her burning rage scorched through mountains and rivers and thick, moss-covered forests; above dreams and nightmares and across time, reaching into the distant, prehistoric past and all future moments balanced upon the icy precipice between now and forever
the wind rustled the citronella leaves, weaving whispers of fragrance in our hair
the coyotes howl out west–
how i wish i could howl
bottles in wooden bowls
toy trunks and 50’s cowboys
small coffee creamers in a line
old shelves freshly painted
corbels with chipping paint
white buttons in glass containers
the sun tripped upon the leaves
in the middle of a late summer afternoon
old signs painted on buildings
lost thoughts on the edge of summer storms
the afternoon sun filtering through emerald leaves
nostalgia on a cloudy day
blue jays responding to one another
gratitude as the day curls into itself
she was full and complicated
repotted, repurposed, reused, reinvigorated, recovery, realization, restore
at 2:00a.m. troubles and worries land
like colonies of bats inside her head
and by daybreak, they have scattered,
afraid of the light
this book, again The Paper Garden, An Artist Begins Her Lifes’s Work at 72 by Molly Peacock
walks on new streets
peppermint tea
deer at dusk
this song, Chevy Van by Sammy Johns, 1973
days of rain
maine coon cats
coffee on a tiny side porch
a basket of fresh cintronella
spanishwoods 