Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
Perhaps not quite the ‘pod’ that Emily had in mind when she wrote those lines but nevertheless . . .
Tag Archives: watercolour pencil
‘Life is simple. Just add water.’ Anon.
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
Ahhhh. If only that were true . . .
‘Geologists have a saying—rocks remember.’ Neil Armstrong.
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
I wonder if that’s true? I hope so.
I’m hoping that if I stare at these rocks long enough they will remember (and remind me) what it is I’ve forgotten . . .
‘Time’s Fun When You’re Havin’ Flies’ – Kermit The Frog.
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
My garden is home to a number of frogs. I know this because, although I don’t actually see them very often, I hear them all the time . . . (although, maybe not quite so much lately. This summer has been so hot perhaps they have been, literally, keeping their heads down and staying where it’s dark and cool . . . )
But the temperature dropped slightly over the weekend and we even had a bit of rain . . .
(. . . by the way, commiserations to all those of you who have recently had ‘more than a bit’ of rain. A nice cleansing shower is one thing, but no-one needs the biblical deluges some places received . . . )
Anyway . . . back to the frogs. The front door was open to catch the fresh breeze and the girls and I were enjoying a quiet moment. I was reading (and enjoying the sound of the rain pattering softly outside) and the girls were dozing in their favourite doggie spots. Suddenly, and totally unexpectedly, our peace was shattered by an almighty bellow which brought us all immediately to our feet. (Poor Molly, woke up with such a fright she actually rolled off the sofa!) It took me several minutes to realise (and several more minutes to calm the dogs down) that the sound was actually coming from a frog . . . and that frog was right outside my front door . . .
Although initially a bit wary about confronting any creature that could make a sound like that, I ‘manned up’ and went outside to look. I was astonished (gobsmacked!) to find that the loudest frog I had ever heard also turned out to be one of the teeniest, tiniest, itty-bittiest creatures I have ever seen—a tiny green speck of a thing, perched contentedly on my front porch and happily telling everyone who would listen (like the whole neighbourhood) how much he was enjoying the rain.
I admit it. I did spend some time ferreting around in the bushes close by searching for his godzilla-proportioned older brother (who was obviously also a practising ventriloquist) because . . . well . . . no way! I just could not get my head around that sound coming out of that frog . . .
But it did. It really did. And it kind of made my day . . .
‘What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.’ Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Stories from my Sketchbook . . . .
Last weekend I thought it about time I got out into the garden and did a little ‘maintenance’ (other than just the usual mowing of the lawns and sweeping up of the debris of the last storm kind of maintenance) . . .
It wasn’t long before I had begun to wish I had just been content to do the sweeping. It seems my back garden is a virtual cornucopia of ‘plants whose virtues have not yet been discovered’ . . .
Methinks I might perhaps be out there ‘maintaining’ again next weekend.
Sigh.
Sally says . . . eat, sleep, work, read, play, draw, bark . . . 