"Gravity, tides, boundaries, shear forces and melting points."



"A flower is not dainty either; it is a fire, an explosion of seeds in time."



"The point of any serious practice is to re-remember our situation and develop a relationship to it."



"Sentience is a snare. The only escape it to untie its shoes and take them off while still on the prairie -- to be awake while dreaming."



"The sensation of existence with the epiphany of creation with the spectacle of a universe."



"Because we are vibrating at the same octave, they seem real."

"Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways."



red moon. green tea. four oranges. paint. watering can. wooden horse. salt.

april has been the salmon smelling the water for the home of its obligation. april has been watching the clouds and opening up to let the light in. april has been the womb the green vine the sun above the water. april has been the turtle and the frog the spiral at the crown the white lily white owl snake wind in the branches the heart in a tree.



weather report: song beautiful morning to cloak of clouds to grey late september cold digging out the lavender from under the manure. longing for farm eggs. the world melts, freezes, burns. if you spend one real minute just thinking about what we know about the earth, we would all behave differently. i suppose now, after my minute, i should. tomorrow: picking up litter along the road and in my radius of the world.



irie ultimate perfection the orange as it the earth as it is at it is beneath greasy ego cosmetics smoke and mirrors alias of progress. irie the space between. om namah shivaya. cold today damp rags of winter dragged through the valley pulled by magnets like the birds and the fruit in the seed. taking the actual time to actually think about it. april is the threshold. aperture.



"God Gives every bird it's food, But he does not throw it into it's nest."

need more art journal time. hung three loads of laundry out on the line, picked up sticks, pulled up dandelion. walked the dogs, made soup and bread, played disc with z. shes catching air now, which is way cool. and were learning how not to lose our dog brains going by the farmdogs on our walk. and how not to throw ourselves in front of cars. which is way cool.

“Who, being loved, is poor?”



it was a grand day, bright and breezy. as a reward for a fine walk i romped in the hill creek with B2 and z., the water clear and cold and lovely, a baptism, a gift. standing there in singing snowmelt with the dogs lapping and splashing, the sun out, home ahead. home with chores and coffee and npr. be it ever so humble.


“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”



it is spring, and i smell of dirt, my feet are dusted with creekbed. the seedlings need watering then a below-the-ankle soak in salt water and bed with The Once and Future King and #4. all the boys came here after they let school out on an emergency. i made popcorn and they played boy games on the trampoline. clouds tucked themselves into the bed of sky. #4 gets turned onto nels cline. i meet the fox father, younger than me, which for me is always a surprise.

“I am the only person in the world I should like to know thoroughly.”



out in the rain with the joker and the thief. he hands me a flat of celery seedlings and forks out horse manure. they go drinking. my mind is empty. i have a frantic IM exchange with an old friend (can i call you that?), its so hard to talk to people anymore. its like, uh, hi...do you have a dog i can hang out with? i am disappointed with the text here because i am always trying to "write under the blotter." just throwing down whatevers floating near the top when i stop between chores or while im helping with homework or whatever. i used to dedicate time to the writing. not that it was fab, but i felt like i was getting something worthwhile across. LIKE I WAS COMMUNICATING. now its just a laundry list of superficial weather-talk. so im going to try and give myself time to focus on what i have to say. because if i dont say it here i dont say it and i get all soul-constipated and suffer deep neurosis and a wicked startle-reflex.


“We know all their gods; they ignore ours. What they call our sins are our gods, and what they call their gods, we name otherwise.”



31 of 365:

1. walking
2. wordplay
3. a biodegradable flat of celery seedlings
4. horse manure
5. natural peanut butter
6. baking soda, apple cider vinegar, epsom salt
7. spring rain
8. line drying
9. nels cline

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving."



crows hovering over stubblefields. lying there like the hippo queen getting my teeth cleaned, obscure hits of the eighties yodeling over sirius radio. i experiment with the silver lining project: "well, someone, somewhere, is going, night ranger?! yesssssss!" sometimes i cant help but be myself in the startled presence of my fellow homo sapien sapiens. it feels extraordinary, my skin boundaries dissolve, the light comes through. even in the fluorescent hum of the dentist office, touching the german man on the white polyester sleeve, shouting, "epoxy!"

"Wildness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connected to rather than what we are separate from."



already april coming to a close. #3 is developing secondary sex characteristics and his voice breaks in earnest. he towers. the visiting poodles bury kibble in the reading chair. a pair of turkey vultures over the evergreens, the wide universal cycle of death and rebirth, i make a morning of pulling dandelions from the garden bed. there is birdsong early in the morning now, and its like sugar in my tea here in the cool damp of the garden with the birds and the dogs playing capture the flag with some dry root. i hang laundry, something i derive an inordinate amount of pleasure from, like flossing (flossing adds years to your beautiful life! go floss!).

"Our sense of community and compassionate intelligence must be extended to all life forms, plants, animals, rocks, rivers, and human beings."



morning break. pineapple, cottage cheese and democracy now!, simultaneously reading about the race to claim what lies beneath the doomed arctic ice cap. lets make sure we can drive to the mall in our hummers to get those awesome end of the world closeout deals!

“We can try to kill all that is native, string it up by its hind legs for all to see, but spirit howls and wildness endures.”



i havent been writing down my dreams. allman brothers, the dreaded birthday dream, a general breakdown in communication. dreaming is such a gift were given. i suffered so many nightmares with H2. for years i havent woken up freaked-out in the empty dark. i dont have those lion/tiger dreams anymore. i dont have those plane crash/nuclear bomb dreams anymore. i dont even have those i cant run i cant scream dreams anymore. blessed be.


“If you know wilderness in the way that you know love, you would be unwilling to let it go. We are talking about the body of the beloved, not real estate.”



30 of 365:

1. amy goodman.
2. clean, whole food.
3. clean water.
4. the silver lining project.
5. laundry drying on the line.
6. having a garden.
7. dental insurance.
8. time to make bread.
9. a bright breezy day after a day of cold rain.

"...reconnecting with what is subtle and profound in nature can take some of the burning out of our souls."



the weather warmer, i braved the back forty to face the supposed seed graveyard. but there were some radish coming up, some spinach, some lettuce, some chard. even some pea sprouts pushing through dandelion overthrow. i shortened the rows from where the digging started and pulled up everything around the peas that werent peas. replanted in the bare patches and watered. the rest needs another tilling but theres manure coming on tuesday and until then ill dig weeds so i dont just till them into a billion clone minions.



we had the birthday i promised him, legos and fast food, a spontaneous trip to the theatre to see monsters vs. aliens which i found enormously validating. in all the old disney films it wasnt a happy ending until the princess got her man. in these new movies the freak is happy, proud, self-fulfilled. even insectasaurus finds new life as a luna moth. take that, prince ego-vortex charming.



i got the first wax of the season. sara and i talked dogs while she slathered my nether regions in hot wax and summarily tore my pubic hair out.



i dont think it will snow again for the summer. the nasturtium are so healthy i may have to move them upstairs. the tomato plants poke up, i replanted what didnt germinate. maybe a heat pad next year for the peppers and tomtatoes. my misters busted already and i may be dislodging little seed beds with careless watering, guttering the water through my fingers from the dousing spout. in a few weeks i can plant a few things out, hardy enough, the lettuces and parsley, broccoli and collards. ive learned important lessons in gardening.



and i think life is a learning experience. and its how you respond to the challenges and the blessings, how you learn to create space for the better and reduce the wrecking ball tangos youre forced to endure.

29 of 365:

1. my bikes back from the mennonite.
2. healthy food.
3. successful plant propagation.
4. i still live here.
5. spring is in full swing.
6. brushwood looks like a go this year.
7. living in a rural area.
8. hanging out with #4, and the yoda lego.
9. books.

another difficult stretch of days.



a week off, the cowboys stepping stones of illness and unease. the long crazy night.
the reinvention and recalibration. rain and cold, the boys away.



the new dentist whose name translates into cinderella. just being angry, impotent, restless, torpid, hating the resignation.



i walked away from myself for awhile, readjusting to still being here.



the week went fast. robert spills his story in the parking lot and im of a sudden aware of my bad breath and wild hair. robert in his puss-in-boots ren faire get-up and the hollywood bungalow home. crazy eyes. these threads woven over the years, these interstices. its nice to have a friendly face to say hello out there in the world.



at the very bottom, at the end of the road, she showed up. and even if she did it so he wouldnt leave her and even if she doesnt show up again, it was courageous on her part. the cowboy and the drifter are having trouble still, two bulls in the pen.

change will come. the changes im looking for in myself. its two steps forward, one back. keep going. im flying solo, i dont have the feather-bed of close friends to buoy and buffer, cajole and correct. im a hedgewitch, a solitary. ive never yet found my niche, my place, my family. ive never yet been invited to join in a circle of hearts for any occasion, occult or mundane. im comfortable on the outside but the craving for communal fires is fierce sometimes. im okay on the outside. im acclimated to the terrain. but sometimes when the footing gets slippery id love a hand to hold, an eye to meet. honestly, im resigned to loneliness this lifetime. i used to think it was because i was broken. now i dont assume to understand. im on the outside and ive got the vast inner landscape of myself to wander and im paying some karmic price and its a sad suffering only sometimes. mostly the peace and quiet are more than welcome. but sometimes i think how interesting it would be to feel at home in the presence of man. to make connections, make friends. i dont think its toolate, i just think its doubtful. and im learning to be okay with it, okay in not-just-resigned way...nattering about self-imposed alienation...



spring. something dug deeply in my garden bower, disemboweling any hopes of early sproutlings. even the peas seemed to have rotted in their shallow graves. so we begin again. hope lies at the bottom of the box. the bleeding heart sends up its asparagus shoots, the lambs ear is rampant already. i tell myself it looked like this last year, that april breeds lilac from the bare ground. that the hyacinth is only now emerging like an alien emissary from the bulb underworld. that these things take time. in zone 5. it all needs tilling over again anyway.



nasturtium rocketing toward the light. some tomato, parsley up in droves, broccoli looking just like broccoli does out of the egg. the forms are becoming familiar. the iris returning, knifing up through the neglect. the comfrey run roughshod into early winter sod springing up like a lost dog, chipper and overall pleased, a new day. i keep mama cat fed, keep her happy hormones up and making milk for the little panteras who havent even opened their eyes to the world. names are contemplated.

“Under the philosophy that now seems to guide our destinies, nothing must get in the way of the man with the spray gun.”



field trip to the landfill. inspiring, the effort theyre making to make it better. the dogs didnt eat the kittens. the stillborn from the morning is still wrapped like a burrito on the bookshelf. i suppose i should go out in the snow and bury it next to the eggs. four other sleek squirming otter headed babies in a laundry basket in #4's room. the mother is startlingly affectionate. her ordeal seems to have softened her, motherhood has made her tame. two pure black, one tuxedo and one remarkable tortoise shell. blessed be. they are so magical and sweet.

“Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.”



snow. just a dusting, and the air is clean and when it blows we remember november. but this wind blows change and the green shoots are not afraid. the little body wrapped in a blue bandana goes under the blackberry brambles.

“In an age when man has forgotten his origins and is blind even to his most essential needs for survival, water along with other resources has become the victim of his indifference”



ive been inside, away. the wave comes over me and i disappear for awhile. im grateful for the meds and sleep and something to do with my days.


28 of 365:

1. kittens
2. environmental consciousness
3. crossword puzzles
4. baking soda and vinegar
5. books
6. a thermos of coffee
7. my inhaler
8. music
9. blue heelers

“Find your place on the planet. Dig in, and take responsibility from there.”



monday morning rain. up and at 'em head up and ready to go. #4 and i admiring one anothers bags and circles, badges of a wild weekend. after dinner i offer tips on perfecting the armpit fart effect. i correct the math longhand. i leave the dishes and the laundry for tomorrow. he wants to travel deeper into the once and future king. theyre predicting snow. im feeling jagged and fragmented. a blind mosaic.


“This has been a most wonderful evening. Gertrude has said things tonight it will take her 10 years to understand.”



the greencellar seedlings emerge. an incomplete list: holy basil, four types of tomato, bolivian carrot pepper, orange bell, nasturtium, parsley, hollyhock (for next year), broccoli, collards. lovely. with the snow coming im glad i didnt rake off the pea seeds entirely. but the outdoor seeds havent shown their stuff yet.

“Every one of us is sort of a figment of our own imaginations.”



mama cat enlarging, monopolizing the cat dish. the others defer. at one point i found her with her face in the wet suppy, holding the old cat at bay with a paw on her throat. the banana box is prepared.


“If you can't get out of something, get into it.”



the day was cool and damp, a gentle maritime quality i love. the feeback on this weekends fete was glowing. i comfort myself with yukon gold mashed potatoes and mint chip ice cream. well read a few chapters and early to bed. hopefully by the end of the week ill be able to think in complete sentences. blessed be.

“If the stars should appear but one night every thousand years how man would marvel and stare.”



the first birthday sleepover. a success. blessedly self-regulating, movies, legos, pizza, sweets. up all night under one blanket in the tv room. breakfast of huge cheese omelette, bacon, buttered toast. i make cinnamon rolls from a dough of yukon gold potato and cream. theyve all called their mothers and are off to the parking lot to skate illegally. i eat an enormous cinnamon roll that far exceeds expectations alone at the kitchen table.

“The age of a woman doesn't mean a thing. The best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles.”



the day is brilliant and clear. i go out to the creek in my bare feet and stand on the plank bridge #4 built. spring baptism. i feel good that he has friends and that he also isnt afraid to go his own way as he sees fit. the teacher says hes an independent thinker and i think ive done my job, so far. #3 farther and farther away on the burning boat. one for you, one for me.


“We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe.”



theres a rift in the clan, two women on one farm is never a good idea. everyone listens and no one thinks. got up after having gone to bed, drink two glasses of lovely beaujolais and wonder at how he can simultaneously defend me and deride me. i was tense and took a hot shower. im supposed to be worried about her sabotaging my job because we let her in. me, with the witch bumperstickers in the company parking lot. there are few left to surprise with the shock and awe of and did you know...

“We must be our own before we can be another's.”



i should be walking but need to man the HQ in case moms call or boys break a bone or both. theres one straggler that stays behind to watch godzilla with the cowboy. the day will go quickly, birthday dinner and a little lego shopping, get the cowboy his fishing license. the hoard disperses. cowboy and i unused to the rock-n-roll lifestyle drag through the afternoon. my peas show no sign, but there are lettuce and marigold and some tomato spirits reaching up toward the steady artificial basement light.


“If I accept you as you are, I will make you worse; however if I treat you as though you are what you are capable of becoming, I help you become that”

"God made everything out of nothing, but the nothingness shows through."



glorious. warm. the breeze belongs to a true spring, high blue and thin gauzy things of cloud for the eye to play with, as a kit plays with its shadow, a cat its tail. the eye wants for color and shape, unconsciously kindled by the scent of mud and new water, the eye is hungry. the eye realizes that its hungry. and everyday the colors change, the light changes, everything grows greater and more intense, it rises from within itself and is carried by time and the wind toward and into our blood, our souls. spring.

"Serious-minded people have few ideas. People with ideas are never serious."



"The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be."

spring a pale goddess ankle deep in the creek, spread snow-angel in the brown meadow, belly to the sun. spring, singing the buds awake, they open to hear her. spring follows faun prints through the woods laced even still with sharp tats of snow. follows the song of water follows the thrust of the bud follows the longer shadows into a gentle night ever erasing at either end, the stars changing station, watching over other seasons elsewhere.



this morning made coleslaw and sauced the shoulder for the boys, came home and made sharp cheddar mac and cheese, we feasted. but the day was long and i felt as if i were treading deep water, the meds a floatie strapped around my neck by a well-meaning guardian. all that unseen effort just to breathe. creamy tang for creamy tang was a comfort, made by my hand, and i always remember when carl sagan said that if you really wanted to make an apple pie from scratch youd have to start with the big bang.


"The universe is built on a plan the profound symmetry of which is somehow present in the inner structure of our intellect."



poodles go to groomers, i still cant find the elusive indoor watering can, the precarious alpine pile of media avalanches in fits and starts into the crevasse between the counter and the fridge. the boys have eaten well, and theres ice cream.

"Nothing retains less of desire in art, in science, than this will to industry, booty, possession."



in the dim evening bringing through the first open windows of spring the smell of rain valleys over waiting for night the radio plays tom waits singing you can never hold back spring. ani sings work your way out. some days are more difficult than others to navigate but i am never not amazed at the wending path i find myself following blind. i know theres a pony in there somewhere, the old joke goes.