nannan
My grandchildren enjoy playing the drums, especially Nora who seems to have the personality of the drummer, eclectic and fun and serious as hell. Beauty in action
Jim uses a reed in his saxophones. I think of them as conduits or perhaps that mysterious connection to the magic of music.
Somewhere I exist as small as small can be on this folded page of blue with lines and arcs just like in my sketchbook or my brain, my soul.
Up..these are days we want to be in a bundle of wool that the sheep have generously given over to keep ourselves closer to them. Living, breathing and hoping to share that warmth generously.
In the hollow of my hand rests a pebble smooth from the water moving quick as a hummingbird over ages of sky and earth. It is my fate held tightly until I loosen my grip.
It is just beginning and already dreadful but still I make plans for two trips, both returning as though all will be well and the same till at least (last) the change occurs.
We had them for months at a time when the oil furnace in the old Birch house barely heated a four rung radius on the radiator.
A pen, a point, a weapon, a q word for scrabble or a poem to rhyme with will or nil.
Soft power.
I don’t like them. But they are beautiful to look at and don’t look even remotely edible. They’re shiny and have delicious shapes more like fairy houses for gypsy fairies or Luna moths or artist studios for bees who don’t really need studios. That’s what the garden is for.
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writing since 2010 · 293 entries · 290 days shown up
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