In Eye Of Beholder

August 30, 2019.  Summer travels included a week in the National Forest near Lake City,  Colorado.  Beautiful country – in spite of recent destructive avalanches (record snowfalls continued into June) – and in spite of beetle demise of once-lush Spruce.  Spruce is “old news” there, avalanches and floods garnering all the attention.  For most.  My eyes kept going to the Spruce. No longer alive, yet holding form through assaults of weather, marmots, bears, moose.  Like a feather:  you can mess with it, but it goes back to original form.

Big grey “feathers” were everywhere, mostly in multiples that made capturing the form with camera difficult.  Might be time to work on my sketching skills!  One solo Spruce stood at road’s edge, and I managed to get there in sufficient light and zero traffic on  departure morning.  Took a while to isolate enlarged branch from background, but: a labor of love.

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Envelope Of Hope

May 14, 2019.  Some days distractions interrupt, spinning me off into wonderment.  Today has been one of those, thanks to V.J. Knutson’s post of her poem “Bleeding Edges” @ https://vjknutson.org/2019/05/13/bleeding-edges/

The phrase “envelope of hope” just kept tugging at me.  Where better to look for such an envelope than amidst blooming poppies?  These blooms are from last month, collaged with a metaphoric envelope.

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Self Defense

April 7, 2019.  No, nothing to do with martial arts!

One week into Poetry Month, and under the influence of an evocative SoulCollage® group session yesterday, I take my stand – as poet, yes, but not just poet – as creative human  giving creativity space, attention, support to flourish.

A word about SoulCollage® – a Jungian therapy process developed by Seena Frost – I’ve been practicing this since 2007.   It’s something you DO as opposed to read about, but if curious, go here: https://www.soulcollage.com/

This image is a collage for four SoulCollage cards created yesterday.  Image details were clipped from calendar/magazine pages and pieced together intuitively.  Each of the four cards (5×8″) can be “read” – imagery speaking to whatever inside me chose and arranged the pieces.  Collectively, they delivered this poem.

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Allure

February 19, 2019.  Right about now as I’m posting this, the Super Moon is extremely close to full.  It’s daylight and raining, so no right-now photos!  Last night She was close enough to full to have a pull on my senses, and to fill my camera.  There was a high thin cloud cover moving in, producing a haze which seemed to enhance the overall glow.  Intoxicating to stand in the chill, neck twisted at various angles, seeking the best shot through bare tree limbs.   The image here is a collage of the best moon uncluttered and the best branches-over-moon.

There have been a number of love poems floating around lately, Valentines of one sort or another.  I think this is one of those anothers.

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Moon’s Fullness

December 22, 2018.  Winter Solstice caught my attention this year.  Long dark nights suit me just fine – not so for all of us.  Hence a number of reflections in groups I mingle with.  Yesterday @ 4:21 pm Solstice arrived, between two memorable experiences with our Tundra.  First, getting stuck in the mud out at my daughter’s tiny house;  then, the battery just quit flat at the car wash.

Standing around outside the Battery store, the moon (almost full) beamed … in a trickster joking kind of way … telling me it’s daylight hours that bring problems … night hours would bring relief!

Home finally, new battery dismissing angst, I took camera and tripod outside to see what I might capture.  Luck was with me:  Several clear shots and a big smile noticing how this incredibly bright moon was totally undoing “long dark night” …  trickster indeed!

This morning I woke early and found the moon peeking at me through trees and clouds.  Not 100% full until 11:50 today … but plenty full of light and mischief.

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No Standing Still

December 10, 2018.  Today marks 2 weeks since a hurried scurry in my driveway left me flat against the concrete wondering briefly what all have I broken?  And who saw me fall?  Good news on all fronts – nothing broken and no distressed neighbors hovering.  I got myself up slowly, marveling that everything still worked, and began puzzling why I tripped on something always right there, why on the day before I go to my aunt’s 94th birthday, why, why, why?

Richard Wehrman’s poem “Traveling” helps make sense of a seemingly senseless stumble.  I’ve added bloom and swirl to a photo of my purple-puffed chin.

P.S. I am back to normal skin tones.  More attentive in the driveway.  Pondering still.

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