Tuesday, November 29, 2016


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
kozo &
 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.

Sunday, November 27, 2016


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.

Monday, November 21, 2016

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.
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
back porch doings are temporarily on hold.

Friday, November 11, 2016

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.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

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 
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.

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