October 3, 2019. Had a relaxed nap this afternoon in my zero-gravity recliner – recently moved into the living room to increase wiggle space in the den. When I woke, I was staring at two images blurring together, becoming one big tug on my imagination – a waking dream. I lay back awhile exploring possibilities, then got up and did the obvious next thing: I wrote a poem.
The oil painting (perhaps by my grandmother) is of Texas bluebonnets along a country road, near Cuero, Texas. The cat is one of many feline figures decorating various surfaces in my home. Positioning cat within the frame was not entirely imagination – my angle looking upward (glasses nowhere near) contributed. I’ve reconstructed what I “saw” as collage.
Tomorrow I plan a repeat nap, same space. Who knows what I’ll see?
September 26, 2019. Periodically, I get lonesome for times, places past. One such evening, I dug out this poem about just such evenings … and went to work on a collage to capture the primary elements of mini-trampoline, best-ever rocker, parquet floor. I added a dream catcher to symbolize the only way I can go back. Haverhill is an extension of West Palm Beach, Florida – where my first husband and I built the house (1970-1973) – where my kids came to be (1974 and 1977) – where the kids and I continued to live after Dad departed in 1979, up until I brought the kids to my origins in Texas (1986). If I could’ve figured a way to bring that house along to Texas, I would be rocking in it still!
September 10, 2019. This is Mary Oliver’s 84th birthday. This is also a day of numerous stirring poems in my morning read … including cats with whom I have a life-long close affinity (thank you, Cate) and Karma (thank you, LuAnne). Synchronicity arrived to tie it all together nicely: my cat Brie delivering an opportunity to practice good karma on behalf of a not-yet-adult green anole. (I call those lizzies.)
Cate’s poem: https://zenofhen.wordpress.com/2019/09/10/unbecoming-2/
LuAnne’s poem: https://intentionalinterplay.wordpress.com/2019/09/10/karma-dharma/
No camera in hand when I went to investigate Brie’s yowls. And when I returned with camera, my subject was hiding deep, deep in the succulents. Hence, this image is a collage of today’s planter with prior lizzie as stand-in.
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.
August 6, 2019. After a long trip comes an indefinite period of prowling through camera images and phrases noted in journals, piecing together highlights of experiences to be savored (likely not repeated). In June we camped several days in the National Forest up above Cloudcroft NM, where we frequent in August for the annual Gathering Of Circles. This year our mountain time had to be earlier, as Gary’s school year shifted earlier. Tonight the Gathering begins; but yesterday teachers were already back at Stony Point High School. Since I cannot be at the Gathering, I am instead immersed in photos and memories of June’s mountain bliss. Wild irises were in bloom – something I’d never seen before, as they finish their cycle well before August. I found this haiku in my journal.
July 31, 2019. I’m still vibrating from Monday evening in the midst of purple martins amassing at dusk — preparing to migrate into South America. For a few evenings in July, the sky darkens with wings swooping down from way up high, collective perpetual motion, each bird merging into position, settling to rise again, resettle. Quite the party scene! Not sure if they wait for sufficient flock size, or weather cues, or perhaps the just-so moon cycle? One morning their signals dictate, and away they go — migrating amassed.
I first experienced this rush in 2014. We’ve missed out in recent years due to summer travels, but this year home early enough. This collage is from 2014 photos (I had a real camera with me that night). Some challenges an iPhone simply cannot meet. And no camera (still or video) can capture the energy of all those wings! Nor the compatibility of humans in awe.
July 25, 2019. We have returned from our summer roaming to a yard overgrown with green leafy things we did not plant, do not want – some strange new vine draping over shrubs and walkways as thick as a rug. There is considerable down-at-ground-level work to be done! Luckily, the same Ma Nature responsible for all this growth has granted us a week of temperatures unusually cool for Central Texas. So no complaints, just lots of time in the sun tugging and digging.
The walkway pictured was not visible when we got home.
The red dragonfly (who comes annually) has been a boost to attitude, thus to progress.