My blog has moved

You will be automatically redirected to the new address.

If that does not occur, please visit;.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

When you open the door
(sweater pulled tight)
it's the sound that greets your senses:
red-shouldered blackbirds
(two thousand strong)
A mob that needs no encouragement to fill the air with a cacophony of song, no two birds holding the same key, no two birds singing the same note


From there, it is the breaking dawn and first heat of day playing on ear lobes
The slow ignition of sunlight on Cottonwoods and the chartreuse glow of Don Redwoods
The breeze low and brisk, the cattails humming a threshing tune
Your shoulders stretch and warm, pulling, releasing


Too late for blackberries
(shriveled and dry)
Too early for elder berries
(although I did try)
So I set into a rhythm of nourishment through knowledge
Examining the handiwork of beavers
(toothy-work? mouthy-work?)
And the clever nests of swallows


Soon the river bends, flows, snaps, flashes
Phoebes take advantage of solitary snags to sing their heart-song
(an ocean-sized soul in a two-pound package)
Egrets turn a wary eye
(knobby knees and delicate throats)
Canada Geese bumble and preen while the natives roll their eyes.
And I
I am one of the natives.
I've sunk my feet into these muddy banks
Trailed fingers through the algean waters
I know these scents like I know my skin
I've called this place home
And I mean it still.






Friday, September 25, 2009

I've been busy...

Real Busy.
Watching sunsets busy.
Smelling the grapes and red earth and dusty oak leaves busy.

I've been a hunter-gatherer.
Striding out into the fields [of the back yard]
Colander held steady
Nimble fingers (one for the bucket, two for my face)

I've listen for prey.

And had the tables turned
(a camera lens licked to holy demise by a solid cement brick of puppy love)

I've held long clucks with the ladies of the green.
(they think little of my conversational skill, caring only for corn and strawberry handouts as well as the long ties on my leather sandals)

I've felt the heat of a valley's day on my rooftop, the flash and glare light in my windows.

I've been busy being quiet, watching, waiting for that perfect glow to illuminate the sky just before the fields are plunged into darkness.

And in all my spare time, I've managed to whip a little something up. I laid down my paint brushes and unplugged my sewing machine to spend a week with my family, which roughly translates to "let's play art" which roughly translates to "let's play silversmith" (which in reality was the blind leading the blind with torches and molten silver - AS IN SWEET JESUS THAT WAS AMAZINGLY FUN WHEN I WASN'T CURSING MY LACK OF KNOWLEDGE).

Cherrio sweet friendlies, for the todo list is long and I've vino to fetch!

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Today Looks Like:

Sleeping late, a crumpled mess of sheets manifesting dreams the night before
Jersey skirt, teal shirt, navy leg warmers pulled high, one leather cuff
A sky in bands of gray, pockets of light spilling through the tease of blue behind
One cappuccino, two bags of beans to go
Dishes in the sink
Furry puffs of little boys, looking for laps to commandeer
The scent of rosemary crushed on my fingertips
And cold pizza, straight from the box
The sounds of city life about another day
Watching the birch sway
Hearing the cherry blossoms rustle







Thursday, September 10, 2009

Happy Studio Day to you too!

Double Cappuccino + Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers = A very happy studio day indeed!

Cheerio Dollfaces!

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Rain is truly the most cathartic element for me. The scent is soul-balm, the droplets on my skin the purest baptism, the sound more honest than any word I've ever heard. I know no better type of rejuvenation that to set out walking, feel the rhythm of the earth reverberating through my legs, to breath in time with the trees, to leave my heaviness with the ferns, to reawaken my curiosity by laughing with the sparrows.


I wonder
Has there been some small cosmic shift, and the tide is finally receding? This is nothing the naked eye can observe just yet, but requires a thorough observation preformed in utter solitude broken only by my own inhalations.


I watch the drops end their heavenly descent and spread into concentric rings on the earth's crust.
I wonder
Is this the birth-stage in the ever reincarnate life of hydrogen-dioxide? If I stand in it, turn my face up, let that perfect new-formed life roll down my skin, will I absorb that rebirth, that fresh beginning, osmosically?


I hold my arm out, until the muscles along my shoulder twitch and shake. The edges of my sleeve, pushed high, darkens with saturation as I break the first rule of wilderness survival and give into the rain. I watch the droplets gather into generous pools between the hard tendons of my knuckles. I watch the water rush deep rivers along the story-telling lines of my palm. I watch my dry, tired skin drink deep; small wrinkles filling up, taunt lines plumping, a glow spreading from fingertip to fingertip, spilling into the broad heel of my hand, bottlenecking into my wrist, flowing up my arm ever heart-ward.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Home Sweet Home

Leaving on a jet plane...

Sunsets that place a gal in bodily danger of being run over as she crosses streets, gawking wide eyed to the West.

Gluttonous Reading

Almost being run over again due to the shocking bands of heavenly light.

Puddle Jumper

Growing from every crack in the sidewalk, up every chain-link fence, around every white-washed tree trunk, the bougainvillea flashed their paper-thin vibrance.

Cacti nursery at sunset, one thousand glowing deadly orbs radiating in the humid evening light.

When in Rome; open mouths for cerveza... mouths for guacamole.

And just like that, we're back to the shaded streets of my city, sleeping under a fluffy pile of [extraordinarily clingy] kitty boys,
breathing slower,
breathing deeper,
feeling the rhythm in the soles of our shoes
feeling back
feeling here
feeling home.