I leave the trail and follow a narrow deer path along the shoreline to a small, sheltered cove.
I stand very still in sparse underbrush and listen to voices echo across the water.
I drop to my knees in the middle of a stand of hardwoods.
I bring my face close to moss, bugs and fallen leaves.
I hover over clusters of soft, grey mushrooms.
I stare too long at a patch of sunlight on bark.
I lose hours to the forest.
I wear the woods home:
dirt on my knees,
burrs in my hair,
mud on my boots.
Category: Outside
I’m experimenting with through the viewfinder photography again. I find that I still love the feel of the old Kodak and the distortion and noise introduced by the dirty lenses and mirror. I love the brokenness and imperfection and mess.
salve
A walk:
to show them beauty between strips of asphalt
to console myself
to let the urge pass
(not all good things are wild and free)
sweet gentle green moss
frail butterfly wing
round red berries
a single thorn
james farm
We weren’t really lost; we could see the house just across the cove. But the fields were so very cold and muddy, and the winds came off the water and whipped stinging sand at our eyes and mouths, making the evening seem desperate and epic. And so our thoughts and conversation turned to fire and food and warmth and shelter. The Muscari pushed toward the sunset, unfeeling, insensitive to our struggle for survival.
perry park
Wooden paths and bridges lead to trout pools lovingly tended by ghosts. A thick layer of moss covers every surface, absorbing our words and footfalls. In a neighboring yard, a woman hangs her laundry on the line. We float past her unnoticed.
this time, before the snows,
I want to need to remember:
:: a pod of dolphins hunting for their breakfast in the waters across the cove
:: the smell of laundry that has dried in the salty bay air
:: laughing and carrying on with old friends over wine and clams casino
:: a funky haircut that heralds a new season in my life
:: rounded triangles of moonlight reflected off the backs of thousands of waves and minnows
:: linguine con le vongole made by my former chef of a husband using clams dug from the bay with our own big and little hands. so. very. yummy.
:: reading sonnets under blankets after the weather turned much colder