In the garden.
This is the place where all magic happens. In the green spaces, in the forests, in the abandoned plots, in the gardens...
Night and Day
By Robert Louis Stevenson
When the golden day is done, through the closing portal, Children and Garden, flower and sun, vanish all things mortal.
As the blinding shadows fall, as the rays diminish, under evening's cloak, they all, roll away and vanish.
Garden darkened, daisy shut, Child in bed, they slumber - glow-worm in the highway rut, mice among the lumber.
In the darkness houses shine, parents move with candles; till on all, the night divine, turns the bedroom handles.
Till at last the day begins, in the east a-breaking, in the hedges and the whins, sleeping birds a-waking.
In the darkness shapes of things, houses, tress, and hedges, clearer grow; and sparrow's wings, beat on window ledges.
These shall wake the yawning maid; she the door shall open — finding dew on garden glade, and the morning broken.
There my garden grows again, green and rosy painted, as at eve behind the pane, from my eyes it fainted.
Just as it was shut away, toy-like, in the even, here I see it glow with day, under glowing heaven.
Every path and every plot, every bush of roses, every blue forget-me-not, where the dew reposes,
Romy with her crown of pomegranate leaves, by Fig and Me.
'Up!' they cry 'the day is come, on the smiling valleys; we have beat the morning drum; playmate join your allies!'.
Miss Romy is ready to fly home. Over mountains and valleys she will fly, over meadows and highways, gardens and public libraries. She will arrive to open hearted and welcoming hands. Every time I send dolls to this home my heart swells a little, knowing just how much they love them. Feels so darn good to make them happy. As usual, we have kept a few surprises for them, to make them giggle when Romy arrives.
She is the first doll whose photoshoot happened in what is to be our new dwelling. With magical light and magical gardens. My hands have already been quite impressed and the land is speaking to me ever so softly.
I feel the urge to create hard-working things, practical things, lovely things. Things for my family to use, to wear, to eat, to rejoice at. Dolls are all still coming to me very strongly, but for the next little bit do not be one iota surprised to see perhaps some frilly underskirts, a simple curtain, a welcoming mat, gracing the pages of this blog.
This poem by Ralph Louis Stevenson was the first thing I read this morning in my new home. A lovely old edition, illustrated by none other than Tasha Tudor and a very special gift to me from one of my favourite doll mothers in the world. I shall pepper this blog as well with a poem or two from this book, it tugs at my heart strings so much.
Hope you all have the most splendid week, full of energy, ideas, plans and determination to make them happen. Love to you all, Fabs.
