|the hand of God as I swam under those clouds this evening.|
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
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".
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Friday, August 9, 2013
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.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Friday, August 2, 2013
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.