail as she celebrated the beauty of nature, her garden, and walks in the woods on a late November afternoon. I began to dream about how I could try to write the way she did. Never forgetting that summer evening long ago when I sat on the back step entranced as twilight fell on our neighbourhood after a beautiful day. A notebook in my lap and pen in my hand, my heart yearning to describe the joy I felt that evening, longing to describe its loveliness in the Lucy Maud style. She inspired me to get on with living life as beautifully as possible and then writing about it. I was—and still am—energized to create work that expresses my own wonderment at all that remains lovely in a broken world. It gives me courage to carry on when things feel or look hopeless in whatever situation. And when I get to share it here with you, my heart bursts with a joy that leaves me content... and grateful. For there is great pleasure in sharing what we love and enjoy, what we learn, with others. 

I want to share a passage from Emily of New Moon which became one of my favourites:

"It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside—but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond—only a glimpse—and heard a note of unearthly music.  . . .

It never came twice with the same thing. Tonight the dark boughs against that far-off sky had given it. It had come with a high, wild note of wind in the night, with a shadow wave over a ripe field, with a grey bird lighting on her windowsill in a storm, with the singing of "Holy, holy, holy" in church, with a glimpse of the kitchen fire when she had come home on a dark autumn night, with the spirit-like blue of ice palms on a twilit pane, with a felicitous new word when she was writing down a 'description' of something. And always when the flash came to her Emily felt that life was a wonderful, mysterious thing of persistent beauty." L.M. Montgomery, Emily of New Moon, p. 7 - 8

That last line stands out as a marker—it and many others became transformative, defining moments when I came to recognize, and could admit to myself, that beauty remains the most inspirational and mysterious force in the world for me. And it makes me feel nearest to God. I came to see that if I could find the beauty, however tiny, in the midst of any given situation, I could carry on. Ms. Montgomery's writings gave me courage. They gave me hope there was a place inside my own God-given imagination where I could gather the beauty to hold onto in the midst of my own hard or sad times. Perhaps that's why I'm always tickled to see a simple dandelion living large as life in a fractured sidewalk. Surviving in a seemingly impossible place, living somehow as if it was in the best kind of soil, tended as if with the most loving of care. Its lesson is a beauty to behold.

There is so much more I could say, but suffice for the moment. As I close, my wish for you this week... mercies new every morning, grace that's sufficient for whatever you face, joy to strengthen you in the midst, and peace that keeps your heart steady in the storm. Oh, and a generous dollop of good, plain fun to make you laugh out loud.

❦

Heart hugs,

Brenda

Photo credits:

Image by TheOtherKev from Pixabay

My Autumn Schedule:

I post on Fridays

Friday Four, Including L.M. Montgomery's Inspiration to Journal (Part 2/5)

"Honestly, it is such a challenge to look at

the bigger picture these days, so I cone my focus

down to all the beautiful pauses in my day."

DARREN MARKLAND @drdagly on X

(with grateful permission)

It snowed the other day. As those first flakes fell, I felt the tiniest stirrings of being in the 'Christmas mood'. I know, I know, it's a little early. I even found myself humming notes from an old familiar carol—quietly under my breath so as not to get the resident Grinch grumbling that it's far too early for Christmas music. 

The snow has since melted, and we're back to landscapes in beige and sandy brown. Still, with the nights drawing in, hints of long winter evenings and upcoming holidays take shape. It seems a perfect time for settling in a comfy chair with a little poetry—or a new post from a favourite writer—for company.  

Today's post is a bit of this and that from my week, along with an old post I wrote about L.M. Montgomery and how I became inspired to journal by reading her own published journals. I hope you'll find something worth your visit. Thank you for stopping by.

One. The frost missed these

What a thrill to discover that a few blossoms in the garden had escaped the frost. A tiny reprieve. I brought them in and set them by the kitchen window—my beautiful pause in a busy day.

Two. A gentle read

"Granddad said you only have to look at nature to know that there's a higher power.  . . .  He said every time you look at a sunset and feel an expansion in your chest, that's the Divine in you recognizing the Divine in nature." SANTA MONTEFIORE, Here and Now

This charming novel is set in a small English village. Dennis and Marigold, both in their late 60s, currently have their two adult daughters and Marigold's aged mother living with them. Marigold loves taking care of everyone, but she's getting worried that she's forgetting things, especially when she forgets to take supper out of the freezer yet again or loses track of where her car is parked while out shopping. Having lived in the village for years she should know...and remember...why can't she remember? Is it just age creeping up?

I found this a heart lovely story about a family coming to terms with the possibility that their beloved daughter, wife, mother is experiencing dementia. Even as Marigold learns to live in the present moment when her memories start disappearing, her own family discover things about themselves. She keeps reminding herself, "What's wrong with now?" when she finds herself trying to imagine her life in the future without the memories of who and what she loves. But for today, it's okay. And that's how she tries to live her life as much as she can.

It's perfect timing to read this story. For it begins on a snowy day. Soon you're immersed, not with falling snow, but with finding yourself caring for the people in this tale. It's not a knuckle-gripping tale, so you can relax into your easy chair and let the story unfold gently around you, maybe even as you watch the snow softly falling outside your window.

T

Three. Note to Miss Chicken Little

"We've got to live, no matter how

many skies have fallen."

D.H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley's Lover

Four. Lucy Maud and journaling

"I have just been reading over my first two volumes... The first volume seems—I think—to have been written by a rather shallow girl, whose sole aim was to "have a good time" . . . yet nothing could be falser to the reality.  . . .  Again, the second volume gives the impression of a morbid temperament, generally in the throes of nervousness and gloom. Yet this, too, is false. It arises from the fact that of late years I have made my journal the refuge of my sick spirit . . . Between these times I was quite tolerably happy, hopeful and interested in life.

Well, I begin my third volume. I am going to try to strike a better balance in it—to write out my happiness as well as my pain. And I mean to try, as far as in me lies, to paint my life and deeds—ay, and my thoughts—truthfully, no matter how unflattering such truth may be to me. No life document has any real value otherwise; the worst as well as the best must be written out—  . . . So, for good or evil, I begin this volume. I turn over its blank pages with a shrinking wonder. What will be written in them?"  ~ excerpted from her journal entry dated Friday, Feb. 11, 1910. See The Selected Journal of L.M. Montgomery, Volume II: 1910 - 1921.

I mentioned last week (post here) that this November marks Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery's 150th birthday. And in celebration I'm digging into my own archives to share with you things I've written over the years about her influence on my life.

Here is an excerpt from a post I wrote in July 2019 (it could do with a revamp, but it's where I was at the time as a writer, and I'm trying to get this finished on time). 😉

It's usually a bit of a thrill for me when I finish one journal and begin a crisp new volume. Such a moment happened this past week. The above notebook with the gold lettering and the pretty house and garden painting on its cover marks my 170th journal. 

I started journaling in the early 1980s when I was under the deep sway of influence from my beloved mentor from afar Lucy Maud Montgomery. When I learned that some of her own journals were being made available to the public, I eagerly sought them out. At the time, the library had only Volumes I and II; I had to wait some years for the rest to be published. I loved reading her journals, and soon I began to think, if Lucy Maud had been such a committed journal keeper, then maybe I could be one too. I've been pretty much dedicated to writing my own journals ever since.

My ever increasing collection (which is housed in file boxes in the closet) is a motley collection of sizes, shapes, and designs. Into these notebooks, I poured out all sorts of things on my mind. And, for some reason, the weather seemed necessary to mark my journey in some way—was it winter, summer, rainy, hot, dry, gloomy? Weather, we know, can affect our moods, and I'd decided a long time that I would try as much as possible not to live 'under the weather' but to create my own sunshine in my own way. Over time I'd come to appreciate every season in its every mood, whether clement (pleasantly dry and mild) or inclement (severely harsh weather that is wet and cold).

My journals were, and continue to be a bit of diary - said weather reports included. They are also a bit of venting, although I try not to vent too much in my journals, I don't want a paper copy of, er, my 'insane' moments. Venting is part of being honest with ourselves even if we are insane for the moment.

I do write about what I read in books or hear from people I follow online, noting many a quotation for future reference and inspiration. I also jot out lines from the Bible that offer a life boat of comfort and encouragement in difficult or stressful seasons. Not to mention bits of poetry and quotes that strike my fancy and thrill my soul for their beauty. As well, I note those aha! moments when I see something that has changed how I view myself or the world around me. Writing it out helps me to clarify what I'm thinking about, what I agree or disagree with, and what I really desire underneath all the fluffy superficial surfaces.

Journals, for me, are places where I turn to when I can't say what's in my heart to anyone else. There are some things we all carry that are too deep or personal, too scary, to share. Ofttimes we don't have the language or words to share it, even if we wanted to. So I make stabs at it in my journals. With hopes that those poured out bits of prayers and yearnings make sense to the God who, we are told, cares about the tiniest details of our lives and longs for us to share them with Him.

Then there are those multitude of moments and experiences that I don't ever want to forget. The ALIVE moments that make a day perfect in the end, even though it was less so overall. You know those glorious moments, when your heart zings with joy as you stand and watch a rainbow form after a summer shower. As you sit in the garden where the air is sweet with perfume and the birds chatter companionably at the feeders and our neighbourly Orange Kitty wanders in for a friendly visit or a quiet snooze in the garden. Where you are just glad, glad, glad to be alive. I love finding these entries when rereading my old volumes.

On that note, I'm wishing you days that are alive with beauty and grace. And with beautiful pauses that continue to make life worth getting up for.

❦

Heart hugs,

Brenda

Photo credits:

(Top) Image by Albertfotofilms from Pixabay

(Flowers) Image by Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Book Cover) Image from Amazon.ca

(Cup in Window) Image by Israelbest from Pixabay

(Journals) Image by Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

Autumn Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays