bReath

some words scribbled on the morning after a dark wet drive from Philadelphia to goodness knows where

trying to get somewheres
in the soup thick dark
through endless fallingwater
i feel my breath begin to catch
in the moment it becomes apparent
that those filaments on the map
blur into obscurity
even with the help of spectacles
or perhaps
because the glass was slightly misted
it seems there are two choices
blind panic
or sweet surrender
i opt for the river
sailing a random course
in my hired vessel
forging through shining sheets of water
adrift yet enlivened
around my neck hangs a bell
gifted to me by a shepherd
who no longer needs it to be heard
a dog above hears it tinkling
sends a breath that lifts the leaves
reveals the sign that points the road
guides this lost lamb safely in
to the waiting warm welcome

transamerica

here are some pix of my transamerica dress

a story that began here on August 19th
with a baptism of sorts in the Pacific





bundled in a garden on the left coast [but not quite on the edge]

continued at Long Ridge Farm

with several immersions in cauldrons

[some merely to quell the growth of microfauna]

arrived at Haystack
and wandered down to the Atlantic



by way of a puddle or two



concluded with an unbundling
on the evening of August 31
and looks like this

and a detail, with a bit of an odd yellow glow due to dim light whilst taking the pic

a few more Haystack pix...

stacking rocks

is a good way to begin the day

with a quiet mind

everything has a point of balance

finding it is the tricky thing

the kitchen cat

meditating on the meaning

of everything

the rich colours

from cold-processed elderberry

an exquisite piece of dyed paper

[the student responsible smiled rather a lot]

smoke gets in your eyes

when i boil cauldrons
over twigs and sticks
people inevitably ask about carbon
my response is that the twigs and sticks
will produce the same amount of carbon-based gas
whether they rot in the woods
or are consumed by flames

in the former case the gas will [i think]
be methane
in the latter
carbon dioxide
[chemists finding flaws while reading this page are invited to correct me]

on balance
probably better than using
coal-sourced electricity...

Haystack

Haystack is an extraordinary place

you have to make a pilgrimage to get there

the gaff-rigged ship of dreams sails by

from time to time

the fibre studio is a delight

we boiled our cauldrons by the sea

using tannin-rich water from a nearby brook

diving into the sea at the end of the day

water so cold it felt like fire

dog willing and with a fair wind [or, leaving lovely Long Ridge Farm]

the trouble with wandering the whirled to work

is that sometimes

places are hard to leave

today another bittersweet farewell

on this trip

now, where did i leave those ruby slippers...

stoned

the stones in New Hampshire

have special qualities

including

a good sense of balance

as a bonus

they seem to have a beneficial effect 

in the dyebath

in dog we trust

Luna has been bringing sticks

to add to the morning bundle collection

the samples are delightful

[and fragrant] 

a field harvest from an early morning walk

golden rod and St John's wort

and it's the first time

i've seen someone bundle waterlilies...

we are working in an idyllic spot

and it will be very hard to leave

fortunately

my kindly hosts, Nancy and Jack Zeller

think they might let me come back

[please swing over to Nancy's pages and drop her a line

if you think you might be interested in

wandering these beautiful woods with us]

dog bless us all

under the benevolent gaze of our furred supervisors

we coax the soft colours of the early Fall

into our cloth

since the summer solstice, the trees of the woods

have been doing their housekeeping

sorting the trash as it were

preparing for the glorious leaf-shed that 

is yet to come

for us it means golds and browns in our bundles

less green

[that's more a colour of May and June - bearing in mind we're talking northspeak here]

by four in the afternoon

folks are feeling the call of the teapot

[or for some, a splash of something stronger]

i wander down the meandering gravel road

bordered by stone fences

blessed by the occasional falling maple leaf

and stand for a while in the gentle rain

[unstrained, like the quality of mercy]

gazing at a still pool

in which small brown fish are nibbling their way along the bottom

i remember, years ago

 lying flat on a warm rock

reaching my arm into a cold cold stream

to tickle the belly of a trout

and turn back

it has been a very good day

here's Velma's version