A collection

a bouquet of yellow maple leaves collected under blue fall sky
crushed by my son's small hands a day after first snow
a goose or duck down feather
onion skins peeled by my daughter who has just learned to walk and my son awaiting patiently for her to talk
mouse droppings
a dust bunny of my last orange cat's hair and mine and bits of us all
sand from the lake
sand from the beach
a glass shard from the smashed shot glass

Artist Shaman

Every time I see an exposition of contemporary art I think it: Artists are today's Shamans.

The mundane and the sacred are irrevocably connected in my mind. The acts of cleaning, washing, sweeping, cooking, sorting, burning become spell making, the careful attention and awareness brought to the activity become intent. I learn as I go and trust my intuition. It tells me when I need to do my work.

Sitting

envelope

something

a crumb.
a red rosehip.
this way.
shhhh.
sit and listen.

spinning

I went to an ol' school chum's house today. 5 of us. then four. then three. With each departure the conversation got more intimate. A marital breakdown. A persisting negative body image. A longing for renewed intimacy.
Do you ever spin? asked M. Sometimes just moving helps shut up your mind and break the rut.
within 5 minutes she had the 3 of us giggling and wiggling and wagging our tongues. getting rid of the pent up energies, shutting up the busy brain that always says "yes But" to the kid, getting out of breath to feel alive.

Another friend spoke about how she explored the saying Spinning your tires. It's something she does a lot. Race car drivers do it so the wheels grip better and this means they'll go faster. She was relieved that what was perceived as a negative had a function. It became more bearable.

spinning a yarn and telling a story.

In my dream I was trying to capture the right light and adjust the lens so that I could photograph the spider webs. Webs the spiders had spun.