Dear DLD, Yeah, so I’m going to do it: “I had this weird dream”. A stressful dream anchored in S.’s […]
Dear HXH. Playing with form again. Perhaps not the most productive way for me to work these days, but an […]
Dear Di, I want a knight just like the one in your photo. I would put him in the corner […]
No such thing as a new beginning, but perhaps a turning, a point on the spiral to take in the […]
The world is never, really quiet. There are waves in the darkness that beat a rhythm through our very cells.
An electric light at dawn, anticipating the lengthening night.
This little window of autumnal sunrises before dark creeps over my mornings.
and giving in… It has been a summer of quiet. Avoiding the noise. Relinquishing the pressure of “content”, in terms […]
The last morning of a summer
of unexpected ease.
An arch of light on the horizon.
Summer is leaving the lake now. There is a quieting all along the trail.
Footfall and breath, and an absence of birdsong.
The sky was still dark at 4.45 when I woke to meditate. White by the time we hit the trail. These last mornings running in the half-light before the cows are taken in, and all the geese have flown south, I breathe it all in.
Now, while the world is wet and the fallen pine needles still green.
Not dreaming, but stepping on egg shells this morning.
It's been a week since I heard the cuckoo, though the songbirds are still here, getting on with the effort of living before they leave us to another season of darkness and crows.
Where the trees stop and give way to the plowed fields, the stench of manure is a slap to the senses. This is what life tastes like. Want it or not.
February 19th, 2018 The lamps along the trail were out this morning, and the light from the torch strapped onto […]
February 10th, 2018 Last week an artist I know via internet, quoted her husband: “You don’t have to justify your […]
February 10th, 2018 I have nothing to add. No commentary. I had never seen this before. I hope I’m in […]
I do not need to be co-creater in order to be an active participant in an artwork. I do not believe for a moment that the act of listening is passive. I believe more of us would be better at it if it were.