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