sustainability

one pair of pants

retired and worn out gramicci cotton twill climbing pants

all seams ripped opened,

"natural shibori" covering a small coptic bound book. 

(the waistband)

i just finished my first rag paper in years.

a post of paper, 

41 sheets, 11" x 17"

2 sheets of badger paper.

 restraint dried and lightly pressed

 41 sheets

a bit textured and irregular in formation

 the two wild badger sheets containing gramicci cotton rag

hosta 

kozo &

honeysuckle.

 there are two half pockets left,

made from a lighter fabric, part synthetic.

also the nylon belt and mesh strap, elastic bits, thread.

i've used these belt pieces to hold stuff together,

even my old mailbox.

not bad.

november

the thing i like about november is contrast.

it's a month of highs

and lows.

(this year's were some huge ones.)

riding out the changes

isn't easy.

it's worth it, though.

today i watched sky drama

 on my way to my house from home.

a murder of crows tilting through the sky

calling out teasing

and keeping their distance as a bald eagle flew through it all

and landed in a tree. 

there eagle stayed and waited them and eventually me out.

blue jays called, so did a pileated woodpecker,

but still eagle waited.

i drove on.

at home i noticed my barn had leaned a little bit more

 changing profile in the sky.

november's almost done.

i am turning a decade tomorrow, too.

changes.

thanksgiving 2016

home

friends holding each other together

i've had two wonderful friends visiting 

recovering from the sad election

making things with paper and thread.

making (and eating!) food.

recovering from sad hearts and head colds.

aimee lee and therese swift-hahn and me,

we had big hopes of making up a storm.

instead we supported each other

with words, pulp, love,

and chicken soup.

i cleared off my dining room work table

to the amazement of my family.

 outside the barn continues it's decline

swiftly going

two days ago it was over 70 degrees!

indian summer.

 i travelled through the country of the ladies

 and walked my high-up open road

 collected milkweed and remained tick-free!

 therese brought moon water

and the bottle on the far left was seen dancing.

caught on video, but i can't upload.

 therese prepping for kami-ito

 she has magic hands

 aimee's hands were in the hanji vat,

which she set up at SLU's ZONE 4 paper studio

 she made hanji and other papers, and so did we

 and there's a big snow

therese left in the window of good weather, aimee would have too

if her car wasn't in the shop!

 winter is here

 lovely!

back porch doings are temporarily on hold.

the crack in everything

big wind last night

 made the hole in the roof and side of the barn burst outward

and now it's on the way to compost

 there was a shibori sky last night

when i saw how far the barn had gone.

 further even this morning.

 shibori to tiedye

and a lopsided moon

all indicative of this weird week.

i celebrated her birthday last night

with community 

isis turning 91 or 92, 

she couldn't remember.

we've been friends for something like 35 years,

we don't remember.

but we remember meeting each other.

  we always gather in her tiny kitchen

because her heart is in the kitchen

and in her studio downstairs

where the looms and wheels are.

~~~

this photo of my place from a couple of summers ago

 house, mill/garage, barn and land.

trump and cohen in the same week.

so few words.

deepening toward winter

since i was a little girl

i have loved small things.

i was a kid who liked to make hidey holes under tables

or indoor tents or

to slide under my bed and examine the

geometry of black metal spiraling springs 

likely singing songs all the while. 

puff the magic dragon.

 this little thing i found in maine has a big job.

it's a bladder of some sort

once connected to a seaweed

providing a mechanism for flotation.

 i need some of that right now,

for autumn has brought me down under

deep into, saddened.

the election madness may have something to do with it.

who knows?

but i am struggling this autumn.

 i know that struggle is a place for growth

soil grows so well after it's been plowed and raked.

it's not so comfortable 

if you think of the worm's take on it all!

 so i've been putting in time substitute teaching

making paper

also making plans and books and poems.

 not much of it all, really,

but moving, some,

knowing the snow is coming.

 my neighbor's place loves sunset light.

  cows think their cow thoughts

bovine richness so different from my worries.

 the big sky here reassures me that change is constant:

that light spot in the clouds a crescent moon,

also changing.

 sunset light seems refracted 

everywhere.

brightening surprises

 reassure me,

drawn as they are by mother earth,

who also struggles against the machinery of rich men.

 i come back to

the tiny engineering brilliance 

 of a flotation device.

enough of these could balloon me up and up.

or, at least,

lift my heart.