Summer has arrived in Berkeley. . . the fog has dissipated, skirts and browned skin are so very welcome. . .

and along with the soft breeze there are new plans and whispered ideas;

i’m heading eastward in a month and cannot wait to be in the garden and by the Atlantic. The smells of jasmine and rosemary will remain in my memory and I’ll most likely be jaunting back here sooner rather than later, but projects and thoughts are wrapping me up and bundling me home for awhile. Travel plans for the summer are full of wedding celebrations and visits with kissable babies and friends, and relationships that are intriguing enough to explore further even if it means a few plane journeys to various locations. . .

life is meant for exploring and adventuring and my mantra that I recite with the flip flop of my sandals is “i let life flow through me with ease”. . .

I stumbled upon Glass Petal Smoke and have fallen in love with the stroking and fluffing of all my senses: she writes “We daydream in scents; those that have passed, those still with us and those that are yet to be” and I get weak in the knees. . .

I’m sewing and wandering. . . reading and napping. . . working at the computer (not so romantic) and catching up with emails, phone correspondence and actual mail. . .

this weekend promises a birthday spent at the crashing ocean- and the most decadent of raw cake and ice cream. . . and some surprises have been alluded to. . .

from last night, dear Rosamund (the 70 year old woman who reminds me so much of my grandmother, and who I will most definitely be visiting and rocking the hours away with on her Alabama porch off the grid and in a straw bale house with organic gardens and a creek) was Devoted and I was Innocent. . . and we savoured the warmth of the Gourmet Ghetto. . . then walked back up the hills chatting and smelling wild roses.

happy thursday. . .Eron Johnson

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