the art installation

in the spirit of removing falseness from my life, the vile and crappy fake paneling i have lived with in this rented home was spontaneously ripped off the walls the other day. my bare-handed wonder friend, lisa, ripped all the paneling off. i broke it up and carried it, piece by piece, out the door.

what was left? 3 layers of seedy wallpaper, dried splotches and drips of coffee that had been thrown at the wall and streaks of brown goo that had held the offending paneling in place.

good enough.

the vacuum came out, the furniture was replaced, the orchard ladder went back on the wall, and fairy lights were re-strung.

it feels like living in an art installation.

only 2 spare things will grace the ladder while i ponder the wall's next attire. 2 little works of art from 2 soul-filled women who sent messages to me in  the mail~ messages to fly and live in my truth.

thank you, kelly letky, for the original photo of my favorite great blue heron.
thank you, christine mason miller, for the oracle card you painted and picked just for me.

thank you, most of all, to lisa. because true friends help to banish the false and expose the beauty with in. brown stains and all. 

{For Bella~ and her weekly art installation called 52 Photos Project. "Twinkling Lights." }

finding my way there

 

i opened the carefully pleated rectangle of foil to reveal the ooze of red and cherries and flattened crust. i ate it with no ceremony standing at the counter, scraping the foil with my fork to get the last smear of ooze. it was leftover heaven on a warm and windy late fall day; a day more suited to october than the cusp of december.

everything means something to me and the meaning is more than likely tinged with the ethereal. i think of this late warmth, a gift for the northern dweller, and equate it with the opportunity to do just a little bit more before the hibernation begins. and the more for me takes the form of noticing instincts and natural urges, of seeing the old doorways and not-empty bell towers of dreams i've been too timid to embrace. those dreams are demanding attention in this 56 degree wind, begging to be blown open and set in firm soil like necessary seeds of spring.

full of leftover pie and rusted keys in my hand, i step into the wind and search for the door, ethereal bells ringing with each gust. these old dreams are of home and all that it means and of never yet finding my way there.

but i want to be there and set my other dreams down there and feel what it is, live deep what it is to be unshakably and forever at home.

the way of things

the way of things came to my window. and i looked in its eyes, living and dead. the red tail hawk, announced by blue jays,was  level with me on its perch. messenger of life-purpose and fruition, it arrived to confirm just that, and it stayed longer than i could have hoped.

looking to the grass below the tree, i saw why i was afforded such grace. a squirrel. likely the one i had seen out the back window, now dead out the front. the hawk never found safe passage to the lawn to claim its meal. spooked, it flew across the way to the tallest pine. i waited, curtains pulled back, but the bustle on the road forfeited the prize. i carried the prize by its tail, limp body bobbing to the rhythm of my walk, and laid it under the pine. come dark, the owl will be hungry.

back to the window and in pulled the truck of the man who lives below. she was gutted and dead in its bed. i went to look at her eye. it took only 10 yards for her to drop, he said. unlike the 2 bucks that did not drop and left blood trails to no where. i did not mask my wince and my whine, but refrained from unfavorable comment. i threw prayers up to the sky for the one in the bed and the 2 that leaked blood through the leaves. i could feel her fear and anguish rise from her body and crawl over my skin.

i went back up to the window, as this is the way of things.

golden moments

there are golden moments on the fringe of the turning point~

they are subtle and easily overlooked in the frenzy

and anticipation of the great, next happening,

the great, next way of being.

if you stop and look, you can sense the last

 messages of the season your soul is moving through.

you can feel the forecast of things to come,

and you can understand the beauty
and necessity of what has been.

it has all been beautiful and necessary.

in the golden moments, brief and full,

gratitude can plum its depths and 

soften the next season to come.

simpler times

let these be simpler times.

let the heart spin with the clockwise tide.

let the ground be firm and nourishing.

like the bones of the trees revealed,

soul is dancing forward,

fresh and formed in the waning light;

a silhouette of possibility.

like the leaf mush begging for snow

to bury what has been,

 molecular magic will break life down

to the essential and the good.

in these, the simpler times.

fullness in nothingness

i don't know what is happening. excess and waste are appalling me. i crave simplicity and clean lines. clear understanding. fullness in nothingness. my words are sparse. long essays, gone.

i have bought nothing. nothing but food and four dollar magazines. gasoline. herbal supplements. allergy sensitive cat food. rose petal tea. just the bare basics.

i don't know what is happening. i want to, need to be outside. all the time. i stand on the loading dock at lunch time with the smokers just to feel the sun on my face. i wear hiking boots everyday; fashion is out the window. except scarves. i wear scarves. they are my uniform. i don't know if they are in fashion. it doesn't matter. if they don't look good with hiking boots it doesn't matter.

birds and horses and cats and moving water. and taking photographs. hundreds and hundreds of photographs. in a week. like a crazy person. but i am not. these are the obsessions that rise as simplicity informs my days. no, demands my days. i don't know what is happening.

yet.

the less i have, want, get~ the more of me i find. in the fullness of nothingness.

i remember what is true

in the season of harvest and waning

i have come alive.

i remember the richness and roots of my soul.

i remember what is true.

there is pungent earth~

leaf mold, cooling soil and the

indescribable smell of flowing creek.

it is firm.

it is under my feet, grounding.

i begin again before the end.

Wildness

Truth. Clarity. Joy. Wildness.

My wish for me.

Let it be.

{Harris Hawk. October, 2011}

52 Photos Project~ November 2nd

The beauty of fall flowers,

from first stage to last.

Nature is my treat.

{For Bella}

And thank you, Bella, for featuring me

this week on your Just 1 Picture project.