over the hill.

I live in a little glen that is nestled between three knolls where quail and deer and squirrels alike gather in the brambles for friendly conversations and oak dryads lean down only when their boughs are heavy with secrets. there is but one street, merely a lane, cracked and broken with years of age that twists into our little sanctuary of trees. outside of my little glen is a town of only 30,000 people with half as many visitors to tour our wineries. we are a community and simple living is our way of life. our neighbors are old friends, and I can judge the days and times by the snippets of our neighbor's routine :: like when our neighbor's truck leaves for work in the mornings or I know 'tis saturday if my neighbors are cleaning their cars. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else in the world nor should I ever want to.   

but then sometimes, I feel like nothing from the outer world can ever touch our little glen. seasons barely make their appearances and most first-time callers become lost before ever reaching our doorstep. isolation makes my heart swell with loneliness. I open the window, for once ignoring the cold, as I dream what wonders lie outside our quiet hollow. my heart beats longingly as it attempts to catch the solemn notes from the thundering ocean - that I like to imagine lies over the hill and not miles away.      

but this is where I call home. and home shall forever be my heart remains...

get over your hill and see what you can find there with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair...

{mumford and sons}

where does your heart call home, deary? 

xoxo, 

the girl in her garden glen. 

postscript :: how do you like the new design? dear miss bethany of grace of my redeemer kindly {and patiently} re-designed it for me.