An Artist Who Writes
Unsure
like missing an appendage
I enter the meadow
the trail foreign
my dog, unconcerned
speeds off to romp in the waving grass
wildflowers are passed unidentified
as are the birds and their songs
The trail winds
through a gentle verdant forest
quiet
The dog splashes in the creek
undocumented
the trail splits
I guess
I ramble
unchecked
uninterrupted
unfettered
blissfully
free
like my dog
The journey begins
at the point of conception, adoption
there is no turning back
You face
death, breath
hope, fear
elation, exhaustion
pain, joy
dreams, nightmares
tears, laughter
memories
crossing the threshold
to shepherd a life
the path of a mother
May all the mothers reading this be honored on their journey. Relax and honor yourself on this Mother’s Day
Over lunch some weeks back, fellow writer friend, Becky shared a couple of sweet little poems that were inspired by her “ Dream Delivery Service. “ Your WHAT? Yes, she explained to me, she subscribes to a dream delivery service that sends out written dreams to her in pink envelopes. If he happens to be in your town he will deliver them before sunrise on his bicycle.
Yup. The guy is for real. His name is Mathias Svalina, a poet who started writing dreams for people from his imagination by subscription. He also offers various prompts on his Instagram account but he is known more for his Dream Delivery Service. Who knows how one can find such a niche? Obviously, someone with a vivid imagination and sense of adventure.
I’ve always been fascinated by dreams. Where do they come from? Where do they go come morning? Ask the dream catcher….
Dream Catcher Someone’s got to do it pickup all those shards of forgotten dreams dangling from tree branches and blowing about like tumbleweeds across a desert highway He gathers up odd bits of psychic litter metaphors, & scrambled images then repackages them into new dreams for delivery in dainty pink envelopes onto the porches of subscribers by bicycle in the wee hours before dawn Then back he goes pedaling furiously to his dream workshop to create a new batch of untamed fantasies and to get a bit of dreaming in himself to add to the brew As the sun sets he wakes and prepares for a new tangle of subliminal flotsam and jetsom to gleen When the REM alarm sounds the dream catcher mounts his bike and rides swiftly off into the night a mug of black coffee balanced on his handlebars
Poem & drawing by the author
Check out my blog on sustainable living at onesweetearth.blog!
Tucked away in the Oregon Cascade Mountains lies Breitenbush Hot Springs. I’ve been going there mostly every winter for over 25 years for a getaway with friends and sometimes solo. It is an intentional, off-grid community dedicated to living in harmony with nature and providing nurturing experiences to its guests.
In 2020 a catastrophic wildfire tore through the area. Through massive efforts, Breitenbush is being rebuilt. I just returned from a two-day stay there with a friend.
Breitenbush Rising The fire left a mosaic of green among black surviving trees standing proud above layers of ferns, mossy rocks, and the glossy red leaves of Oregon grape I recognize familiar voices chickadees, nuthatches, crows, and jays busy among the treetops as squirrels scamper below Thanks to the bravery of a few souls the stately lodge remains standing the meals served there are still ample, still delicious with nary a scrap of meat The stone-lined pools in the meadow and the hot tubs down the hill offer respite to the body as they always have their hot minerals sinking deep into muscles and soul We sleep in new lodgings in the spot where forested rows of boxy brown cabins once stood and mice once played in the heart of night The river still flows with vigor a roar of rapids over stones unconcerned of the surrounding devastation a vein of life in a wounded land its soft breeze on my cheek reminding me that life goes on no matter how much pain we endure the landscape has changed as have we destruction and rejuvenation stand side by side as the earth's heart beats strong and steady beneath our feet It’s good to be back
I like to draw parallels between we humans and the natural environment that surrounds us. This poem was inspired by my recent trip to S. Arizona…
Estate Sale
The scavengers come from near and far
reaping the benefits from the death of another
facilitating their survival
in this harsh desert environment
the jay
the crow
the coyote
the vulture
the beetle
the packrat
You’ve got to get there early, one resident explains to me
a hint of excitement in her voice
People show up before they open, often forming a line down the block
It’s a weekend past-time around here, says another. Great deals to be had
If you can wait until the second day everything is 50% off
I’m hoping for those lampshades she indicates with a lean of her head.
Even at Walmart lampshades are expensive
We walk almost reverently through the house
that is no longer a home
The contents of every cupboard are exposed on the counters and tables
like the innards of roadkill on the side of the road.
Glassware, dishes, appliances, knickknacks, furnishings.
Easy pickings
My thoughts turn to my mother’s home
soon be open to strangers
there to snatch up her cherished things I must leave
all at bargain prices
She would be aghast but she is gone
The jay waits
the crow spies
the coyote lurks
the vulture circles
the beetle crawls
the packrat scuttles
waiting to feast on what is left
to circulate among the living
Please visit my other blog on sustainable living onesweetearth.blog
Boganuary WordPress Challenge Jan. 1
The New Year 2023 Started with some good omens, sunshine for one- always welcome in my corner of NW Oregon at this time of year. The other was my 60 lb Cattle dog mix, Mars, jumped in the shower with me. Since I got him 2 ½ months ago he’s always seemed fascinated with the shower, sticking his head in and catching streams of hot water. This morning, thinking he really did want a hot shower, I said “come”, and he gleefully joined me. If you are a dog lover you would see the delight in that. Plus, it’s an easy way to wash your dog.
I gave up the New Year’s resolution tradition years back seeing it as a recipe for disappointment. Instead, I have a word (or words) of the year that can act as a guidepost for my annual journey. I keep them posted in my journal and day planner to deep up the intention. Last year’s were commitment, generosity, and focus (focus was a repeat from 2021). I am happy to report I had a decent outcome with those.
So without further adieu, drum roll, my new word of the year is JOY. After 3+ years of pandemic and political turmoil, a knee injury, and the passing of numerous friends and family, I’m ready for some. I have this saying, “ spend as much on yourself as you do your car and your house.” I’m so due for a little repair and maintenance. This includes…
Author and home organizer, Marie Kondo begs the question “does this spark joy?” That will be mine for the coming year. I hope you take some time for joy too in 2023.
A Toast for 2023 It’s the season of new the Earth has spun through the heavens and arrived at the place we call the beginning a bookmark we humans have put in the order of things the New Year, the first day of the first month of the 23rd year of the 21st century All is new, yet all the same a cycle in a continuum of millennia yet a comfort that we have a fresh start in our minds Shall we proceed then with our new slippers virgin calendars full of exotic pictures day planners devoid of marks and forge on with gusto? for we have been given another turn a blank canvas to paint another 12 months upon Let us mix up our palettes with new intentions hope, faith and the unseen circumstances that will surely find us stroke, splash, and drip with abandon make your marks with love, touching others with color bringing forth new memories painting this Earth a brighter place
The day after Christmas there’s this cosmic exhale. It’s like a switch flips from the hysteria of the holidays to thinking about the New Year to come and cleaning up the mess of the old. It’s the time of not doing, not shopping, not cooking, and not decorating. It’s a time of regrouping. It’s a good time to read, reflect, and rest.
Austin Kleon calls it Dead Week. I prefer to call it the Pause, the little grace period between old and new. So as I pause, I wish all my readers, the ones I know and the ones I’ve yet to meet…
HAPPY PAUSE!
See you all in 2023
Years ago I used to bake bread frequently- until I discovered I was gluten intolerant. I missed the bread and the process. Then this last year I discovered I could make a decent sourdough in a dutch oven. An all sourdough bread will consume the gluten in the proofing process making it digestable for me- as long as I use organic flour. I’m sensive to all the chemicals in regular flour. Now I bake bread weekly. I find the ritual of baking bread a meditative & sensual process. One must be very in tune with the dough to know when you have it right. A bit of biology, chemistry, intuition, and a touch of alchemy can make four ingredients so delicious!
Sourdough Bread
Flour, water, salt, starter
Combine, then gather with your hands
sticky with dough
Let the mixture rest 30 minutes
Form into a ball, now baby soft
Let it sleep while you sleep, eight hours or so.
Wake to the white mound doubled
Gather again, caressing this living substance back into a ball,
Place in a cloth-lined proofing basket
like you’re putting it down for a nap
In 3 or so hours this colony of wild yeast will reclaim its rightful size
Gingerly invert the dough from its basket
Score your design into its skin then
carefully lower it into a hefty cast iron pot
and slide it into the oven preheated to 450 degrees
Cover and bake for 25 minutes
Remove the cover and bake 15 minutes more until browned
(Savor the aroma of baking bread wafting through the house)
When the final timer rings
remove your lovely loaf and wait one final time for it to cool.
Saw the knife blade through the crust releasing the first slice,
exhaling the breath of wild yeast
Slather some butter on the warm bread
Savor and share in good company
Here is the link for recipe I use. (I cut down the water to 1 cup for a more workable dough.)
Photos, sketch, and poem by the author
Tune into my other blog about sustainability at onesweetearth.blog
Today I went out in the brisk sunny air to do some planting. First came the garlic that takes up an entire bed in my garden. Then it was on to plant Pacific NW native wildflower seeds that I ordered from Steele Acres. I marvel that some seeds need the harshness of winter to flower in the spring. Perhaps we do too.
Even seeds sown in winter
Bring forth flowers in the spring
While planting I noticed a some delightful tiny groves of mushrooms and a miniscule very late violet in the very right side of the last picture. You never know what you might find out in the garden…
Photos, sketches and poem by the author.
Please visit my blog on sustainable living at onesweetearth.blog
Four months after being diagnosed with heart/lung cancer my husband’s daughter and my stepdaughter, Heather died peacefully last night in the hospital surrounded by family and friends. A beautiful young woman living the peak of her dreams. She is missed.
She is gone now After she took her last breath we exhaled deeply bearing the pain of loss as her pain is no more Our loved ones are like trees they grow providing shelter and food for our souls and when they fall they leave an empty space in our hearts Yet in this very space is light so their seeds planted within us will flourish with the memories, stories, and lessons that they have left behind in their wake We hold our sadness close continuing our journeys as better people
In memory of Heather Ann Woltz Winfrey
July 24, 1984 – October 27, 2022
Age 38
Daughter, step-daughter, wife, sister, and friend to many
Trying to live a creative life
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