There is a saying among friends, "Don't be a stranger."
What began as a brief hiatus, morphed into an impasse;
an impasse that bred neglect.
Regretfully, I became a stranger.
The cats are unchanged. Noll sits under his purple plum tree musing, as often as he is allowed. A few days ago, as I paused to photograph the flowering kaga plum, Noll climbed the old apple tree. (I wished I could have captured that look of utter glee on his face.) Tiggy still takes little catnaps in the catnip and comes running when I say the words "cookie time." Uncle Keaks and Luigi, eat, and sleep at their leisure, and play a slow version of cat-tag only they understand.
I meant to write, I meant to visit. I meant to do a number of things. Instead, while waiting for winter's discontent to end and April's rains to pass, I took up watercoloring to brighten my slough. A new diversion. Much like Noll's Nip once was. I have found much joy writing Noll's Nip, traveling the blogosphere with all of you.
It is now May, the small joys lurking in the yard, are like crumbs guiding me back -a patch of tulips looking like scoops of sherbert, the first migrating humingbird, an evening rainbow, the sound of the starling hatchlings, their cheeps echoing down the chimney- guiding me back to what, I do not know.
As of now, I believe, there is no more to tell. Have I finally succumbed to this melee inside of me? Am I now, finally, as finicky as my cats; and as fickle as the weather. Perhaps I will change my mind tomorrow. Perhaps not.
