until the heat heats up

this is my favorite time. inspired by little woolen legs running in the garden - running everywhere - to love thy neighbor, to leave treasures - to find them, to be open to their being out in the open - waiting to be discovered, and regifted.

such a struggle to hold off on the doing till stage is set. for one who tends to think it best to work it till it's ready, woodshedding this time - all the part & parcel stillness - tended toward the painful... the meditative. and this cyclist does not know how to sit still. did not know. had to learn. rounder now, hope pieces that come- if and when- will be richer for this patience. whether in smarts or cynicism, we shall see.

digging in the dirt has commenced - betwixt sunbreaks and gropple. digging through text with intention- my grandmother's narrations; stanzas memorized with mom that summer she decided to make housework memorable; romantic sunbleached undergrad assignments. we have a week left of march, then march into a month of poetry - a month of responding to it. having lost two full seasons of film to my sweet old olympus, there's no choice but to hit the drawing board hard for may magic. bam.

forgive me mother, for i have spinned

it's been six months since my last confession.
measuring abundance in transects & babysitting offers, species counts, and seashells with pinholes perfect for dangling- spring stars for the studio.
accepting.
eagle's there when the uphill gets too steep; an osprey in the soft focus when for sure the sharper gifts me my first rufus.
timing.
time to get dirt under the nails again, and paint where it shouldn't be.
everywhere.
in my dreams.
time.

woodshedding

- or, more  appropriately wood piling - as autumn spins madly on, and every single day is a crap shoot weatherwise. the plan to not create this season might be one of my greatest challenges, but it's imperative that the golden glow between raindrops shine on this body somewhere where the ground underfoot gives a bit. the layers of life history currently underfoot are no less organic, but guilt-filled as i intend to and fail to return this 10x10 space from beeswax and branches, glass shards and sawdust, and holy salmon boneyard to tasteful gathering space. shifting things as things shift, making room for pieces not ready to be adopted, making room for the new macho... reciprocating goodness, cordlessness, possibility, I struggle to settle the dust. dream of bringing out the white sheets at night again and grandma's quilt, of reclaiming that melting & fusing place for baking bread, of finding a place for the nest Robin sent two months ago.


woodshedding is good, for i've learned there is still much to learn of the business of arting. once a trail's found me, a scale's next up in the queue. weighing audience and intention, how to reach who- when that's my job and when it is not. point blank he said 'triple your prices'. when accessibility's where i live this line throws me off  balance. still, stretching one to experience what's for sale might broaden access at the end of the blustery day.

something's shifted

before the legislature adjourned on wednesday, senate bill 5834 passed on the senate floor 33-8, and a bipartisan vote of 62-34 in the house makes it stick.

a bit like being in love

moving earth on my knees, by hand, pondering what will become of each life as seasons come and go- the colors, the way the light will dance upon frost upon what's left behind. who will take turns at work and at rest? what gifts will be left to the senses? it's a mix of mysteries to be revealed from a foundation laid down with intention...

compensation is subsidy, not sustainability

paul baier- vp of sustainability consulting at groom energy and senior contributor at greenbiz.com has me a little hot under the greenwashed collar with his article on whole foods: the greenest grocery store in the world.

won't you be mine?

o irrevocable river of things: