One spring day, I was walking in the 40 acre wood. One never knows what is hiding amongst the trees, the fallen leaves. Treasures abound. Deer bones are not treasures of the usual sort, like antique playground equipment or a teacup. Deer bones are reminders.
Weep sweetly as this touches the heart. So gorgeously tortured. Life has a way of annihilating us all one way or another.
Take her hand. Joy and suffering, the magic coupling. Creative Force that ignites the human spark no matter when we walked life's dusty roads~ Be ready when she lays her fire. Grasp her sweaty hand.
Hurry, Hurry How could the soul not take flight When from the glorious Presence A soft call flows sweet as honey, And whispers, “Rise up now, come away.” How could the fish not jump Immediately from dry land into water, When the sound of water from the ocean Of fresh waves springs to his ear?
A small gift to you who’ve read my words, who’ve shared heart, mind and spirit, who’ve often been the candle’s glow through a long night. The wind would howl beyond as my mind fought against a great darkness within. It has all been a quiet gift of soul for one who needed more than she realized. Thank you for sharing this year with me.
“Moon Bones” watercolor + pencil on arches cold £140
I find my body strangely beautiful.
With years comes a small awareness, a seeing with in love.
This skin embraces many proclivities awakening Meaning.
Beautiful and strong yet fragile.
She is transparent yet solid, a mysterious force.
The energy yin and yang.
I am chronically ill, pain kisses my spine and lingers.
She is my bones, my movement, my sleeping silent self.
At times, she is my mind…
She is found within my art.
Every piece is colored by my blood.
I find as time moves and she follows just as quickly, I have learned a way to channel her.
A literal bleeding, a transference of energies.
All art is that; absorbent energy flows, moving in time whilst beyond it and behind it too.
Pain is one’s shadow.
She is mine and I, hers.
I accept her in her beauty and her darkness.
She is not me nor I her, yet she is my every move.
She glides with me in silence, honoring mine.
The key hangs around my neck upon a slender chain.
Like the moon, I know she is yet she lives in places I cannot visit. That does not mean I do not seek her light.
Nor avoid her eyes when she appears from behind the mists.
i am a woman of an age still surprised by nature’s whimsy,
an artist always chasing color, a seeker, photographer, gardener, writer and lover of my grandchildren.
my blessings many and yet the best, a loving family who knows me better than ever i shall know myself.
the world inside my heart~mind and out where the trees and clouds be,
is a magic space created and blessed long before i walked this rocky road.
always it is a healing place of wonder.
i pursue a dream intimately mine, that names me it’s beloved.
my paths are many but to put luscious color to paper,
to let it speak it’s message, to allow my subconscious emerge through my work brings me my peace.
yet never i know for sure…
perhaps one day, i will be a potter of gray clay.
i have learned one thing for sure…no thing ever stays the same.
we are farmers of grapes, my husband and i, in glorious northern california.
we walk in the clouds that lie upon the mountains of sonoma.
everyday a beautiful gift wrapped in pink and orange sunsets…
it is my hope when i look back upon my life,
I loved with my whole heart and those I loved knew it deeply.
that i gave all I had to give and opened wide my mind, laughing more deeply and lightly as the years flew by.
To find the universal elements enough
To find the air and the water exhilarating
To be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter
To be thrilled by the stars at night
To be elated over a bird’s nest or a wildflower in spring…
These are some of the rewards of the simple life.
~ John Burroughs