mother maple

a brightness

spotted 

i follow 

following a daystar 

a tiny ripple 

a tiny rift 

sugar maple 

sweetness 

collecting 

collected

purple hope

 in my yard

 there are two fingers of hope

a better sip 

of spring

not much

field note: two ruffed grouse, budding

on tooley pond road

eating birch catkins

not much of interest happening here.

 so i have been quiet. 

i drive and look and look and see fields bleached ochre. 

they will race to green quickly, 

so this calm is fine. 

cold enough to sleep with the window shut.

tools

small fiskars

the disappearance of tools from our common education is the first step toward a wider ignorance of the world of artifacts we inhabit. 

matthew b. crawford, shop class as soulcraft

a squared end (deer leg) bone folder

i have a sort of tool lust or hunger, a need. i have relatively small hands for someone my height (5'6"). i like small tools that fit my hands, so i am always on the lookout for things that feel good, work well for me.

blunt folder, elk bone

my bonefolders are some of my favorite tools, but in the category of small tools, i would also put certain needles, drills, camera, barrettes, spoons, ruler, cutting mat, scissor, brushes, and pens and pencils. it's maybe no surprise that i loved crow quill nibs better than standard ink pens when i was drawing a great deal. they were harder, but fit me better.

a tiny folder

some of my most prized possessions are tools. i have given to a couple of friends bone folders that i made after learning how from jim croft, in a sort of exuberance of knowledge: i MADE this!!!

a blunt ended folder

teach someone, maybe yourself, how to use a tool. maybe something as simple as to sew a button back on. do it soon. before the skill disappears. before all we have is velcro.

  my little stump loom, totally funky and functional

edges/ecotones

driving home from work i am always getting over the day. 

i often have a headache. 

it's a 28 mile trip. 

i realize that i drive, gladly, rejoicing, into an ecotone. 

every day. 

and i live here, in an ecotone. 

and i am an edge person. 

edges. 

ecotones.

john green first taught me about edges. i audited his class in natural history, 

and i remember him talking about the richness where two places meet. 

edges he said with delight.

coyotes and foxes travel edges, birds flourish, feed, and nest there, insects trill, 

and a huge variety of flora. 

in the edge. the ecotone.

terry tempest williams taught me the term ecotone. 

the "proper" word for john's edges. 

both are amazing naturalists. 

i think i am destined for edges. 

my place is on the edge of the adirondack forest preserve and the st. lawrence river valley. 

an ecotone. 

it's hilly and farmy, a mixture of wetland, rocky soil, 

beaver altered landscape, woods and meadow. 

it's beautiful. 

tonight i saw snow, wild cloudshines, and a late sunset with a light show.

and i heard my favorite of all spring birds. 

a woodcock. 

preent.....preent.....preent 

welcome home.

oh, and woodcock? 

they spend their days in the edges,

do their mating dance in the twilight

first in the meadow, 

then circling flight,

then back in the meadow.

paper

books and paper give words a place to lie down.

-timothy barrett

(my paper hero)

shifu and two rust books
and then in reply
ronnie says: books and paper give souls a place of solace

living exhausted

i remember kidding and lambing, feeding my own babies in the night, sleepless weeks when my marriage fell apart. nothing prepared me for the fatigue and weariness of pettiness and small mindedness in the workplace. sigh. the drive home was an antidote.

 that's my hill driveway just past the buggy

not very many buggies go by here

wendy barks and barks

 my little friend

 this is how i feel

 and this

and maybe i should just be 

in the clouds

or send 

my heart there

for spring

break.

kindnesses on monday

jude, lee, and kaite

your kindnesses amaze me.

 i am still struggling with the japanese disaster. 

i will send what i can.

my thoughts

my caring 

some cash

not enough of anything, i fear

equinox

 equinox

it's why i feel balanced today, i think

a wee dram?

maple syrup

medium amber i think he said

from my land, my trees, a neighbor's labor

it tastes like maple trees.

like bark.

like soil.

no kidding. 

 it's still very warm,

delicious,

i opened and 

tasted this odd bark sweetness

 this is where wendy rolled 

looking for the last 

of the snow

she's itchy

each spring

to go deep, to scratch, to revel 

one snow puddle

hidden in the raspberry canes  

i looked all around this meadow,

much overgrown

to raspberry

and honeysuckle

and wild apple

 and thorn apple

and milkweed

welcome here unlike elsewhere.

so i smelled 

the same 

taste.

or tasted the smell 

as i sat, then 

stretched out

on the soft brittle grass 

and i brought home

a bit of milkweed fiber 

time to make paper

for spring.

big moon and other wonders

 inside through two panes

there are two moons on the horizon

 and outdoors 

no woodcock yet 

from the front porch

water though, downhill

moon play on the porch

 mud socks

 another book

gravelled

salted

layered 

pages and pages

 newborn and salted

little friends