je ne sais pas

via pinterest

So I want to write (so very badly).... but have not written.

I suppose I should say hello (or maybe even reintroduce myself? hey it's me, the author of this here blog! You say, Who?) since it's been like THREE MONTHS since this place has had a pulse.

I am sorry to say that this silence was not because I...
 a) ... went on a mission to Africa
 b) ... moved across the country
 c) ... am expecting a baby (lord no.)
Or anything that seems to be trending at the mo.

I don't like writing posts when I don't have anything new to say, and I definitely do not like reading them here or anywhere (why yes, I am That Reader who skips extensive descriptions, and/or poor poetry).
 The fact is, I told myself I wouldn't write until I had something to write about. The problem with that is that then I fell out of the habit of finding ways to write about the smaller things while I waited for... I don't know, the Second Coming?
 And when you stop writing about the little things (even the scribbles no one else will ever see), you stop writing, period.
 That's what happened to me, except I've gone even further and neglected my photography, music, even riding (the shame).
And I am miserable.

I've discovered that not only is this blog an outlet where I can write when I'm having troubles with my stories, it also makes sure I keep up my photography, and go looking for new things. In short, it gives me me-time. And trust me, if you stop making time for yourself to nurture your talents, grow in the Word, or giving yourself moments where your only thoughts are how dang pretty your horse is, you are going to go insane.

I have hopes for this blog, hopes that I can make it more organized and more involved in my novel writing process, and still keep up the small things (berry-picking & canning season is coming!).

So this is me coming back. This is me making making time in-between the teething child and over-grown gardens; mentally impaired ducks and rogue ponies.

I am Hazel, hear me roar.
*pathetic rawr*

today the ink flows smoothly

via the above wonderful jenny

it's noon and i am still in my nightclothes
 BUT I HAVE WRITTEN SO MANY GOOD THINGS!
rarely do i feel this good about a scene
 ALLOW ME TO DANCE LIKE A HEN WITH HOT FEET
another good visual, no?
 I AM ON FIRE
(oh, you don't think it was all that great? clearly you've never seen a chicken run)

People died, buildings burned...
 Despair sits contentedly on her throne.
 and there are tears in the snow.
And I have a ridiculous, evil smile on my face because everyone performed beautifully.

 To all my heartbroken characters: Your pain is not and will never be for nothing. Though I cannot promise Happily Ever Afters to all of you, I can promise for most, lives worth living. Lives envied by readers for their vividness and their adventure.
 It is important to remember that without pain we become jaded to the light of things that truly matter.

make way for ducklings

Pongo, Biscuit, & Beaker

As a family, we rarely, if ever, impulse-buy. We budget and save, and plan for months when it comes to large-ish purchases. BUt, it appears that planning & so forth go out the window when ducks go on sale at the feed store.
 Boom - we have ducks. Aren't they darling?? and every time they squeak their little tails wiggle :}
 The whole thing wasn't entirely unthought out, though. We have an order of chicks coming in this week to replace the mean old birds I can't wait to see go. (You have to replace layers about every two years. We get chicks every year so we're never without eggs). We'll put the chicks and the ducklings in the same brooder box and they can grow up together and be pals & whatnot.
 In the meantime, it's awfully fun to let them run round the house when "responsible" people have left for the day ;}

in-between

winter fades

spring is late

and the grass is still brown,

 d e a d.

i am nineteen

not a teen

not a woman

yet the roles i am given to play

are heavy, weighted with maturity

that i do not see carried by others like me (not like me)

they carry textbooks, schedules, futures

i follow tasks set down before time, holding impossible dreams

monotony, sacrifice, slow reward

a time to wait

winter fades

spring is late

and i am in-between. 

melancholia

When I say that I love what is melancholy, people usually look at me strange. Perhaps I'm not using the word in it's proper or more common context (sadness, depression), but to me, melancholy is so much more.

 It's a song tinged with sorrow
   a sparrow in the cold, grey snow
a gentle rain that remembers when the world was young,
  before the apple and the snake.

The thunder in a horse's feet
  a flower in the twilight
the sense of regret in a colorless photograph, the faces without names

Is it our own mortality that can make these things so tragically beautiful, or is it a glimpse of longing for a world we were made for but have never known?

inspired by Hannah's post, here