The Threshold of Summer

May the Liminal Dieties bless us all.

Drifting

Steam rising from a hot street after a rain, or restless souls drifting in silence?

There are certain days when one might be convinced it's both.

Milk Moon

A glass of milk, like a little moon in the kitchen to match the one in the sky.

This and Every Evening

When your hobby is trying to make art out of things that can't be seen, the results are going to be a little...unusual.

By the way, I finally came across the picture that inspired the name of this project/blog many years ago. I'd been looking for it for ages. It was a handbill advertising "phantasmagoria, this and every evening."

I still think it fits perfectly, whether I live in Victoria or not.

Dream Dogs

Every May, as the school year begins to wind down, a memory of a dream comes to me. I don't know why it remains after all this time; perhaps because I've never really understood it. The mind does love a mystery.

It was near the end of fifth grade and I was eleven years old. God, what a wretched year. The teacher was a snob. there were preppies everywhere and when you are the tallest girl in class (again!) there is no way to hide. It was the definition of awkward, and I was glad to see the back of it.

This is where the young adult novel usually begins, I think.

Anyway, it was May, it seems like a Wednesday. It was the day before the class skating party, which would not have been held at the rink on a crowded Friday, and it wasn't piano lesson day, which would have been a Thursday. What I'd been doing after coming home from school is unknown - probably drinking Tropicana orange juice and playing with my hamster. Or scrawling in my notebook and reading Nancy Drew. On my bedside table was a small radio, playing insipid pop, this I know for sure. I wasn't that keen on insipid pop, but I was nervous of FM because every time I flipped the dial, the stations were playing Pink Floyd. There's only so much prog rock an eleven year old can take.

I didn't normally take naps after school (or ever, for that matter) so the very fact I'd fallen asleep was unusual. But it was a mild evening, my window was open and there was a fresh spring breeze.The radio was probably playing something by Paul Davis, as KTSA was wont to do. It was about 6 PM. I slept.

Now, the neighborhood where we lived was an oval shape, crossing a number of undulating hills. It wasn't terribly big, but back then I hadn't been allowed to wander to the far edges, and the hill on the southernmost curve of the oval was too steep for a bike anyway. That sharp curve, looming high over the town, seemed a place of unfathomable mystery to me, and in my dream, I suddenly found myself standing there.

It was dark night, pitch black, as the full moon began to rise. I could feel something about to happen. Dogs were barking in the distance.

Out of the woods beyond the hill the dogs came bounding. First one  - an English sheepdog, if I remember correctly -  then more and more of all kinds, dobermans and St. Bernards and Afghan hounds and golden retrievers. They were all barking and baying as they came over the hill.

I knew - the way one does in dreams - that what I was seeing was a secret ritual, that the dogs had come to gather here under the moon. I knew the ritual occurred only at certain times, for reasons unknown and unknowable to any human. The weight and importance of this secret filled the dream, and I was amazed that I'd been able to witness it, even if I didn't understand.

I woke slowly as the sound of the neighborhood dogs barking merged with my dream. Through the window I could see the lavender twilight sky and the full moon above the ash trees. I knew it must have been the barking dogs that had inspired this mysterious dream, and I felt an uncharacteristic delight. It gave it the ring of truth.

The next day was the class skating party, and then the long memorial day weekend, and sometime during that weekend is when I emerged, imago-like, from my awkward phase of puberty at last.

Perhaps this is what the dream was about, albeit in an oblique way. The secrets and hidden rituals of adolescence. The awkward, plain girl who fell asleep that evening might have been a dog in schoolyard parlance, but perhaps the message was that dogs can be fascinating, mysterious creatures as well. Or something like that. Whatever the case, I will always treasure the dream.

And this is the point where the young adult novel usually ends.


Notes: 
1. I was correct about the day, and the phase of the moon. Am patting self on back, as this was an appallingly long time ago.
2. Despite the variety of dogs in the dream, I have only rendered one type in my drawing, This is  because I'm terrible at drawing dogs.

The Goddess Of Thorns

It's occurred to me to wonder - many times since I've been back here, in fact - f there is a goddess of this place.

If there is, I can only conclude that she must be a goddess of thorns, spines and stones.

Firewheels And Cat Claws

While I was out hunting for storm clouds this evening, I came across this clutch of firewheels hidden inside a cat's claw acacia.

They reminded me of treasure in old fairy tales, all wrapped up in thorns.

Witchgrass

Witchgrass blowing in the breeze. A sign of the summer to be.

In the Underwood

In the thicket near the bluff, among all the dead wood and cacti, these delicate blue flowers appeared.

Blue curls (Phacelia congesta)
Wildflower org

Spirit Of The Water

When it's been raining for a while, the sides of the road fill with water, like little flood-meadows.One morning after a particularly wet few days, I dreamt that I went to look at one of these puddles, and saw a golden koi rise to the surface.

I didn't know what it meant, but it felt lucky somehow. After all, what else could a golden koi mean?

The next day, I happened to be next to a murky pond. I didn't imagine there was any living thing there, but suddenly a golden koi rose to the surface, much like the dream.

It's not clear if that week was any luckier than usual, but I felt an uncommon peace surround me.

I suppose luck is in the eye of the beholder.

May Day

Fiery-colored agarita berries, seen on our Beltane walk this evening.