by the crooked tree, thanks

by the crooked tree:

this is a place keeper, 

a marker pose,

a surprise old life glorious on a ridgetop.

this is your landmark,

 this crooked tree.

 this is the land 

all horizontal ridges that herringbone down to a meadow

bordered in by beaver

outlet under the roadway.

 this is the place

i will learn to call home. 

 streams bisecting the land 

stitching a crazy quilted pattern of rock and spruce and maple and juneberry

 lichen and virginia chain fern 

and cardinal flowers in july.

the streams trace outlines that the deer follow

bucks serious about finding breeding does

and the cold water splashes on and on.

past a little friend,

almost in the middle here.

 hairy woodpecker will tell you the facts:

there's no such thing as free lunch.

and everyone give thanks.

as do i.

snow comes and goes and...

i've visited this hobbit house

for many years.

i can't believe it's still (barely) standing.

 but it is.

and the little river

(that's its name)

is still meandering through

the woods john green first showed me

when my son was four, and daughter one,

 and even the beaver stump

hasn't fallen

to weather or hooligans or critters.

 and brave me

i went in on 6 or so inches

on a cold morning 

and happiness

 and my very old skis.

no worries about equipment,

and my knees, 

and my niece's old rossies

do me proud.

 that was saturday and then 

here, sunday

the snow is mostly gone. 

 and the water is singing

and i have experienced 

a warm day today, monday.

old green and palest ochre.

and my windows were wide open.

it's november,

and things keep changing

 bones of the adirondack foothills show

over at the new place 

riblike ridges herringbone into the meadow.

it's my favorite time.

miracles:

 i have seen a bald eagle soaring the oswegatchie, 

a ruffed grouse on a telephone line,

and dandelions in blossom,

and husks for wild cucumber and milkweed pods

were part of the last print pods.

evensong

night watch,

a game between human and white tail deer.

after the big snow

down the hill as we say

you can see tracks there.

but more, there are tracks

like a stitcher gone mad

all over my lawn.

made a little later than this.

for me, i am glad it's winter now

and their tick passengers

have hunkered down deep 

and aren't peppering my lawn or

the hill.

or, for that matter,

my tender skin.

 indoor

 lazy time stitching 

echoes outdoor activity.

a light in the sky

 my eyes were dazzled by the late afternoon light today

as i drove home

along the river

and spotted heron, or, well,wide wings.

it was very large, but no trailing long legs, and

well, a different kind of 

presence.

it was large large 

and white bounced off the dark body

but no, it was a white head.

bald eagle.

bald eagle!

before i could pull over 

gone, gone into the blue-white wildness.

 down the road,

the amish have made corn ladies 

 everywhere

they stand starkly on the land

 next to the river

an abandoned place

shadow played there.

 and then deep fields

 with the big snow clouds 

that have been causing a little trouble hereabouts.

storming

all around the north country

wild 

clouds, snow, wind

 it started out cold and strangely golden 

early just after dawn

and the clouds were strange colors.

 i spotted two ends of a snowbow

 as i drove down the amish road.

 all day we heard stories of 

blizzard-like conditions nearby

(lake ontario)

and on the other big lake

(lake erie)

 so i drove home with courage and a high glorious joy

hoping to avoid whiteouts,

relieved to be going home to warm up the house

for whatever weather arrives.

and on the road

a pair of snow buntings

 they are back

  having traveled south for the winter.

i soon saw a flock

gathered on the gravel shoulders.

 there were some prints last night

i used up the last of the late fall harvests

before the snow came.

 and here, 

back home,

there's a snow dance

a crazy little spiral in our four inches or so.

recent events

 aimee is in korea

and this is what she found at her teacher's place. 

a traditional covering

 for the wood pile.

here, folks use old paper machine felts,

tin roofing, old scrap siding

no plaited straw.

 two days off this week, 

i made prints

on paper.
 and residual and accidental prints

on peony and gingko leaves

in the backyard

it's looking bleak.

we had wintertime come to visit

after indian summer-67 degrees-

on tuesday

 the cold blew in

taking down leaves and seed fluff

 making my heart

sad with november

 school was tough tough tough.

but on friday

two old students came by to visit,

and all is well with them.

such great news 

the only good news this school year.

 peeping in the old barn's doors

more bad news

i just wish this place

could be re-furbished.

 i visited a dear friend today

she just celebrated her birthday

i'm in my 90th year, she said,
89 is a venerable age.

this quilt might be that age 

or older

being finally used

to cover the machine from chicken roosting.

some maps

 

mapping a book 

ink and lokta

 mapping friendship

 map of a flea market

 and knowledge!

 and a body map 

i love these mannikins

 complete with many foldouts

a different sort of centerfold!

a forester's map 

a timber cruiser's? 

 i've found some local bits--

long lake is mentioned 

 a rose map

 the second try at a big map

a hortus siccus.

 both home places,

old and new

their gifts both here.

a full sheet.

LARGE

 now i want to go and weave something.

but first, 

i went out to gather some sumac

and wasn't mindful

until i cut my palm with my felco's.

there was blood, but not enough for a stitch.

i was reminded to thank the sumac

the hard way.

it's important to remember one's obligations.