Ice, chocolates and the curlew's cry at dawn.

Early morning searching for something. On the beach, even at the water's edge, ice. Ravens. Curlew call and birds in flight. Seaweed stiffened and frosted with ice, crisp. The rising sun gathering up the dropped shadows of the night. The quarter moon fading to translucent with the coming of day. Water thickened by cold, rock pools with fragile ice lids.  Trying to find an idea, direction, for the Musicians Benevolent Card design, and mugs also. Found instead what might be the begining of a new book and the possibiliy of piracey.

Yesterday I was given the most exquisite box of choclates. In less than 24 hours I have managed to secure an invitation to the 'chocolate factory' in Leeds. (I wonder if in another 24 I could arrange to get Jonny Depp to meet me there?) The choclates are a work of art in themselves, both to look at and on the tongue. Just beautiful. Thanks Ann.

All day painting. Quiet, peaceful. Outside is still cold and now dark so have put coal on the fire.

 

 

 

Blue sky, short horses and how to make an old man very happy.

 

A beautiful blue sky day, so walked the dogs over the hills and far away and met the smallest horse. Sky filled once more with ravens.

 

Back home and it was time to fullfill a promise made long ago. Robin had brought with him all the ingredients. There was no escape. So I made him the ginger beer scones that he had been nagging for for months. Easy......

 

 

....and delicious.

Boats and paintings and woods and shoes and drowsy water rats.

 

Milford Haven seemed further away on the second day. Maybe it was the bin lorry, tractors, red traffic lights etc. Just as well I didn't read the sheet of paper that told me that I didn't have to be there until 10 am, so I managed to arrive early despite the best efforts of others.

 

And Milford was dressed in beautiful winter sunshine. On Thursday I had managed to retireve a few more paintings that were hanging in the port authorty offices. It seems that the Waterfront Gallery had 'forgotten' to mention that they had loaned work out. Luckily I had remembered what was missing. They now hang in The House of Golden Dreams.

Today, walked in a wood, slept too late, thought about wings, found a shoe that had been left by a princess in the garden.

Some time ago the cats wrote about another old shoe found inside the house, on the cats' blog. It is a haunting tale of a hobnail boot that site in my studio, never to leave the house. So, I now have a studio shoe and a garden shoe. The white one was Hannah's, kicked off on a tree climbing, sun filled summer day. To find out about the other, follow the trail of the shoe link.

Horses and birds and cats and children and dragons.

Walked this morning through that brief moment in time when the balance of moonshadow and sunshadow is equal, when the ground was iron hard, water was stone and the birds were waking a new day. Could see the towers and chimneys of Milford from the high hill top. Ravens  were late to take to the sky, but on coming home they filled the sky with their black wings shining gold in morning sun.

Broke the ice on the water trough for the horses and gave them all a few handfulls of  hay that smelled sweet like summer. The horses were warm and their breath like dragon smoke.

Time to head to Milford again, then St Marks in Haverfordwest. I have fed cats, dogs, horses, wild birds and hopefully later will feed imaginations and then home to feed the fire.

And part way through one of the sessions with children one put up his hand to ask, "miss, why do you have hay in your hair?"

Singing bowls, the setting moon and the beautiful sun.

Early morning moon set over silvered sea then off to Milford where the library was dressed to look like one of my books! The Seal Children.

We summoned dragons with the healing bowl that sang and made the whole library vibrate with its sound, read The Ice Bear and I am a Cat as well as The Snowleopard.

 

  

 

I also managed to recover another five paintings from the Waterfront Gallery. It seemed they had  forgotten about the ones that were hanging in the office of the harbour authority. Luckily I hadn't forgotten them. Will hang them in The House of Golden Dreams next week. All five are from The Barefoot Book of Classic Poems.

Drove home via the scenic route and then took the dogs and the healing bowl down the beach for a walk and listened to the bowl sing with the waves as the sun set fire to the sea.

Being wicked whilst waiting for paint to dry.

Described in the cook book as 'wicked', this is one of the finest examples of slow cooking I have ever managed. It takes 6 weeks and 20 minutes and is a collaboration of two books, Roast Figs Sugar Snow and Unwrapped, The Green and Balck Chocolate Cookbook, though in the case of the Green and Black book it is adapted. They use damsons and gin. I have used plums and vodka.

First you need to make the vodka plums so travel back in time to an earlier post.

Then you wait six weeks and get yourself a dinner invitation where someone (Ffion) says, "you can bring pudding if you feel so inclined". Not wishing to be flayed alive and waiting fo paint to dry I gathered ingredients.

 

So, gather up

100 g (3 1/2 oz) caster sugar

8 medium eggs

500g (18 oz) chocolate broken into pieces 

250 g ( 9oz ) unsulted butter

 about 200g ( 70z) plums that have been drinking

Put the oven on at 200 c or gas 6.

Then break the chocolate, being careful not to eat too much, into a bowl with butter and melt it by putting the bowl into a pan of hot water. While this melts take the eggs and sugar and whisk them until they look sort of pale creamy. Pull some plums out of the vodka, being very very careful not to have any contact between lips and vodka depending on the time of day and whether work needs to be done. When the chocolate is melted put the plums in and then mix the chocolate mixture with the eggs and sugar and put in a flattish buttered dish. 

Cook for about 12 mins, until firm but wobbley, the pudding, not you. If you have managed to avoid contact between lips and vodka then you should be firm but not wobbley.

Take it round to a friend's house and share it, with some cream, just incase there are not quite enough calories in it. 

When it comes out of the oven it smells like some kind of heaven.

Almost, not quite but nearly

Black and bay and dappled and gray and pink and blue too

From winter to spring, from night to day.

Woke early to see the moon caught in winter bone branches. Outside was all noise, loud sheep, a cockerel crowing, dog bark, fox answer and night birds settling to sleep in cup and hollowed earth. The balance of day and night was playing its morning game. The moon had cast a silver gown across the gentle sea and moonshadows smurred and smudged as day birds sang the sun to rise. Crisp earth frosted beneath feet crumbled to mud as the world moves from winter to spring. A symphony of birdsong wraps around the world.

The Bone Man

In the butchers I asked if they had bones. Daughter wants roast pork and applesauce and a dvd evening. No bones they said, the bone man came and took them. He comes every Thursday. The Bone Man. Every Thursday he comes to St Davids to gather the bones. What does he look like, The Bone Man and where does he live? Perhaps with Baba Yaga in her small house that runs on legs of chickens, with an avenue of firelit skulls that lead to the door. What does he wear, The Bone Man? Perhaps a twilight cloak of stars, dark. And what does he do with the bones, The Bone Man? 

People ask me where I get my inspiration. Today I would answer, "at the butchers".

 

 

Later, while I moved too slowly through the painting for All the Pretty Horses, the postman came.