Mysterious

messages on the trail last few days.

Ridiculous

and her stick.

Just might have been

the hand of God as I swam under those clouds this evening.

Apples on the Valley Trail

Rosie is not comfortable being photographed. In this photo I was trying to coax her into turning around but she sat steadfast with her back to me. As I gave up, taking this image, an apple from the tree on my left thudded the ground, having fallen, seemingly straight down. We both startled and then I got the apple's joke.

Throwing me a bone

The lake threw me a bone today. A very old bone right at my feet. I have been working in the prints on thoughts of flesh and bones, bags of bones, skin and bones, you get the idea. Yesterday one drawing reminded me of Joan of Arc's armor and I thought 'ha Joan didn't get old'. This morning the lake's retort: "but her bones still did".

These two

have been living this dangerous life just like that all summer.

This old building

such a cube.

Pretty Morning

Milkweed

Eagle at the Lake

Eagle at the lake yesterday. A bald eagle here is a treat. This one’s tail and head are impeccably white and the bird is of good size but not monstrous. The bird is exactly what I picture when I think of our iconic eagles. Very different from the bald eagles I saw in Wrangell, Alaska. There the bald eagles gathered at the dump. Like seagulls, like vultures, like the scavenger/opportunists that big birds of prey, in fact, are.

The locals spoke of them the way I grew up thinking about pigeons swarming after peanuts in Boston Common. Later in that same life, I walked the Common with a Midwesterner who had never seen a pigeon. ‘Oh my god what are those gorgeous birds, oh my god look at that one and on and on’.

Happens all the time.

Rosie's job

This is what my dog is teaching me: Home is good, bed is very good, staying in bed late is best. I got up at 8:00 today, close to three hours later than normal. For a few days I have been wrestling with the past and the future, it's tiring. Mostly because there is nothing I can do about either. So Rosie says to me "Sit, Stay, here in the day at hand" That's the trick she's teaching me and the treat.

Image: "Life Drawing", from last week.

My reach exceeds my grasp

in printmaking with this new process.

Bag of Bones

Oh I believe I'll be a bag of bones soon enough. soon. sooner than we imagine, sooner than I care to admit and yet I could be graceful about this. I could take my cue from the old maples and old ravens and old dogs and old cats. I could borrow their tricks and their attitudes and be cheerful, grateful for time well spent, misspent (oops) and time unspent.

Here I go now past the middle of my path and nearing the last curves, heading on into the late, late, late light.

Neither too little nor too late

Neither too little, nor too late, I pick up my pen, my brush, my heart and my hearth and wander back, walk back, ride back and swim back, back to myself, to the inside of the tree, to the bottom of the cave, to the heart of the flower, to the center of the universe, to the nucleus of the cell and breathe, breathe, breathe the sustenance, the life force, the nurturance, the body and the blood, the holy ghost, before the day begins, before I fully awake, I run back for one more dip in the pool, one more breath of life.

This once foggy summer morning

might be a perfect day.

The Void

Already fill the void? I've barely let out my breath, I've barely let myself go. I've barely said goodbye to all that I have known, to all who I have known. How many times must I do this, breathe in, breathe out, breathing in all that is, breathing out all that is no longer needed. and again.

Fire

"Fire" screamed the new fangled smoke detector in the middle of the night. "Fire".  Out of bed in a flash, I circled the entire house and then around it, in a run, "Is there a fire?" No, not tonight, not at this house. I got back into bed, the pillow was reassuring, luxurious even. Ah, my world is in a good place this moment. This moment. Then my eyes blinked wide open, fear, as I remembered how swiftly comfortable can change. We aren't always safe and it isn't always comfortable but that moment when there wasn't a fire and the pillow was soft and just right, maybe now sweeter for it's known tenuousness. Gratitude and all those lofty concepts people have said before me, true.

Happy New Year

says Rose, Queen of Snow Mountain