far away

A unique feature of this country is that its inhabitants haven't suffered in modern times the horrors of living in a war zone, where every night brings with it the fear of not waking up the next morning, or at the very least losing all that you've built in life -- family, home, work. Beautiful things too. Art. Gardens. As I write here about my intoxicating venture into gardening at Steffi's House, I am well aware that the luxury I enjoy today is something that a person cannot even imagine as being theirs in places like the Ukraine.

When I was putting up art work in my new home, I was very much aware of the source and story behind each piece. And it all fit, and the walls look good to me -- not too overwhelmed (like an over-planted garden!), but not too bare either. But I was missing something over the mantle. Or at least I felt that it would be fabulous if someday I would find a supplement to the one piece that is already there. A still life. 

In my spare moments (usually late into the night), I looked around on the internet to see if something pops out at me. And it did pop out -- paintings bythe Ukrainian  Miroslava Kuchura. I purchased one, wondering how the heck you mail a painting out of Kiev these days!

I texted with Mira today. I sent her a note of what I hope sounded like sympathy and encouragement. She wrote back -- I am currently painting in the mountains... We go on living, often sleepless, heading down to the shelters, never getting enough rest. 

If you cannot imagine conflict of that magnitude in your own life, then dive into the world of those who have to deal with bombs falling on their family homes every day -- it really does make your life, my life seem like one from another planet.

 

And here we are, in the thick of beautiful summer days. I suppose some would call it too hot. I dont see many people out and about in the neighborhood. Every building here has a front porch. Millie and I are always on ours, coming and going, and checking on plants and weather and birds and whatever else catches our interest. People have porch chairs, but they must be for decoration only. Maybe they're uncomfortable. No one ever sits in them. Sidewalks too tend to be empty on a hot day. The ones who do walk are people with dogs and parents with babies in strollers. Millie is learning to accept this as a fact of her new life: people and dogs will pass. They aren't coming to stuff her in a sack and send her down the river.  

(early morning walk: the sun  always throws lovely warm tones on my gardens then...) 

 

 

 

 

(breakfast) 

Before it really does get hot, or hotter, I take Millie to our local dog park. She is cautious once again, but at least she's accepting of the people there. The dogs? She's not sure she wants to run up to a perfectly strange large canine and strike up a conversation. She prefers to stay near me.

I'm mindful of the fact that she does get hot easily so we do one full loop... 

 

 

 

... then return home.

And she naps, and I water the plants out front, all the time scheming on how to get out to plant this evening. 

Well, maybe tomorrow.

A quiet night. A July night. A month of flowers and of peace, for the lucky few.

with so much love...