six senses saturday

welcome to christmas at gypsy hill

see

• lady bird
• a lifetime of christmases as i open each box of the vintage ornaments.

hear

• swooshing through piles of raked leaves.
• the tiny bells on the handmade wreath when the front door opens.

taste

• thank you, turkey, for thanksgiving dinner, leftovers for days, and four quarts of medicinal bone broth.
• i ate a mashed potato sandwich on friday (leftover potatoes on a squishy roll).  and it was amazing.

touch

• putting things away.
• giving things away.
• throwing things away.

smell

• december on my skin, as the boughs of pine and spruce and juniper are cut and tied together.

know

• gratitude runs deeper than a list when you value the dark, the light, the mistakes, the triumphs, the loss, and the love.
• translating the qualities of presence for an upcoming class i'm teaching, noticing the nuances of what it means to be attuned to now.

six senses saturday

see

• this amazing green velvet.  we recovered the mid-century dining room chairs.

hear

• i turned down a public event with ken this weekend, saying, "i'm kind of done with people."  he laughed and said that sounded like the antidote to "up with people".  since then we've been rewriting with "up with people" songs with a soft, cozy, quiet, introvert's perspective. 

taste

• i realize that i need to taste something new and amazing each week if i'm going to be keeping up with this series.  honestly, there is nothing more sad than a week with no memorable tastes.

smell

• burning leaves.
• peeled grapefruit.

touch

• my old dog luca is stuck to me like glue lately.  he always wants to be touching me.  i don't want to think about what this means, but i'm happy to place my hand on his curly mess of dog body any old time.

know

• this morning's new moon in scorpio has me all kinds of mystic.  i can't help but see synchronicity and connection in the tiniest of things.
• i had an epic dream earlier this week that was poetic and scary and beautiful and wonky and telling.

six senses saturday

see

• a wee brown bat has roosted in the tiny space between the storm glass and the screen of our bedroom window.  
• on my friday morning commute a giant amber moon set in the direction of my destination while a fluorescent pink sun rose over my home behind me.
• autumn leaves.  evidence that this earth, this life, always offers exquisite respites from suffering.

hear

• having a cars moment, candy-o on repeat over here.

taste

• roasted brussels spouts
• honeycrisp apples
• whisky

smell

• backyard fire
• smoke of just-extinguished candles
• that heater-just-came-on-for-the-first-time smell

touch

• cushy new sweater
• the prick of the needles during topiary shaping

know

• the bat is a visitor (not sure who)
• deep sense of settling down, time to rest, inward-bound

six senses saturday is a revival of five senses friday, a regular way to note how my senses were delighted and challenged during the week with the addition of intuition.