nano_08_winner_largenow that that’s done I can start blogging again!



The warm wind pushing off the cold for one more day.
Rubies and garnets and birth stones form past lives. Chalcedony and wire. Feldspar and tonic, dirt, moss, and citrine, all colors forever dovetailing perfections and tiny heartbeats.

The moon serpent was hanging halfway between the two birches, their papered bark rustling, it’s crescent slicing the air into heat and freeze, thick and scrawny, lonely and overwhelmed.

What will this day bring?

* Birds of all feathers, tropical and misty and north woods and calliope specked and striped bumble-birds. time canopies and swing daddi-os. Spiky headed peckers with doo dads in their hair.

* Sweaters! With flair and fanfare. With stitches and flowers and pockets full of glory and the real antidotes to boredom and sadness.
* Stars! Twinkling and dreamy and bright and dim and sharp and fine tuned like heaven’s headlights. Like a rose saddled and backwards riding out the dawn days into heaven’s headlights of mornings.
* Fever pitches of rosy cheeks and warm caresses. Sweet nothings and sweet every things and sweet every thing in between.

the rust creeps in

and digs out little holes in your bones / chips away at your perfection and knocks against your heart. It takes your breath away. The rust creeps in and steals the alive. It replaces it with oxidized hard chill and scratchy sinkholes that suck the light. It sneaks up, cloaked inside the winter’s howl. It sneaks in with the water droplets of spring rain. The rust creeps in and leaves behind beautiful sepia damage…

Harvest Day

Today we went out to harvest anything that was left in the garden, and to put it to bed for the winter. I dug up 5 pounds of beautiful Kennebek potatoes, and Miss Moon discovered the “fairy potatoes” featured above. Then we ran around in the leaves, hula-hooped, posed warmly in front of the birch trees, and soaked up the last golden bits of sun.

grace period

I’ve lived on a dirt road all my life…. Floating luminous, sparkly sunshine taking my breath away sudden and weightless, in a space with no pain and no worry and no past, only present to being so happy and full and blooming and buoyant. The beach here is an amazing place..fat girls rocking tube tops and tiny two piece suits, hanging out with skinny greaser mullet guys, and somehow this all occurs as sexy, maybe my brain has had too much sun today. Other people, twenty or fifteen of them standing waist high out in the lake, the cold water, playing frisbee and drinking beers. I love this crazy town.

Verbena had woken up very early this day and was determined to walk around her whole town taking photos of every one she met. It was something she had always wanted to do but never had given herself the permission before. Today seemed like the perfect day. The sky was glowing and luminous. There were some huge puffy clouds leaving glistening shimmering shadows on the sidewalks. The oak trees were whispering and gently clicking their leaves together. Verbena’s one wish for today was that fear of running into Four Car Joe would not surface. She would not have to create some sort of excuse to weasel out of so called “polite” conversation, some sort of reason for why she had kicked his little cement man in half, (because to tell the truth, Verbena did not have a good excuse for that. She honestly didn’t know why. It had just seemed like the thing to do at the time.) She hoped that this fear would not keep her in her house-that she would be able to leave and do the things she wanted to do. Her life up until this point had been a collection of many beautiful days all strung together. Skeletal barns dancing their slow lazy waltzes with the air and the sky the same color, that grey slow winter day. These days had wheat colored ditches, the ferns were all done for the year fiddle heads dried up and popped off. On these days there was often no joy to be found, but Verbena had enough joy stored up now that these were among her favorites and so it went well for her. Days of blue moons and reading nooks and warm saunas and friendly happy dogs, skeleton keys and camp trucks headed off to sauna parties up at big lake and fish frys. Whole days in the trees, way up, having climbed so happily. There were one hundred different descriptive words for snow, and a hundred words for sorrow too. Happiness had about fifty and lust had nine or ten at least. Verbena was determined to settle on a few more.

Presque Isle Fairies

We saw signs of them everywhere, dancing on sunbeams and glinting wings rushing through reeds.

Fall Hike

He wore his fall hat that matched all the trees. I mean every tree out there. And his beautiful grin that has lit me up for eleven years now, lit me up from 3,000 miles away, and now from across town, across this room. Lights my heart on fire and the warmth brims up into my chest and leaks out my eyes. Then I get all snotty. It is fantastic. There is nothing better than that.

She wore her favorite play dress and her shoes “JUST LIKE PAPA’S!!!”. And her love of hoarding sticks and pine cones, and her unwavering sense of wonder and magic. And her sweetness. There was so much love on this hike, it’s no wonder all the trees were turning red and orange, just to contain it.