Friday Ramble - Eight Years On

In the wee hours of Sunday past, time danced backward an hour in the little blue house in the village, and Daylight Saving Time waved goodbye until next year. This week also marked eight straight years of blogging at Beyond the Fields We Know - eight years of logging on here in the morning, posting mediocre (or downright awful) photos and muttering along for a few paragraphs. It's an astonishing state of affairs, and the idea boggles the mind.  After all this time, I still can't quite come to terms with my audacity in setting this e-journal up in the first place, let alone doing the blogging thing faithfully for eight years in a row.

This is a diary of sorts, and these are my morning pages or artist's pages, so they will probably remain pretty much as they are.  There will be a scant handful of font and banner tinkerings in the coming year, and that is about all. I don't foresee myself making any significant changes to this little corner of the blogging planet, and I expect life will simply go merrily on as it has been doing so far.

We will continue to meander along at our own pace, watching morning fogs enfold the village and oak leaves raining dew like honey in the park, tattered birches swaying against the sky, bright moons and night skies alight with winter stars, old Helios going down like a great ball of fire over Dalhousie Lake at the trailing edge of the year. Health stuff notwithstanding, it's grand to be here and all wrapped up in what I like to call simply, "the Great Round".  Every morning, the small adventures of our journeying will continue to make their way here and get spilled out on the computer screen some time around sunrise.  The words that came to mind as we all pottered along in the fog a few days ago were those of Mary Oliver, extracted from one of my favorite poems ever.

The years to come—this is a promise—
will grant you ample time

to try the difficult steps in the empire of thought
where you seek for the shining proofs you think you must have.

But nothing you ever understand will be sweeter, or more binding,
than this deep affinity between your eyes and the world.

Mary Oliver, Excerpt from Terns

Thank you for journeying along here with me this year. You are more precious and wonderful than you can ever know.