Today was a day like many other days. A list was written. Some things on the list were achieved. Finishing the cover for Robin Hobb’s Blood of Dragons, catching a golden hare, thinking about and sketching asparagus to illustrate a point, cleaning the strange pool that had gathered at the base of the fridge, washing up. And signing books at Solva Mill so that they can be sent off. A big pile of cat books. Anna has been gathering cats at the mill, but Heddle seemed unconcerned. There are also rare copies of Can You See a Little Bear, the last of the hardback first edition, and about ten copies of Singing to the Sun written by Vivian French, also the last of their kind as it is now out of print. If you want to snaffle one then contact the mill through their website.
Other things remain untouched. Like doing battle with the troll that lives in the boy’s bedroom in order to make it habitable for a lady artist. Somehow I could not summon the courage to open the door. Tomorrow. It needs to be done as the house is in chaos and I have to fit three artists in to it.
Chasing a story, trying to stalk it, sneak up unseen. This is best done for me outside and it rained so heavily this morning that I never thought it would be possible. But it was. And what I found was that the heather is just perfect and I need to get up very early and go and walk around St Davids Head because there will also be harebells in the heather. And there is meadowsweet too. And perhaps I have caught the golden hare, but even now thoughts and ideas spin and change, like a hare running ahead of a hound.
And I have been listening to the most amazing cd, Ground of its Own by Sam Lee. Robin bought it for me on the strength of a review he read or heard because he thought I would like it, and I do. It is stunningly beautiful, both in the words and the sound and just so utterly perfect, especially the song, On Yonders Hill.