Dear Sam - you thank us for our attention, and I in turn thank you for yours! This is beautiful, attentive poetry of water, a pathway to understanding, and maybe also to peace. Listened to with gratitude.
“And then I start to draw, drop by drop, catching water in tiny circles, in a net of lines, each one a single drop, a moment gathered, stilled and set down.” So beautiful. Thank you for doing these.
I have just listened to Brimming Moments while eating my breakfast and after collecting three hens’ eggs. One a deep brown, another a light blue, the third a creamy off white. They were warm in my hand. I look out on my garden paddock here in Wensleydale North Yorkshire. A light rain has just fallen and the growing grass is Iridescent. I have no loch to wonder upon but your recording took me to Orkney. Thank you.
Sublime. Beauiful writing. Shining with light and life! Time is a great mystery, but no greater than that of our hearts which hold Time, like a fragile warm egg in windswept space, painting these canvases throughout our lives.. I can't comprehend it.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the need for pause, to settle, to linger, and your work so beautifully reflects that, the need to wait, to allow paint to dry, ideas to come, to notice. To continue, to accumulate layers, consider the moment as it melts away.
Sam, I'm just reading The Clearing. This post reminds me of 'the subtle ether' - how to describe it, examine it, understand it. A wonderful and beautiful book. Thank you.
I very much enjoyed this amalgamation of words and sights today, Samantha. A sense of Spring’s fresh arrival leapt from speaker and page. A total delight.
Yes, when your hens become older ladies they are slow to lay after their winter break. My old Light Sussex has just started to deliver an occasional egg while my Copper Blacks are going to it with vigour. I purchased two Cheshire Blues (pure white hens that lay beautiful blue eggs) just after my brother died in late November and they started laying immediately. I think my brother must have been urging them on from somewhere above. I think of him when I am collecting their eggs. Happy memories.
Your gathering of words evoked a very real sense and plasticity of the water and by doing so helped me notice past moments of shared experience. Perhaps ‘now’ moves in a series of unseeable and unknowable stops as the flight of an arrow does. By noticing maybe we catch a stop that we can return to. A ‘live’ stop that can be held as a physical sensorial memory, rather as an internal curation of noticed nows. This is a new way of thinking for me. A noticing of an inner gallery of ‘nows’ to draw upon.
Dear Sam - you thank us for our attention, and I in turn thank you for yours! This is beautiful, attentive poetry of water, a pathway to understanding, and maybe also to peace. Listened to with gratitude.
“And then I start to draw, drop by drop, catching water in tiny circles, in a net of lines, each one a single drop, a moment gathered, stilled and set down.” So beautiful. Thank you for doing these.
Dear Samantha
I have just listened to Brimming Moments while eating my breakfast and after collecting three hens’ eggs. One a deep brown, another a light blue, the third a creamy off white. They were warm in my hand. I look out on my garden paddock here in Wensleydale North Yorkshire. A light rain has just fallen and the growing grass is Iridescent. I have no loch to wonder upon but your recording took me to Orkney. Thank you.
Doug
Sublime. Beauiful writing. Shining with light and life! Time is a great mystery, but no greater than that of our hearts which hold Time, like a fragile warm egg in windswept space, painting these canvases throughout our lives.. I can't comprehend it.
Thanks so much for this lovely start to the day.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the need for pause, to settle, to linger, and your work so beautifully reflects that, the need to wait, to allow paint to dry, ideas to come, to notice. To continue, to accumulate layers, consider the moment as it melts away.
I love the imagery of a landscape being enfolded in a raindrop. Your words are so beautiful.
Sam, I'm just reading The Clearing. This post reminds me of 'the subtle ether' - how to describe it, examine it, understand it. A wonderful and beautiful book. Thank you.
Such beautiful writing and reminders. Thank you Sam.
I very much enjoyed this amalgamation of words and sights today, Samantha. A sense of Spring’s fresh arrival leapt from speaker and page. A total delight.
Thank you for this Samantha.
Thank YOU Samantha for these quiet moments, bringing us all inward; quieting, attending.
Yes, when your hens become older ladies they are slow to lay after their winter break. My old Light Sussex has just started to deliver an occasional egg while my Copper Blacks are going to it with vigour. I purchased two Cheshire Blues (pure white hens that lay beautiful blue eggs) just after my brother died in late November and they started laying immediately. I think my brother must have been urging them on from somewhere above. I think of him when I am collecting their eggs. Happy memories.
Hi Samantha
Your gathering of words evoked a very real sense and plasticity of the water and by doing so helped me notice past moments of shared experience. Perhaps ‘now’ moves in a series of unseeable and unknowable stops as the flight of an arrow does. By noticing maybe we catch a stop that we can return to. A ‘live’ stop that can be held as a physical sensorial memory, rather as an internal curation of noticed nows. This is a new way of thinking for me. A noticing of an inner gallery of ‘nows’ to draw upon.
Thank you so much for this Samantha.
Ohh another author, thank you.
Yes downsizing the library is tricky, but also quite liberating, and definitely illuminating.
I have set myself the task of a bay (7 shelves) a week. I think the done the easy ones first!
But when I have half left it will make touch choices of who comes with me easier I hope.
Luckily once I have decided my husband is doing the liberating side, so I don’t start retrieving!