Get Along, Little Dogie

​"Get Along, Little Dogie" - acrylic on aquabord, 6" x 6".  Inquiries.  Available at the Olive Stack Gallery.

We've gone mad for cows.  

I realize this may be quite funny to those who see them daily, but we've been cow-deprived in our family.  My niece says, "they have the wisdom of the world in their eyes, but they can't tell anyone."  And so it is.

It was a local day.  In the gallery, in the studio, out of our our mud-laden boots and into lighter layers.  The lads shopped the town while I painted.  Treats appeared from folks who dropped in, including Olive's mum, who provided whisky-soaked chocolates and garden stones to be painted.  Ahhhh.  I am so grateful.

The time is growing short; the day of departure draws near.  My heart is happy for holidays, visiting family, continued adventure and daily joy of Irish living.  My heart is also heavy with goodbyes looming.  The soft pace of small-town living has lodged itself in my soul. I want to bring it home with me.

The time flies quickly now - wasn't it just Monday? Hurrying, scurrying to do everything we haven't yet done, to soak up as much enchantment as we can hold.

A call to the airline reveals we cannot take cows home with us.  Nor sheep nor goats nor mountains nor the sea.  Not castles nor abbeys nor quaint towns.  One of these cows had already packed her luggage.  I hate to let her down. :)

There was a funeral in town today.  A woman 96 years young.  The shops closed their doors as the hearse passed through.  It crept along slowly, attendants in black walking on foot beside it, accompanying her to the final resting place.

As we waited behind closed doors, conversation turned to the woman, her life, her death, her burial.  A few minutes of focus on the woman passing by.  A few moments of respect, hushed voices and reverence.

A gorgeous tradition, this pause.  I will hold the thought close.