shepherd’s purse

Flowers For My Birthday

As I noted yesterday.  It was my birthday a few days ago.  I’m now in the Post-Birthday Slump. Sigh.  Another year older and no closer to ruling Midgard.  The human female’s nasty acetone threat was hurtful too.  I am in desperate need of cheering up.

And since a happy Sigyn never fails to make me smile, we are doing what my beloved likes best, walking and looking for flowers.  No place fancy, just around the block between chilly showers.  It’s not too early for winter annuals.

See?  There’s the smile I needed!  Sherardia is an old friend.


And the burr clover is in bloom too.  What fun!


Of course, it’ll be more fun when it gets around to making burrs.  Watching the human female pick them out of her shoelaces and socks is one of my favorite spring traditions.

Sigyn has found one she really likes.  It’s called “cowboy satchel”—or something like that.


Tiny, delicate white flowers, heart-shaped fruit, sturdy enough to climb—What’s not to love?

From her high perch, she has a good, close-up look at the fuzzy purple henbit blossoms.


I will admit to liking this one as well.  Purple is a most fitting color for royalty, they say.


As well, the flowers look like little sock puppets, all proclaiming, “Hail, Loki!  Ruler-to-be of all Midgard!”

And, since I have magic at my disposal, I can actually make them do it.

What have you found now, my love?


“It’s a dandelion!  You can make wishes on them!”

Really?  How quaint!  And what are you going to wish for?

“That you have a wonderful year ahead!”

I tell you, mortals, this woman is too good for me.

>|: [


Going Out With a Splash (Of Glaze)

Today is our last day to visit.  The humans, wanting to do something “fun” and “different” today have settled on the last thing I would ever have chosen.


Really?!  We’re supposed to mess around with mud and clay and paint and messy things like that.  I don’t think so.   I don’t “do” messes.  Unless, of course, they’re of my making.

So here we are, at the paint-your-own shop.  We may never get inside, because Sigyn has discovered that there are some “yummy, fluffy, huggable” red-flowered bushes outside the establishment.


Huggable, Sigyn?  Look at those thorns!

We have finally gone inside.  We are surrounded by plain white shapes and bottles and bottles and bottles of colors.  Sinks, brushes, aprons, pattern books.  Suspiciously cheery staff.  It’s all very jolly.

I don’t do jolly, either.

I get it now.  Apparently one picks out a blank item, slathers on an underglaze, then paints it with the supplied brushes and colors.  One then abandons it to the careful ministrations of the staff and picks it up later, all shiny and disappointing.

The human female’s mother has selected a dainty little trinket box and embellished it with some improbably tinted peacock feathers.

unfired box

The human female, plant nerd and pathological overachiever that she is, has come up with something far too ambitious and detailed.  She says she wants to put a whole bunch of spring flowers on a simple tile.  (Blank tiles are cheap.  The human female is cheap.)

Well, it looks like she’s managed to dribble on something vaguely plant-y.   It has taken her ALL afternoon.

painted tile

She swears it’s going to come out shiny and bright in the end, but it sure looks dull and washed out now.


Well, it’s done.  Sigyn is in raptures.  I think it’s still  fiddly and ridiculous.


But I’ll give the human female this–it is plenty shiny.

>|: [